I could not shake an undercurrent of angst and anxiety during my stay in Santa Irene. In order to get to Santiago by noon the following day for the Pilgrim’s Mass, I would need to leave in the dark with my headlamp, around 4 a.m., and that was making me nervous. I was also uneasy because at 4:30 p.m., I was still the only one upstairs at this albergue. While a boisterous group of men were downstairs, I was alone upstairs in one of six eerily empty bunk rooms. The owner, who looked exactly like Robin Williams, complete with similar gestures, could not have been kinder. When I went downstairs to ask him if anyone else had reservations, he assured me that I was safe, and that the crowd would leave by early evening. He even found me an ice cream bar and wanted me to try a small bowl of a tuna and pea salad that he brought out from the kitchen. (An aside: almost all the salads along the Camino route have tuna in them. I’m glad I am fond of tunafish.)
I needed to get a good night’s sleep. Last night’s snoring in the room had woken me often, and I was tired. I was also going to leave before dawn, and I wanted to make sure I got rest. I decided that I would spend a few hours journaling and repacking my backpack until the noise that still wafted in my room from the bar across the street and the one below quieted, and then I would turn in early.
At 5:30 p.m., there was a knock on the door. Robin Williams cheerily opened the door and declared in English, “You have roommate!” And in walked 19 year old Antoine from Germany who had been walking 70 days across France and Spain.
There we were, just us two unlikely roomies in a large rectangular room with a set of bunks on one end and a set of bunks on the other. My hostel stay couldn’t have gotten weirder for me. After polite introductions, Antoine went off to shower and find a meal. I finished all my preparations for my early morning departure and decided to crawl into bed, try to quell my anxiety, and go to sleep. As I was lying down, Antoine re-entered the room. And then I asked the question, “Antoine, what motivated you to go on such a long pilgrimage?”
With that question, Antoine broke open. After walking over 900 miles and nearing his time to return home, Antoine was having an existential crisis and was questioning his worth, meaning, purpose, and future. Over the next four hours, I listened, and we visited. In conversation, I could hear myself sharing insights I had been gaining along the journey. They were meant to encourage Antoine, but I could feel them bolster me as well. Though I had been edgy all day, I now sensed that my stay at Andaina and my conversation with Antoine was a divine appointment for both of us. I wrapped up the night by asking Antoine if I might pray for him. He said that no one had ever asked him that, and he wondered if I wanted him to leave the room while I prayed. I smiled and told him that I’d like him to stay, asking him if it was okay if I prayed aloud.
With my alarm set to go off in a few hours, I lay my head on my pillow thinking, This is the Camino de Santiago. Life in the uncomfortable zone. Unpredictable events. Heightened awareness. Unexpected friendships. Conversations quickly cut through the superficial. A thin veil between the material and the spiritual.
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