Disclaimer: if you thought the hotel-on-fire was dramatic, wait ‘till you’ve reached the end of this one.
The albergue in Cacabelos had a coffee machine that could be used for free, so the first thing we did in the morning was set coffee. Or like, try to set coffee, because it quickly developed into a bit of a scuffle with the coffee machine. We poured the water in what we thought was the right container, but the water then came out of something it wasn’t supposed to come out of. Given up on the water container but not the coffee, we eventually started pouring the boiling water down the coffee filter and made do like that. The result was extremely strong coffee. I also found an inexplicable spoon in my backpack that morning. When I tried to put my backpack on, I found something digging into my back a bit, and then managed to pull out a spoon (that looked like the ones we have back at home) out between my backpack and the support system. So, mom, dad, if you’ve got spoons missing (again), I’m bringing one back. Sorry for that.*
*Please don’t ask me how I never noticed that I had a spoon sticking out of my backpack. I’m guessing I just didn’t feel it until it shifted a bit.
Fueled by an ungodly amount of caffeine before seven in the morning, and nothing bothering my back anymore, my first kilometres didn’t take a lot of effort. It was only a few kilometres in, when I reached Villafranca, that my pace drastically slowed down. The reason for this was that we found a kitten. As happened a lot in the mornings, Jaco and I had set off at different times but ended up stopping at the same place for breakfast, so we were hiking together when we found it, and the decision was quickly made to help it. Spain has a lot of stray cats. One of the reasons why I shouldn’t (or maybe should?) live in Spain, is that I would probably end up adopting every stray cat I would find. This kitten, however, caught our attention because it had a part of a glass bottle stuck around its neck. We spent the next hour or so trying to lure it closer so we could help it, but all our efforts were in vain. It would get close enough to eat, and once or twice even close enough to touch, but whenever we tried to catch it, it would run before we’d manage to hold on to it. Eventually, we had to give up our rescue mission and decided to send messages to nearby veterinarians and animal shelters instead to inform them of the kitten. Because of this though, our original plan to take a detour up the hills got scratched, because there wouldn’t be enough time to complete it. Instead, we stuck to the main camino route. At some point I stopped to slap a plaster on my leg because it was hurting again, and I slowed down my pace as I continued. An annoying side effect of the plasters is that my muscles start spasming, and I found that walking a bit slower usually helped against it. A few kilometres before reaching the town where I planned to stay, the light drizzle that had accompanied me on and off throughout the day decided to turn into a full-on rain shower.
This was also the moment where I realised that my rain jacket was, in fact, not a rain jacket. It didn’t take long before I was pretty much drenched. The weather and the afternoon hour made it that the road was pretty empty, and so I started singing to myself in an effort to keep my spirits high. It started off with happy songs and quickly turned into a full compilation of Noah Kahan’s work, which… Well, if anything, it’s great music for fall weather. One kilometre before I reached the albergue I had my sights on, I encountered another one. It was surrounded by warm and optimistic signs with various messages, and after a quick check on Google to see if anyone mentioned bed bugs in the reviews (I learned my lesson in Frogville), I decided to head inside and ask if they had empty beds.
They did, and it quickly turned out that stopping had been the right choice. The albergue was owned by a Danish couple and the atmosphere was warm and cosy. There were scented candles and plushy blankets, and soft music playing through the house. There was a communal vegetarian dinner in the evening and a meditation afterwards. For the past weeks, I had been thinking about taking the time to meditate a few times, but I had never actually done it. So when given the chance, I eagerly joined the meditation. It was one of these things where everything just fits. I stumbled across this place, and it was everything I needed in that exact moment. Afterwards, we were invited to stand up in a circle and hug the person next to you. And then the person next to them. It went on like that, until everyone had hugged everyone, and each of us was smiling a little wider.
During the meditation, someone said, “You have the responsibility in your own life, because you make the choices. Not making a choice, letting someone else choose, is still your choice.”
Up until then, I had been thinking a lot about the concept of responsibility. It scares me a bit – no, a lot, actually. I’m the kind of person who wants to do everything alone. Even as a kid, I was determined to do everything alone. And yet, one of the absolute scariest things when I look at the future is the prospect of complete responsibility over my own life. These words, in that moment, gave me a lot of clarity. I had already made a few choices about my future, but hearing those words in a context of so much peace and quiet, made me feel them deeply – in that kind of way where you know you’re reacting instinctively instead of with your thoughts. So if anyone needs to hear them too: I invite you to breathe out deeply, sit up and open your shoulders. Breathe in through your stomach, and breathe out – loudly – through your mouth. See it a bit as a flow of energy. Everytime you breathe in, you let the good things in, and when you breathe out you let the stale energy, the one that has been used up, out of your body. And when you’re ready to hear them: you have the responsibility in your own life, because you make the choices. (Optional after this is to go hug as many people as you can.)
