It was my eighth day of walking and I'd need to cover 16 miles starting in Oia and ending at my night's lodging in Ramallosa, Spain. When I was preparing to leave my room in Oia, I felt restless, out of sorts, and my doubting voice asked, "Can I do it another day?" I'd looked over the description of the route along the coast and then "climbing" into the forest. In spite of a good night's sleep, my body was tired and my spirit, tested. The anticipation of climbing hills in a forest, not to mention all the climbing of cobblestone streets in the villages, seemed daunting.
There had been other days when I'd hit the wall and felt like I might not make it all the way to Santiago. But then, I'd tell myself, "You have to do this. You will do this that you came to do. Just put one foot in front of the other and WALK!"
After a while of calming myself down that morning, praying, reading my favorite scriptures that spoke of God being strong when we're feeling weak, I put on my backpack and my feet automatically started walking. It was like they knew that was their job: A Body in Motion Stays in Motion.
It was a gorgeous day with a cloudless blue sky and cool breeze. The Camino path out of Oia had breathtaking views of the rocky coastline. Soon, there was farmland next to the shoreline, and workers in a hay field with horses and cows grazing nearby. Throughout my Camino journey, the site of crops and animals had been a grounding comfort, reminding me of growing up on our farm and the rhythm of those days.
I followed the Camino yellow blazes and instructions my trip organizer, Mary had given, watching for the turn at the campground at Mougas. Fortunately, that bustling site of campers had a restaurant and water closets--which were sometimes a challenge to locate on the trail. I rested there after about two hours of walking, which became a pattern for when my body needed to stop and refuel.
I thought I was doing pretty well with following the map, not missing my Camino signs, and moving at a good pace to reach Ramallosa. But when I crossed the river leading into that village, it became confusing.
Throughout Portugal and Spain, many villages were having festivals. A street on the path had a detour sign because of the block-long slip-n-slide. I stopped to video the children, imagining how my grandsons would love to be part of that fun.
Stepping away from there, turning right to follow the Camino sign, I thought I still had a ways to go to my lodging. I kept walking the village streets, careful to hug the left side. The scariest thing on my trip had been the traffic. They drove on the right side of the road--like in the States, but the lanes were narrow and the cars flew around the curves. Often the streets had no shoulder and you were between walls of concrete. You had to be constantly attentive for the sound of an approaching car or groups of cyclists.
It was late in the afternoon, my water bottles were empty, and my stamina running out. I seemed to be making no head way. I sent up one of my many 'distress prayers' of "God, I need some help to find my way." I continued down that lane and came to a curve in the road where a man was painting his front gate. A woman was mowing the lawn in an ankle-length house dress--the first time I'd ever seen that.
I carried my paper, that had a section of map and picture of my lodging with the address, up to him.
"Excuse me, Sir. Could you tell me how close I am to this place?"
He took my paper and looked at it, spoke in Spanish with a few English words scattered in. Then, with paper in hand, he walked over to the woman. She turned off the mower and he explained to her what was going on, as she looked at the paper. She walked with him back to me, smiled, and spoke some English.
Then, a man pulled up in a little red car. He got out and they greeted him warmly, then she took my paper to him and they spoke rapidly in Spanish; all Spanish sounded like a fast staccato to me 🙂
They nodded in agreement and she motioned to me.
"Come with us" she instructed.
I got in the backseat and the woman rode shotgun, talking with the man, both laughing occasionally. She looked back at me and said, "We tease a lot."
I liked her easy manner and responded, "That's nice. It's good to laugh."
It felt great to be sitting down, riding instead of walking. Soon I saw the same streets I'd been down over the past hour when fast red cars were racing past me. Now, we were whipping down those roads quickly and it felt like we must surely be going in the wrong direction. The man and the woman kept talking and all I could do was trust they would get me to the right place.
Finally, the car slowed down and turned into the gate of a building that faced the street of the slip-n-slide, the same area that had a detour. He pulled up to the door and she turned to me.
"This is it," she said, smiling.
I looked at the building and felt she must be wrong.
"I don't think this is it," I said. "I passed by here earlier."
They both looked at me confused, this woman in the back seat who wasn't getting out.
The man took my paper and pointed to the picture, then to the building.
"See, it's the same," he said.
I think I was so tired, and numb, and dumbfounded, that I could have passed by my lodging and not recognized it. I felt like I was planted in that seat, unable to move.
"I'll go in with you," she said, smiling and opening her door.
I followed her to the registration desk. She spoke in Spanish to the clerk, he looked at the paper, and said, "Yes, this is your place."
She smiled at me and I felt so grateful, so relieved, and a bit foolish.
"Thanks you so much for getting me here," I said and we hugged.
She said something in Spanish, then reached out and gave me another hug, and then that stranger, that 'person in my path' that "Trail Angel," was on her way.
I found my suitcase, that had been carried by a transport service, sitting over to the side of the registration desk; another sign that I was at the right place. I carried it upstairs to my room and sunk onto the bed of my lodging that was a renovated manor house.
What a crazy, dizzying, end to my day. I looked back at my mis-steps, the confusion of coming into the village, my tiredness that impacted everything. I marveled at the answered prayer of finding someone to help me on that Saturday afternoon when few people were outside, and fewer still, right on the path.
Once again on my Camino journey, the truth of the "ah ha!" I had on the second day, when I got lost--came to me:
"Connie, you make a lot of mistakes on your Solo Journeys.
But you always end up at the Right Place."
Yes, with the help of the people in my path, I made it to my lodging that night-- long before dark--always my goal. If I did things perfectly, I wouldn't know the grace of help when you need it, or the adventure of riding in a red car in Ramallosa.
May you know Grace Today on Your Journey,
Connie
No comments:
Post a Comment