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I was miserable when I was in Astorga. I tried to sleep the whole time, but my foot pain would not let me. Moreover, when I did sleep, I had very disturbing dreams. I also had been unable to withdraw cash from any ATMs, despite my having used numerous supposedly authorized Wells Fargo-Visa locations.
But then this day was a turn-around day! I started walking again. I walked about nine miles, and, though I again was unable to walk by nightfall, I, in the meantime, had become more hopeful.
Mid-morning, the bus driver dropped me off on the outskirts of Villafranco del Bierzo. I did not know where I was. It was the first time I had been dropped off by a bus where I did not know my way too well. Usually in the center of every town there would be a main cathedral that I could see from the bus, but this time I had seen no cathedral.
Eventually, I picked up the Camino trail and began following two peregrinos. It was unusual for me to stay in a pack of people, because of my slow pace, but the boy in front of me had seemed to be limping himself. At one point, I even passed him and began following the other man who was a quarter-mile ahead of me. I followed the man for a couple of miles, then, when I had nearly caught up to him and he had stopped to cross the highway, I hollered out an "Hola." He waited for me, and we walked on together.
Henri was a French anesthesiologist. Meeting him at that particular time and spot was quite reassuring to me and was the beginning of what I call The First Good Day. After having been so miserable and in such pain throughout the middle portion of the trip, meeting a French pain specialist then and there was remarkable and renewed my faith in God and in the Camino itself.
Furthermore, on the Camino you do not chit-chat. Sure, there is the quick "Hola," "Buen Camino," and "Buen Viaje" in passing, but, when you hold a real conversation, one of the first questions that is always asked is "Why are you walking the Camino?" which immediately takes you to the heart of people's matters. It was no different with Henri. I, of course, spoke no French, but his English was pretty good.
He was a married cancer survivor who very much wanted to go to Africa where his daughter practiced medicine. We talked and talked mostly about faith in God and other spiritual matters. The time passed quickly and a few hours later I realized that I hardly had been aware of the pain in my foot.
I stopped for the day at an albergue in Portela de Valcarce. Henri had his meal there but then walked on. When we parted ways, I prayed aloud for him, asking God to give him clarity for his future decisions and to abundantly bless his way and marriage.
Adding more joy to the day: the albergue was very clean, with a toilet, sink, and shower in a room that I got all to myself. After spending nights with so many in a room and showering and eliminating in stalls with men and women alike, the privacy was a great luxury.
Furthermore, while walking today, I kept seeing this sign of a vehicle sliding on the highway under which it said "en heladas." Thinking that helado meant ice cream, every time I saw the sign I would laugh outloud and say, "Ha ha! Slippery in ice cream!"
Mostly the day was great because, having bussed through the middle section and having broken up the remainder of the trip over three weeks, the one hundred six miles that I had left to walk now seemed doable.
I was miserable when I was in Astorga. I tried to sleep the whole time, but my foot pain would not let me. Moreover, when I did sleep, I had very disturbing dreams. I also had been unable to withdraw cash from any ATMs, despite my having used numerous supposedly authorized Wells Fargo-Visa locations.
But then this day was a turn-around day! I started walking again. I walked about nine miles, and, though I again was unable to walk by nightfall, I, in the meantime, had become more hopeful.
Mid-morning, the bus driver dropped me off on the outskirts of Villafranco del Bierzo. I did not know where I was. It was the first time I had been dropped off by a bus where I did not know my way too well. Usually in the center of every town there would be a main cathedral that I could see from the bus, but this time I had seen no cathedral.
Eventually, I picked up the Camino trail and began following two peregrinos. It was unusual for me to stay in a pack of people, because of my slow pace, but the boy in front of me had seemed to be limping himself. At one point, I even passed him and began following the other man who was a quarter-mile ahead of me. I followed the man for a couple of miles, then, when I had nearly caught up to him and he had stopped to cross the highway, I hollered out an "Hola." He waited for me, and we walked on together.
Henri was a French anesthesiologist. Meeting him at that particular time and spot was quite reassuring to me and was the beginning of what I call The First Good Day. After having been so miserable and in such pain throughout the middle portion of the trip, meeting a French pain specialist then and there was remarkable and renewed my faith in God and in the Camino itself.
Furthermore, on the Camino you do not chit-chat. Sure, there is the quick "Hola," "Buen Camino," and "Buen Viaje" in passing, but, when you hold a real conversation, one of the first questions that is always asked is "Why are you walking the Camino?" which immediately takes you to the heart of people's matters. It was no different with Henri. I, of course, spoke no French, but his English was pretty good.
He was a married cancer survivor who very much wanted to go to Africa where his daughter practiced medicine. We talked and talked mostly about faith in God and other spiritual matters. The time passed quickly and a few hours later I realized that I hardly had been aware of the pain in my foot.
I stopped for the day at an albergue in Portela de Valcarce. Henri had his meal there but then walked on. When we parted ways, I prayed aloud for him, asking God to give him clarity for his future decisions and to abundantly bless his way and marriage.
Adding more joy to the day: the albergue was very clean, with a toilet, sink, and shower in a room that I got all to myself. After spending nights with so many in a room and showering and eliminating in stalls with men and women alike, the privacy was a great luxury.
Furthermore, while walking today, I kept seeing this sign of a vehicle sliding on the highway under which it said "en heladas." Thinking that helado meant ice cream, every time I saw the sign I would laugh outloud and say, "Ha ha! Slippery in ice cream!"
Mostly the day was great because, having bussed through the middle section and having broken up the remainder of the trip over three weeks, the one hundred six miles that I had left to walk now seemed doable.
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