camino quotes
When I woke up in the morning, most of my clothes from the day before were still wet. My bra and pants were dry enough so they went on again, but my shirt was still damp and got stuffed in a plastic bag instead. Outside, the rain had somehow gotten worse overnight. Now, there’s this thing about Galicia. Unlike most of Spain, it’s a very green region. This means it’s a very beautiful and lush environment. It’s also a very wet environment. There’s a reason why it’s so green, you know. I wasn’t technically in Galicia yet, I was still a few kilometres out, but the weather was sure living up to the standards. After two kilometres, I was so drenched that I could feel the raindrops on my skin, under all my layers. I could just feel the raindrops trail past my ribcage, and if there’s anything guaranteed to kill your mood, it’s that. Two more kilometres, and I was beyond miserable. I stopped at a hotel/restaurant for breakfast, and bought one of those theme park ponchos. My wet clothes were taken off and added to the plastic bag. I only had two shirts – both of them now wet, but I had been smart enough to not put on my fleece jacket yet, and so I changed into a dry bra and put the sweater on over it. The poncho didn’t do a lot against the rain and wind, but at least it was better than before. I decided to just not stop at all and push through until I reached Fonfria, sixteen kilometres further on the road, because as soon as I’d stop I would realise how cold and wet I was. Alas, that plan would have worked if it wasn’t for the fact that I needed food.
To cross into Galicia, you have to cross the Cantabrian mountains. In other words: it goes up a lot. At some point I was so done with basically everything that I started listening to one song on repeat: S.O.S. d’un terrien en détresse. The reason why I listened to it was the first few lines that said, “pourquoi je vis, pourquoi je meurs?”*
*Why am I alive, why do I die? Nothing like a good existential question posed in dramatic French to get you through going up a mountain in the rain and wind while you wear clothes that decidedly are not the right attire.
By the time I made it to the top at O Cebreiro, I was hungry enough to give in and stop despite my initial plan. I quickly realised that my poncho had kept out maybe 20% of the rain and the other 80% was in my clothes and neck bag. My credencial, for example, was pretty much soaked, and so was my fleece jacket. Inside the cafe it was warm enough though, so I at least had that comfort.
When I studied in Sweden, our teacher liked using this one particular phrase. It went, det finns inte daligt väder, bara daliga kläder. Translation? There’s no bad weather, only bad clothes. And I was definitely wearing the wrong clothes. And so my next quest began: find clothes that were somewhat right for this weather, because there was no way I could continue in my current state. I was cold and soaked, and it was still another ten kilometres at least to my destination. I could have stayed in O Cebreiro, maybe, but the rain wasn’t going to let up soon, and I would still have the same problem the day after. Lucky for me, Jaco showed up not much later and lend me her fleece jacket. Mine was added to the ever-growing pile of wet clothes in my bag. The warmth settled me a bit, and I started looking for a better poncho than the one I was currently using. I found it in one of the gift shops, and it cost me way too much (like, we’re not going to talk about how much I paid for it), but at least I had a poncho that would keep out more than 20% of the rain. My standards weren’t that high anymore. Armed with a way-too-expensive poncho and Jaco’s fleece, I set out again. Jaco and I stuck together for the rest of the walk, switching between walking next to each other and walking on our own while we listened to music. After O Cebreiro, the steady ascent made way for a more uneven kind of going up. The road would switch between being remotely flat and going up in short but steep bursts. Eventually, we made it to the actual top, which was completely covered in fog. If you want to know what the weather was like, Melissa informed us later that evening that when she had been at the top the day before, the wind had picked up a chair and slammed it into a window so hard that the glass had exploded. Lady Luck was on our side though, because after we had left O Cebreiro the weather had calmed down quite a lot. What’s more, Lady Luck stayed firmly on my side for the remainder of the evening, because the albergue still had space and was pretty much amazing. The first thing we did when we arrived was put all of our wet clothes (which in my case was every piece of clothing I owned except for my socks and my pyjamas) in the laundry and dryer. While we waited we treated ourselves to a hot chocolate and a piece of cake. And then my night got even better, because when we went to sit down in the common room, I suddenly overheard the people next to me say the magic words, the oilers. Sure enough, a little eavesdropping made it clear that they were indeed talking about the Edmonton Oilers and thus, the almighty NHL (also known as my latest obsession). Ecstatic to talk about hockey, I quickly joined in on their conversation. Or bulldozed into their conversation. Depends on how you look at it. Point is, I got away from that with Canadian friends and an invitation to go watch an Oilers game whenever I have the time to fly to Canada. And as the cherry on top to that amazing night, I treated myself to a massage.
