Hello, Morgan Rosas,
You’ve prompted me to try and tell a little story. Unfortunately it’s a bit long but I’ve enjoyed remembering it, so thank you for prompting me.
I took the detour up to Garabandal in 2017. I’d found the info peregrina 2000 mentions (
https://www.centrogarabandal.org/en/viajar-a-garabandal-2 ) and chose the cheapest bus option from Santander. At the time the one bus that goes to Cosió, the village before Garabandal, left about 5 in the evening. I’ve seen the ALSA timetable recently and the time has changed now to a few hours earlier. The one return bus from Cosió is still very early though, around 7am.
Anyway, I had planned to walk from Cosió but met a lady from Barcelona on the bus and she’d booked the taxi (there is, or was only one). She’d be coming to Garabandal every year for the past 30 years and knew the taxi driver, but this year, the regular taxi driver was away and there was a replacement driver. We were both staying for two nights only. She arranged with the new driver to pick us both up early two days later, so we could catch the return bus, and then we went to our different accommodations.
Carmen was the lady’s name. We bumped into each other again the next day and had a bit of fun. Because I’d been wearing a long sleeved, black top and her eyesight was quite poor she’d thought I was the priest who had just said mass in the church. ‘Was that you on the alter?’ she asked me. ‘You looked different, but my eyesight isn’t very good.’ No, I hadn’t even been in church. I had wondered why she had kept referring to me as ‘este padre’ in the taxi yesterday . ‘Este padre has walked all the way from Bilbao.’ ‘Este padre this, este padre that.’ My Spanish wasn’t very good. I thought padre might have meant father but I wasn’t sure.
I’d already been up to ‘The pines’, the special place where the young girls had a lot of their apparitions in the 1960’s, but I walked up there again with Carmen. On the way we met one of the villagers. Carmen knew her very well and I asked her some questions. Questions like, ‘do all the villagers believe in the apparitions?’ She was patient with me. After a while she went into her house, brought out an old black and white school photograph and pointed out Conchita and the other 3 girls to us. She said her husband, who was the major, or something like that, had been present, standing right next to Conchita when the miracle of the host happened and had seen a white circle of bread (the eucharist) appear on Conchita’s tongue. Some of the villagers are new to the village she said but all those that were here at the time believe.
We called into the information centre which is run by an American man, Michael I think. Carmen bought two sticks to help her walk up the hill. I bought a postcard and had a chat with Michael. We walked up on a different path to the one I had earlier. Carmen wanted to pick camomile flowers that grew near there. She picked them every year, she said, and made tea with them. We picked loads of them together. We met three young nuns who were laughing and having fun with a little dog that had followed them.
Rosario was another woman I briefly met. Earlier when I was walking back down from the pines she had seen me and she asked me why I had come here and if I believed in God. ‘Sometimes I do,’ I said, ‘and sometimes I don’t.’ ‘Like all the world,’ she said, laughing. She had lived in Santander at the time and seen it all. ‘They walked on their knees, on the stones, but there wasn’t a mark on them. If you’d seen it …’
I told her something very personal about a recent tragic loss, I’d had, as you tend to do sometimes, to total strangers, when you’re on Camino. She said ‘pray to Mary. She will help you all your life.’ Then she asked for my name and I knew that she was going to pray for me.
The next morning I got up early and went to the hotel at the entrance to the village where Carmen was staying. We waited for the taxi. And we waited. She phoned, but there was no reply. It was too late now, we wouldn’t be able to catch the bus. She was very angry. The regular taxi driver had never let her down. But this new girl! This new girl…
I went back to Posada Ana where I was staying, but they couldn’t help. So I waited until I saw a couple with a car and asked them for a lift. I could walk, I said, and would, but Carmen was in her 70’s.
I’m not sure which station they dropped us off at but I walked on to Santillana de Mar then continued to San Vicente de la Barcera. Carmen was still a little angry when I left her. The replacement taxi driver may have slept in or forgot, we don’t know. I’m sure Carmen soon forgave her though. She went to confessions she told me and advised me to go when I told her I didn’t. Yes, she would have confessed her anger, been forgiven and forgave. It’s the only way.
Yes, It’s a beautiful, peaceful place, as Bauer said. Guemes is good but Garabandal special. I’d like to go again.
Paul
