Yesterday marked our third week walking the Camino. It was a harrowing day in many respects: a rocky and rugged climb followed by an even tougher descent. Complicating matters further, various group members were stricken by vomiting (probably altitude sickness), constricted breathing (after a tense and terrifying ambulance ride to the hospital, all is well), and general exhaustion. Because we know we are humans at the whims of circumstance, we´ve decided to return to our goal of walking to Santiago rather than Finesterre. We still plan to visit Finesterre, but most likely by bus.
We stopped in the village of El Acebo, quaint, cresting a hill. Further complications arose: the parochial albergue, largest in town, had only 23 beds, and it looked like we would not be able to reserve a bed for Kevin, who was arriving last. Fortunately, Marina´s devotion and determination won over Pilar, the wise-cracking, clove-cigarette-chain-smoking hospitalera.
For lunch, I devoured the best bocadillo in the world: pork loin and peppers. Community dinner was at eight. Gathered around a long table with rickety benches were Pilar, her son Miguel, two German vegetarian girls, a man who only seemed to speak Spanish, the catorce (14), and our haberdash new group of traveling companions: Bradley (age 33) and Adam (age 18), friends from New York; Luke and Peanut (no, not his real name), punk Dutch guys; and Matthias, a friendly young Belgian. Before the meal, Pilar spoke about how special Marina and Kevin´s 25 years of marriage was, and how we should give thanks to Santiago for the food, the home, and the Camino family. Then we ate rich lentil soup and crusty bread and fresh, colorful salad and organic cherries de la huerca (from the surrounding area).
After helping clean and put away and prepare breakfast, Bradley, Kevin, Pilar, and I sat on a little table on the patio, drinking chamomile tea with anise, talking and listening while Pilar spoke. We talked about economics, about marriage, about the Camino, and about living the Camino after you leave. Pilar met her second husband at a Camino conference; he wrote the French pilgrim song in the movie "The Way.¨ Each year, Pilar uses vacation time from her actuary job in Toledo to work two weeks as a hospitalera, running an albergue, keeping house, buying food and supplies with her own money. She talked about living simply and reveling in other people.
In the morning there was bread and little cookies and local organic honey, heavy, dark, that spread golden and glistening, and many kinds of jam, and coffee and whole milk and hot chocolate and tea. We all took pictures, exchanged emails, and before leaving Pilar gave me a kiss on both cheeks. My first Camino friend.
It is unlikely that anyone actually had altitude sickness. The highest peak in all of the Pyrenees is actually less than skiing the top of Mammoth Mountain. And your group has done what is the best way to acclimatize to altitude; which is to gradually go higher on a day to day basis, and then sleep at a lower altitude. I suspect what actually happened was they ate something that disagreed with them (vomiting) and then panicked (problems breathing). BUT, the cure for altitude sickness is just to go down!
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