It’s funny how you get used to the dark on the Camino. The sun actually doesn’t go down until 10pm when it’s lights off at the albergue. Then people’s headlamps go on in a futile attempt to read a few pages before nodding off. You will likely wake a few times during the night by someone’s snore or shuffle.
Then the first plastic bag begins to shuffle around 4am. A headlamp searches among the sleeping pilgrims. By 4:30, folks begin to leave. We pack in the dark, almost by memory now: roll up sleeping bag, toiletries, towels. We bandage our feet in the dark. We eat our breakfast in the dark. We walk in the dark.
Given the tremendous amount of people, we woke up even earlier today and left ten before six. Pitch black except for our little headlamps illuminating a few feet ahead of us, the dark obscuring the steepness of the initial climb. Even the puppet shadows were fleeting, as were the white lights on passing trees and rocks. All we could see were other little lights dancing in the dark.
Walking alone in the dark, one cannot help but to think of Beauty in the forest or Little Red Riding Hood (not the Disney versions). How did they not freak out? The sounds of wakening birds punctured the silence, and you wonder…just for a moment: are there wild animals? A wolf? (B keeps wishing a Brontosaurus will rear its friendly head among the hills and give us a ride. No luck so far).
But it’s quiet. Just you and the dark, and you can walk it in trepidation, worried about what’s coming next or tripping over an unsuspecting rock. Or you can forge on, putting faith over fear that you and that tiny light will guide you through. Soon the dark becomes a source of comfort, protecting you in a nest of trees and sleeping animals.
We had planned a shorter day today to slow it down and break a bit from the crowd. Shortly before arriving in Ligronde, B caught up with Fabrizio and Nacho who had stayed 8km ahead with Johann and Sebastian the previous night. It was good to have the chance to say a proper farewell, as Fabrizio was moving up several stages to make it to Santiago in time and Nacho was moving to the next town.
Today is one of those sad days where we had to say farewell to so many wonderful friends (though we are talking about a reunion in the Canary Islands with the little family, right???) B was then joined by Juan, then Kat and Z, and we breakfasted on fantastic tortilla bocadillas at the only bar in town while waiting for our brother Alex. Alex and Juan shared one last beer before Juan took off so he has time to pick up his son from tennis camp. Alex joined us at the quaint, clean albergue. With only twenty spaces, this was a far cry from the influx of pilgrims at the larger municipal albergues. We met up with Sara, a spirited professor of education from California, and her friend Martha, both of whom are also enjoying the quiet.
There are large tour groups that take people from town to town, allowing for a few kilometers of walking a day. Several companies offer backpack delivery for 3€. Families enjoy a few days of the Camino experience, as do school and camp groups. People drive cars to stop for their pilgrim stamps and drive away.
The Camino has a distinctly different feel to it now. Sean, a pastor, and his wife Melody, a lovely young couple from California, noted that these days seem like a reintroduction to society for us. From quiet reflection to almost frenetic commercialization, we are slowly being plopped back into our daily, normal lives.
Perhaps the test will be how to face the “real world” when we return. Will we go right back to the rat race? Can’t handle it and escape into a hermit’s life? Or bring the Camino with us in daily life, maintaining a zenlike approach while watching the rest of the world whirls by in a hurried frenzy for…something?
Our dinner, at the same bar, was an amazing meal of salad, cod and rice, ribs, and homemade custard.
As we were getting ready for bed, the sounds of a guitar playing and young voices singing “We Are the World” flowed through the albergue. It was the group of young German pilgrims on a confirmation trip. Sara sat with them, singing as they ran through “Hotel California.” A local farmer came up the path with his pitchfork, smiling and clapping to their rendition of “I’m Leaving on a Jet Plane.”
With the strum of a guitar and earnest voices, on a day we had to bid adieu to some dear friends until next time, the meaning of the Camino becomes quite clear. Whether a tourist by car or pilgrim by foot, for religious, spiritual, or tourist reasons, the Camino, at least for first timers, is learning to trust a lot of the unknown. Who knows what lies ahead, be that every day or every kilometer.
Nevertheless, even though some of us start in the dark and others wait until the assurance of daylight, we are all heading to the same place.
“So kiss me and smile for me,
Tell me that you’ll wait for me…
‘Cuz I’m leaving on a jet plane,
I don’t know when I’ll be back again…”