In retrospect, that was really one of the best nights I had had so far on the camino, and it stood in stark contrast with the one twenty-four hours later. (Spoiler alert: it was spent in the hospital.) The morning, as we were used to at that point, started in the rain. Somehow, the weather had once again gotten worse overnight. The darkness, rain and wind combined made for a rather interesting experience as we walked, and I was happy to stick with Jaco and Isa, another girl from the Netherlands. During most of those first few kilometres, I felt like a cow. You know, when a herd will huddle up against the wind? It was coming for us head-on, and so we spent most of our walk with our heads low against the gusts of winds that would blow icy rain in our faces. By the time we reached a breakfast place, we had definitely earned a piece of cake. After breakfast, the rain and wind let up a bit, enough for us to take off a layer from underneath the rain jackets. Even the sun made some short appearances!
Some time later, we found our next break (yes, I am further proving the narrative that the camino is all about the breaks). It was a donativo albergue, and one of the most special places I have encountered on the way. There was an inner courtyard filled with stones covered in paint and messages, and a covered part with couches and a little breakfast / snack bar that depended entirely on donations. Next to the donation box, they had a sign explaining what their donations would be used for. In this case? A sustainable laundry machine. Next to the breakfast bar, they had a little nature-based pharmacy, with beeswax ointments and other stuff. I bought a little jar with calendula ointment for my leg. We were offered a coffee, and with coffee in hand I started exploring the place a bit more. There were signs leading to another garden, some exclaiming about a labyrinth, and I decided to follow those. Sure enough, a little later I found a sign with a long explanation about how to use this labyrinth. The method was simple: when you enter, you release what you want to leave behind. While you walk, you reflect on this. And when you return, you return with an open heart.
It was clear what I wanted to let go of; the reason behind my camino. I wanted to let go of my childhood pain, but also of the excuses and the safety net this offered. Growing up with an ill parent kind of goes like this: it’s shit, and it’s painful and sometimes people lower their expectations because ‘things are a bit difficult, you know?’ And then you grow up, and you start lowering your own expectations. And then those lowered expectations become something else entirely. They become a reason to not try, an excuse, a getaway car. Stuff gets hard? I can always fall back on my mum and how much her being sick hurt me as a kid. For a really long time in my life, this was my default setting, and I had realised that letting go of the pain also meant letting go of the excuses that the pain offered. When I reached the threshold of the labyrinth, I made a clear list of what I wanted to let go of, and then I readied myself to take that first step and… stood there for at least five minutes before I actually did take a step. It wasn’t an “I don’t want to”, but a full shutdown of the system. I physically couldn’t take the first step. So I started doing breathing exercises until I had calmed down enough, and then tried again. This time it did work, and slowly I started walking the labyrinth. It was designed to be followed, so I didn’t have to look for the right way. All I had to do was follow the crystals that were the outline for the labyrinth.
There were a lot of realisations during this walk. One of the most profound ones was realising that I didn’t know who I was if I let go of the part of me that took care of my mum, because for most of my conscious life, this had been the most important part of me in my own eyes. I was proud to take care of my mum. Who would I be if I let go of that? I had been that person once, because I had been someone before my mum became sick, but I didn’t remember that person. But then I also realised that it hardly mattered, did it? I didn’t have to have it all figured out before I could live it. Maybe, even, the answer lied in actually living it. So when I returned from the labyrinth, I was several tears lighter and filled with a new sense of knowledge and determination.
more camino quotes
Afterwards, I told Jaco and Isa to go on without me and that I would catch up with them. I hung around the place a bit longer, and then called my mum. There’s a very important part in this healing process and it is having conversations with my mum about everything that I uncovered about myself, and this case was not different. So I called my mum and I told her that I had figured it out, that I had found the solution to how to let go of my control and pain, and that the answer lay in not having it figured out. I think my exact words were something like, “I can just live like your daughter and see what that’s like. I don’t have to know what it’s like before I experience it.”
By this time, the sun had come out and I was happily enjoying the feeling of sun rays on my face. I stayed on the phone with my mum a little longer, and then continued on listening to music.
