Day 13, June 20th, 2023
Holy moly, I was freezing last night! That stupid cotton mummy sleeping bag - it doesn't keep me warm at all! Besides it is incredibly tight and stinks of chemicals! I should have known what a mummy sleeping bag meant. My legs felt as if they were tied together, even though I kick so much in my sleep. In the end I just laid the sleeping bag over me, so I had practically a double layer of blanket. But since it is so narrow, one side of me always stuck out and was cold.
I get up when it is already getting light and one of the hundred roosters crows. The cleaning lady is carrying a radio around her neck, and when I get down to the hall, Edward Simoni's panpipe tearjerker "The Lonely Shepherd" is playing at full volume. Julia is sitting on a couch, which unfortunately is right in front of the elevator, when the eccentric cleaning lady shoos her away because she has to get in the elevator with all her containers. At that moment, "Business Reel," a rather irritating, albeit great piece of music with Scottish pipes, starts playing on her radio. When the she disappears into the elevator and goes up, it becomes wonderfully quiet. But as soon as she approaches the lower floor, the frantic bagpipes get louder again and soon echo throughout the entire corridor, and you can't hear yourself think. The whole scenario has a certain comical aspect, and Justin, a young Australian who walks a lot with Roly, likes the Scottish song so much after all this, that he wants to remember the title and asks me to write it down.
There is a rumble of thunder close to me, and pitch-black clouds line the sky. These bloody Thunderstorms! I am getting scared because there is nothing here except fields and a few trees, so not a very promising situation. A tractor is parked at the edge of a field, and I seriously consider taking shelter there if the door isn't locked. But I don't dare to check if it is open and walk past, afraid that an alarm will go off as soon as I touch the handle. Instead I pray to God that he will have mercy and send the storm away. Well, He seems to have heard me as suddenly in the distance, the sun is illuminating the hills. I am so relieved that it is gone for now but I am also afraid that it will return. I really want to sleep in my tent again! But as long as the weather forecast only predicts lightning and thunder, I can't and won't go camping.
The path leads through many small villages, which I imagine are inhabited only by swallows and sparrows. I get lost once because I am writing a Facebook post while walking and miss the yellow arrow. As a result, I miss the only village with a café, where I would have liked to stop. The landscape is surrounded by hills, mostly covered in fields of corn and wheat. The next few small towns I pass through are idyllic, but there is no supermarket, no café, just a vending machine. These machines are often there in such small villages where there is nothing else. They contain drinks, biscuits, crisps, chocolate, and I think even specially preserved rolls. Unfortunately I don't have any change.
And then it is a very long walk along a main road until I reach Belorado. Just past the town entrance, I spot a hostel with a nice garden café and because I am hungry, I order a pizza with salami and pepperoni, a beer and a coke.
It is cosy - I am sitting under a tree that gives me shade, and there aren't any cars driving by. I stay here for quite a while and use the time to cut open the hem of my mummy sleeping bag so that it can more or less be used as a blanket. I am still annoyed that I bought it.
Angela comes down the path, the German woman from England from last night, and joins me. She orders a pilgrim's meal, and I am a little envious because it looks so deliciously fresh as she eats her crisp salad. Next time I want a pilgrim's meal too!
The hostel I was heading for today is just outside the village of Tosantos, but according to the pilgrim app, it sounds quite good and even has a bar. I am almost there when I hear soft guitar music coming from a garden to my left. Justin, Roly's Australian friend, is sitting on a bench in the garden in front of a house, playing to himself. We exchange a casual greeting, and I call out to him that I am going to the hostel a little further along the path. He immediately waves me off, saying that he was going there too, but it is closed today, and this is the only hostel open in town. Really? It doesn't look particularly inviting. I approach the house hesitantly but then think that it is only for one night and I don't really have any other choice, so I go inside.
In a small old room furnished with old furniture, two old men are sitting around an old table on an old couch. I desperately want to run out, but that would be too embarrassing. Where would I even go? One of the men speaks English, the other remains silent. The English-speaking man explains that the hostel is free, but donations are welcome, or I can help prepare supper. And after supper, we all go to church together.
I say I have already eaten and hand the English-speaking man ten euros. He hesitates to take my money but eventually takes it. 10 Euros - far too much, I think a moment later, because there is no internet, no bed sheets, no pillows, no blankets. Just a rubber mattress on the floor. Oh well, I think, tomorrow morning this nightmare will be over.
I am going to take a shower and doctor my feet. Despite of a lighter rucksack and wearing sandals, they still hurt terribly at the end of the day. I now think no matter what I wear, my feet will always hurt after such a long walk.
One of my roommates is a Frenchman whose English I can barely understand. His name is Louis. Louis talks nonstop, but it is difficult to follow him and keep up a conversation. I would like to go down to the garden, but somehow he won't let me. Finally I manage to break free, and three minutes later he is downstairs too.
