In one of those exquisitely timed meetings that happen so often on the Camino and which would appear as over-slick editing in a film or novel, when I went to the counter to pay for my time on the internet last night, Paul tapped me on the shoulder. Paul, you may remember, was the middle-aged Englishman living in Mexico whom I met at Fr Ernesto´s albergue. He and I walked together along the coastal path from Guemes to the ferry to Santander but then lost each other on the beach and I had assumed we wouldn´t run into each other again because his time to walk the Camino is limited and he had told me that he planned to take the train from Santander to a more advanced point on the route. Apparently, he had done that but had stayed here in Llanes for a ´rest´day. Which probably tells you how much ground I am covering.
Paul walked the Camino Frances last year after the death of his mother. One of the reasons I walked with him after Guemes was because he had mentioned to another pilgrim how, entirely unsought, he had experienced a strong sense of his mother´s presence as he entered Santiago - and a strong sense of his ancestors, and I wanted to know more. This idea of ´presence´plays on my mind. What does it mean to talk of knowing that someone is with you? I´ve often thought that my grandmother is with me - just a vague sense, occasionally quite strong, of her watching over me over these 25 years since her death - but the ´presence´of Mark, the person I´ve known most intimately and with whom I´ve shared most completely, would be something different. And it is one of the griefs really, that I long to be in his presence and don´t think it´s a possibility. When I´m tired or worried (!), I long for those few words of practical wisdom, or the raised eyebrow that tells me I´m going too far. Paul is walking the Camino del Norte this year after the death of his father. My father also died about 6 weeks ago and there was much that we shared in that experience. It was quite touching - he said how much he had hoped that we would meet again, and me too - and then I left (foot in too much pain) - and we agreed that if we meet, we meet!
What Paul did do was to help me see that I didn´t have to walk again today - and in fact I went straight back and paid for another luxury night in the hotel (it´s a 1 star place - don´t worry, I haven´t gone completely overboard!). The next albergue is about 35 kms away and Paul suggested taking the train from here to Ribadesella (don´t think that´s spelt correctly!) and then walking the remaining 5 or 6 kms to the albergue. This morning, after an incredibly good sleep in the hotel (between clean sheets, after a good soaking in the semi-bath and watching the Spanish-dubbed endorsement of Osama Baraka by Hillary Clinton), I hobbled up the road and met a German woman, Regina, whom I´d seen in a previous albergue. She too was hobbling and clutching a plastic bag from the Pharmacia - so I guessed her story would be similar to mine! Sure enough, communicating in broken Spanish (she didn´t speak English or French, and I don´t speak German!), she explained that she has hurt her knee, has been given ibu-something or other and an elastic strap, and has also decided to do as Paul suggested - take the train and start again the day after tomorrow.
I´ve spent the day washing out a few things (always the first requirement on reaching a place for the night - especially when you have only two pairs of knickers) - and then heading to the beach to finish the Jodie Picoult novel I picked up up in one of the albergues, with my washing drying on a rock next to me. I don´t think they know very much about skin cancer in Spain. Tanned ´Spanish leather´takes on a whole new meaning on the beach.
Reflected today on how often, when Mark was ill, there was this terrible exhaustion with the daily round of going to work and managing hospital visits as well as keeping the house as sterile as possible to reduce risks of infection. I can remember saying to someone that I just wanted 24 hours out - 24 hours where I could rest and know that Mark would be okay and nothing would go wrong. On the beach, I realised that, just as this break today has not destroyed the Camino path for me (far from it), I could have taken that rest last year. But I was always so scared that something would happen and I wouldn´t be at Mark´s side.
And it was good to be by the sea. I thought of the day that we went down to Middleton to say goodbye to the Brothers and then sat on the beach where we had taken the children from the Edmund Rice Camps to play and they had been so excited by the rides in the surf life-savers´rubber duckies. And the day after our wedding (a month before Mark´s death), when Paul, Mark´s closest kayaking friend, had come round and we took the kayaks to the beach and Mark kayaked - his face lit up with a big grin - and we ate fish and chips afterwards. And Dr Bardy´s look of astonishment when Mark proudly told him that he had managed 14 kilometres - and this was when Dr Bardy told us, quite rightly, that we had to live every day as if it was the last because that was the nature of the disease.
Well, I´m now heading back to the hotel with my tin of tuna (I will turn into a tuna by the time the walk is over) and plans for another foot-soaking. The right leg is much improved, the left (from the original injury) is still a problem, but less painful.
Rose - I think we met when wrapping Christmas presents at Myers last December for the Leukaemia Foundation! PLEASE count me in on anything else.
If anyone tries to email me through school, you need to be aware that I can´t access that site at the moment. However, the hotmail addresses are accessible. I don´t know where the next internet site will be, however. Much love to all - a luego.
