Beached and Blue
The joy of fanaticism. Camino Portuguese by the Coast (8)
I can be enthusiastic about many aspects of life but I would not have said I have been fanatical since my youth when Celtic won the European Cup in 1967 a few hundred kilometres south, in Lisbon. Fanatics generally seem to be young. The day I arrived in Vigo, however, opened the door to a new understanding of the joy of fanaticism.
I arrived in Baiona mid-morning needing to go to the loo. I found a cafe where I stripped off all my soaking, saturated, gore tex waterproof “protection”, visited the loo and had a coffee. Nigran was in sight and there I hoped to stay the night, maybe even in a dry hostal. My notes suggested that the parish offered shelter to pilgrims. The rain had stopped and I set off imagining my arriving at this refuge by lunch-time with a full afternoon to recover from the horrors of the previous day. It would mean another day covering only a few kilometres – about 15 0r 16, I calculated – but given my poor physical state I felt that another early finish was wise.
A newly fallen tree across the camino, Baiona.
Going the extra mile.
In Nigran I discovered that the albergue I had planned to stay in was a couple of kilometres back along the path I had just walked. Rarely do I back-track. I was now in a holiday zone and undoubtedly there would be accommodation en route soon. So I continued walking into the rain which scheduled a soaking about once an hour with short bursts of sunshine dusting out the wetness before the next deluge.
Almost a reflextion in the water as the wind died down.
A few more kilometres of coast began to appeal to me, so I headed onwards. I was very, very weary but have learned that going just beyond my comfort limits is like stretching, an effort with plentiful rewards.
Heron type of bird
As my weariness grew, so did the list of difficulties which ate away at my energy. I lost my way, following what I thought was the camino through a residential area which led only to a barricade firmly blocking my route to the camino which I could see a few metres beyond it. I had to return a good kilometre before rejoining the Camino. Then the path descended on to the shore which tortured my arthritic ankle with the wrong-sized pebbles – similar to the world’s most impossible-to-walk-on beach in Fécamp in Normandy.
wrong-shaped -ebble beach.
Every shop, cafe and B&B was closed. Someone recommended a hotel and I took a detour to find the lights on and a number to ring if I wanted a room. I rang. Maybe the person in charge was watching me from inside, but the phonne was answered and, after a pause, hung up. After that, ringing again, it was not answered. I can understand that a hotel did not want a dripping wet tramp for the night, so once again I re-traced my steps.
Evening was beginning to set in and my philosophy of going beyond my limit was, itself being put to the test. I was one of the walking dead, exhausted, limping badly and aching. Each time I put weight on my ankle I received a shock of pain. The outskirts of Vigo offered little promise of a quiet place to sleep outside and the skies still delivered huge quantities of rain regularly, driven by an irregular Atlantic gale.
Ria de Vigo lit up as the skies cleared.
Far from the Comfort Zone.
This was day number 8 of wet, of physical pain and of solitude. I had few conversations en route and they were all very short. I reflected that my behaviour verged on the fanatical. As the long shadows of the evening fade into darkness, light breaks through: I suddenly find my heart opening up. I am desperate for a place to call a halt to my day’s walking but something has been sown within me – a joy and recognition that goodness is all around. Out of nowhere, I mutter the Iona morning prayer:
A pilgrimage offers a chance to be immersed in prayer and sometimes prayer arrives like a February downpour. Night is on its way and I have nowhere to stay. I even consider taking a bus into Vigo. Yet none of this matters anymore, there is a much bigger reality, and I am drowned in wonder at “God’s goodness at the heart of humanity” without a shred of evidence nearby.
Isla de Toralla
Everything seems clear: I am fanatical. In this moment I was swept up in the wonder of Life itself: in our Unity, in gritty sands each grain in a universe, like us, within and of, blown by winds and worn by time, I am, I love, I want…………….yes I wanted a place to sleep. What joy!