The two men and a cat are sitting in front of the door. Justin is still quietly playing the guitar, an American woman named Gina and her daughter Emma are sitting at a table under a tree, and the Frenchman Louis is now sitting somewhat forlornly on a wall. Actually it is a lovely atmosphere. At one point, Louis reaches over the fence and picks a handful of cherries from a tree in the neighbouring garden, which he shares with us. The two men smile and seem somehow blissful.
Later I am lying on my mattress upstairs, relaxing, when I hear the others starting to cook downstairs in the kitchen. But I don't feel like helping, I am just too exhausted, so I stay put. Even though I would really like something proper to eat, but I think if I don't help, I can't eat. The soles of my feet hurt so incredibly much, I can barely put any weight on them. One of the men brings me ointment, pills and a screw-top jar that I am supposed to roll my feet over, like a massage. He is really very caring, and now I feel ashamed of my prejudice. Finally he asks me again if I wouldn't like to come down and eat something. But now I don't dare, because I didn't help with the preparations, and I decline. Instead I chew on a piece of bread that I have left over.
Assuming my housemates have finished with their meal, I go downstairs as I don't want to isolate myself completely. Everyone is still sitting at the table in the kitchen, including the two men. There is one empty seat with an unused plate, which I assume was meant for me. I suddenly feel terrible, and it dawns on me what is really going on. The two men, whose names are José Louis and Txema and who are probably brothers, see us pilgrims as their family because they have nobody else besides their cat. They have made it their mission to take in passing pilgrims every day, without any thought of profit, but purely out of love and hospitality. I can't shake the image of them sitting in front of the house while the rest of us were in the garden. Like two shepherds watching over their flock, happy that we are there.
How glad I am to be sitting at the table now. It feels like I am part of this temporary family now. There is still food left, and Txema offers me some again. After a slight hesitation, I finally give in and say that I would at least like to try it, since it looks so delicious. Thereupon he gives me a whole ladleful of his paella. To be honest, I was secretly hoping for that, because I am really hungry by now.
A truly special experience
And then they say, we are now going to church. Where on earth is this church, I wonder, and do I really have to move? I can barely put one foot in front of the other! Txema asks us to follow him and leads us up the stairs, past our dormitory and into the attic. This is absolutely crazy! In the wall, there is a window framed in stained glass, and we are supposed to climb through it. I am speechless, how amazing this is! José Louis and Txema have converted the attic into a kind of chapel, complete with shrine and prayer books, fragrant flowers, candles, crosses and everything else that goes with it. A bench runs along the wall, long enough for all of us. José-Louis sits on a chair at an angle to us while Txema prepares for the service.
It is completely quiet. No one dares to speak, or perhaps everyone is simply overwhelmed and emotional, because none of us expected this. Finally José-Louis begins to sing softly, and Txema hands out homemade songbooks. Soon we are all joining in, singing the same line four times in a row.
»Bless the Lord, my soul, and bless God’s holy name. Bless the Lord, my soul, who leads me into life.«
Then we each receive a sheet of paper with a text in our respective language, which we are to read aloud one after the other. I will read the following text:
»Die Bruderliebe soll bleiben. Vergesst die Gastfreundschaft nicht: Denn durch sie haben einige, ohne es zu ahnen, Engel beherbergt. Denkt an die Gefangenen, als wäret ihr mitgefangen: denkt an die Misshandelten, denn auch ihr lebt noch in eurem irdischen Leib.« Hebräer 13, 1-3
(»Let brotherly love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. Remember those who are in prison, as though in prison with them, and those who are mistreated, since you also are in the body.«) Hebrews 13, 1-3
Now I am absolutely certain that Txema and José-Louis are indeed brothers!
After we have all read our part, we pause for a while and then pray together.
Finally, José-Louis distributes letters from former pilgrims describing their suffering. Each of us receives an individual letter to read aloud, again in our respective languages. Louis begins by reading his letter. None of us understands French, but we can tell from Louis' frequent pauses and swallows that what he reads deeply affects him.
Young Justin is next and reads a letter from a woman who lost her child and subsequently decided to walk the Camino de Santiago. As Justin reads her lament, Gina, who is sitting to my left, begins to cry. This is surely the worst thing that can happen to a mother, and the pain of loss for Gina, with her daughter Emma sitting beside her, is certainly understandable.
The letter I am reading is from someone who has experienced a great deal of violence in their life. A terrible story of course, but it doesn't affect me as much because I have no connection to such an experience, for which I am extremely grateful. Instead the letters that Gina and Emma read aloud deeply move me. One is from a woman with cancer, and Gina can only read it through constant sobbing. After Emma reads a similar letter, we all end up sobbing.
There is so much suffering in the air now and I wonder, if so much energy is released in this room every single day, where does it all go? I think I am one of the few who do not walk the Camino de Santiago because something terrible has happened to them or with the intention of processing something. For me the way is still primarily about the hiking and the adventure that comes with it. And now here I am, tears streaming down my face - that wasn't the plan! And I thought the ten-euro donation was too much at first …
Distance: 27,8 km / Steps: 42097