On the stage between Fonfria and Barbadelo I would pass through one of the most well-known cities of the camino: Sarria. It’s not famous for any churches or architecture, but because this is where the most pilgrims start every year. To get your official document that you walked a camino, you have to have walked at least a hundred kilometres. Sarria is about one hundred and ten kilometres away, and therefore it’s also a very appealing starting point if you want to walk the last hundred kilometres. Because of this, the last few days starting from Sarria are known to be busier, and we were warned beforehand to start booking accommodation from there on out. I had booked an albergue five kilometres out of Sarria, so I wouldn’t have to stay in the city itself and encounter its crowds. As a result, the day would be around 30 kilometres. My watch had died on me a few kilometres in already (I forgot to charge it, something that had happened more than once yet had taught me absolutely nothing). It warmed up even more, and I got rid of the rain poncho and sweater, so I could hike in just my T-shirt instead. Despite the thirty kilometres, I was feeling really well. The sun had given me new energy and I was in the zone. About seven hundred metres before I reached my albergue, I walked past another one and saw someone walk out that I knew. I initially only raised my hand to wave at her, but then took out my earbuds and turned around to have a little chat.
The next part I can’t really explain from memory all that well, because there was a lot of adrenaline and even more panic involved, but it basically went something like this: I turned around to go talk to Simone and the next thing I knew, something really heavy hit my head. I didn’t even hear the branch cracking, or at least I don’t remember whether or not I heard it. I also don’t remember how I realised that it was a branch that had hit me. What I do remember – and this is pretty funny and probably overly dramatic when you hear it like this, but I assure you that in that moment the emotions were extremely real – was thinking that I was going to die.* Now you might think, haha Merel, oh my god, but let me explain. First off, as someone who is outside a lot, I have gotten more than one weather warning on my phone to stay away from forests during bad weather. Second, I have also read more than one article in the newspaper about someone dying because of a branch hitting their head*. And third, the branch was big.
*I kid you not, my head started hurting just from writing about this.
So, as a result, I was panicking for dear life, and I couldn’t breathe anymore. Looking back, this was clearly from the panic, but at that time it only made me feel more panicked because I was still not sure if I was going to stay conscious or not. And also, my head hurt. Like, a lot. The bar of the albergue was out of sight, but a few people had heard a scuffle and saw Simone run out to someone, so they quickly joined to make sure I was okay. There was some initial confusion because they thought I had tripped over the branch on the ground and was just shook-up a little. Me not being able to actually breathe also meant that I was struggling to talk, and it took a while before I could explain that the branch had not been on the ground before I had walked there, but rather had fallen down right when I passed by. Someone picked up the branch, whistled and said, “Shit, girl, that’s heavy.”
Someone got my backpack off, and someone else went to look for my earbuds – I suddenly remembered they had been in my hand when I walked up to Simone but now no longer where, another person picked my phone up from the ground. They got me settled in a chair and found a bag of ice cubes to keep against my head, and got me a drink. Slowly, I calmed down enough to do a mental check-up of my own body. It felt quite okay. A bit shaky, sure, but I hadn’t lost consciousness and I remembered all basic facts about myself and my surroundings. Since my own albergue was only a ten minute walk away, I decided to get my backpack back on and walk on. Two minutes in, I realised that there was such a thing as adrenaline, and that it was quickly leaving my body. Shakily, I called my parents and explained the situation. My mum – bless her – stayed calm and collected during it all, something I really needed in that moment. I was panicking enough for the both of us anyway. She and my dad stayed on the phone with me until I reached my albergue, and told me to let them know when I was on my way to the hospital. Because by then I had firmly decided that I did need a hospital. Since the loss of the adrenaline, the headache had multiplied by ten, my neck was feeling achy and moving in general made me want to cry. By the time I made it to the albergue, I was shaking and fighting against the tears.
Jaco was staying in the same albergue as me, and called a taxi to get me to the medical centre, and then offered to keep me company. I gladly accepted this, because I was feeling miserable, panicked, and just all-around not okay. I was also really glad to be able to speak Dutch to someone, because in times of panic not having to think in another language is a blessing sometimes. (This is also a shout-out to all the Dutch-speaking people who accompanied me on hospital trips abroad. I love you all.)
A little later, the taxi driver showed up and brought us to the medical centre in Sarria. When we arrived, he told us to take all the time we needed, and that he would pause the timer. (Juan the taxi driver deserves all the good things in the world.) Inside, I was examined by a doctor and nurse who couldn’t speak English. Jaco translated the conversations with the help of google translate, while I was trying my best not to curl up in a little ball and cry. At this point my neck was really hurting, and I was constantly supporting it with one hand. I was diagnosed with a concussion (shocker), and given instructions on what to look for in terms of symptoms. The doctor told me that I could go to the hospital in Lugo if I wanted to to get x-rays of my skull, but it wasn’t really necessary. He retracted this statement two minutes later when I tried to get up from the examination table and wobbled around a bit. I wasn’t necessarily dizzy, but I was feeling unstable as hell. The doctor quickly adapted his words, and told me to get my ass to Lugo so they could check my skull and neck for fractures, so back to Juan we went. He drove us all the way there, thirty minutes, and then went inside into the hospital with us to get me checked in. A few hours later I had the official confirmation that I didn’t have any cracks in my skull, but I did have bruising in my neck – which was why it was feeling so uncomfortable to move my head. We made it back to Juan, who had waited for us so we wouldn’t have to call for a taxi to come get us from Sarria. At this point I had fully committed to having a giant taxi bill at the end of the night, but then Juan only started his timer again right before we entered Sarria. I feel it’s absolutely necessary to stress here how thankful I am for Juan. I was feeling miserable, and in pain, and fucking tired, and there was this man I didn’t know who was driving me halfway across the region for less than half of his usual fare. From the bottom of my heart, thank you Juan.
Back at the albergue, the owner made us bocadillos so we could have a midnight dinner, and then we snuck into the dorm as silently as possible. I turned all my alarms off for the next morning, and when I eventually woke up due to people moving around, I stayed in bed until it felt like my head wasn’t ready to explode at the barest hint of a touch. By this time, everyone had vacated the room. I slowly packed my bag and changed into my clothes – hissing every time I had to pull a shirt over my head. I could have asked if I could stay another night, probably, and take some time to rest and recover, but after thinking about it for a bit, I decided I preferred walking. I had gotten so used to the routine of it, that not walking felt unnatural. I did walk slowly though, and texted ahead to a hostel fifteen kilometres away to ask if I could reserve a bed for the time being.
The walking itself was fine. My bag didn’t hurt my neck, and my head hurt no matter what, whether I walked around or not. The only problem I experienced was that I was now scared shitless of trees. Which was a shame, really, because the last stretch before Sarria is filled with beautiful, ancient forests that look like they come straight out of a fairytale. Yet all I could see were the potential branches hitting me in the head.
“Don’t worry about it,” people told me. “The chances of it happening twice are so low!”
Ha. Haha. You know how low the chances of it happening once are? Now that I knew that branches could just break off without any lead-up to it, and that they could actually hit you right on the head, any and all trust I had in statistics was gone. Yes, the chances are low, but also it happened once which has proven that it can happen again. So I walked with a part of me constantly aware of the trees around me, the branches that looked like potential danger hazards, and an ear trained for ominous creaking. It annoyed the fuck out of me, because I love trees. I didn’t want to be afraid of them, I didn’t want to look at them and evaluate their danger. I wanted to sit at their trunks and feel safe and guarded. So instead of listening to music or audiobooks, I spent most of my walk trying to regulate my breathing and work through the panic I felt. I would let it come up, and let it pass, and remind myself that it was okay to feel my emotions. I arrived at kilometre fifteen somewhere around lunch, and eventually decided to let my reservation go and keep walking for a few more. I felt good, and walking still felt like the more natural course than stopping.
Once I arrived in Gonzar, I got checked in the municipal albergue* and then beelined for my bed with an ice pack in hand. This was the first evening in quite a while where I didn’t know anyone in my albergue. There were a few familiar faces milling about – the Belgian school was staying in another albergue in the town, and earlier in the afternoon I had seen two women I had met a few times on the trail. When time came for dinner though, I didn’t have any plans with anyone so I entered the restaurant on my own. Another woman who was on her own invited me to join her table – she was from Seattle and we had a brief discussion about whether or not the Kraken or the Canadiens were the better team** – and a few minutes later a guy from France I had talked to while I was having a coffee joined our table as well. We had dinner with the three of us, and toasted to me having walked forty days. We were all staying in the municipal albergue, but I didn’t see either of them back after that evening. It’s funny how the camino goes sometimes. You’ll meet some almost every day, seeing them pop every once in a while, and some people you see once and then never again.
*People say a lot of things about Sarria, the overwhelming amount of people on the camino, and the need to book accomodation. I had heard from a few people that were a few days ahead of us that they indeed had to start booking, but something (probably the shitty weather) had been in our favour because it really wasn’t that bad. When I arrived in the municipal albergue – you can’t book those ahead, they work with a first-come-first-served system, there were three beds out of twenty occupied. It was only around six in the evening that all beds were full.
**While I am writing this the Canadiens got absolutely trounced by the Kraken last night and lost 2-8, so she might have had a point when she was stating her case.
The night ended with the three of us walking back towards the albergue and getting sidetracked because we saw a bunch of cute kittens. I wish I could add some pictures of them here, but alas, I didn’t take any. What I can offer though, is a picture of this divine coffee cake we had for dessert.
