Shells
Member
- Time of past OR future Camino
- Camino Ingles (2019); Camino Frances (2023, 2024)
Earlier this month, I began walking from Ponferrada to Santiago with two friends. Although I had walked two previous Caminos, this was the first for both of my friends.
This Camino was full of the Unexpected. The first few days were easy, uneventful, and beautiful. But the morning we left O Cebreiro, it began pouring rain. The wind was gusting up to 90 km/hour, causing the rain to sting our faces like small stones. We kept on doggedly walking to Fonfría, and it took us six hours to walk eight miles (including a very long break to regroup, eat hot soup, and warm up.) That night we learned that we had been walking through the tail end of North Atlantic Hurricane Kirk.
The next day to Samos was beautiful: the wind had blown itself out, and although we walked in rain, it was gentle and soothing. We found sections of the trail that had washed away, including a number of trees that had been uprooted, making the path a bit more challenging at times, but we really enjoyed the walk, and arrived in Samos in good spirits.
Disaster struck the day we left Sarria and ended my Camino: The three of us were walking well, and I was happy and feeling strong and joyous. I was joking with my friends, as we came within sight of Portomarin, and suddenly, I encountered loose ball bearing-like gravel on a steep slope. I tried to stop my forward momentum with my hiking poles, but I went down hard and felt something snap in my ankle.
My friends wrapped my ankle in KT tape, and I tried to determine if my ankle was merely sprained and would feel better after a rest—at least enough to let me hobble into Portomarin. It soon became apparent that that wasn’t going to happen. Eventually, I realized my only option was to call Emergency Services.
They arrived about an hour later and loaded me first into a trail wheelchair, and then into an ambulance. My friends wanted to come with me, but the Ambulance crew would only allow one of them. Given that one of my friends has health issues and the other would have been terrified to be alone, and neither speak Spanish, I told them to stick together, watch out for each other, get to Portomarin, and I would let them know where I ended up (either Sarria or Lugo).
As it turned out, it was Lugo, and eventually, the ambulance arrived at the university hospital. There, I learned that my ankle was broken in two places and would require surgery within the next two weeks. The doctor stabilized the ankle with a plaster cast and told me I couldn’t put any weight on it at all, and should return home as soon as possible. He then discharged me. I asked if he could recommend a good hotel where I could go, but he told me that he didn’t know of any. At that point, I was beginning to be scared. I had heard so many positive things about the Spanish medical care system and I was about to be turned out, literally, into the rain, completely helpless, in an unfamiliar city, with no one to help me, and nowhere to go.
As the nurse took me in a wheelchair to the hospital exit, I desperately asked if she could call a taxi for me and recommend a hotel in Lugo. She stopped then, and really took in my situation, and was appalled that I was being released under these circumstances. She jumped into action, made reservations for me at a hotel with an elevator and room service, and slipped me a handful of pain meds to get me through several days. Then she called a taxi, and asked him to stop at a pharmacy to buy me crutches. The taxi driver was wonderful and did everything requested, including setting my new crutches to the right height. The problem was that I have never used crutches of any kind before and I simply didn’t have the balance or capacity at that moment to use them, without putting weight on my foot. Seeing this, the taxi driver let me lean on him, as I hopped into the hotel, then he talked to the young concierge, got me checked in, and demonstrated how to use the crutches before he left. I sat in the lobby, and was contemplating crawling to the elevator, when the young concierge came to me. He wrapped his arm around my waist, let me lean against him, with the crutches in my other hand, chiding me gently, when I inadvertently put weight on my foot. Then he personally took me to the room, helped me to the bed, returned to the lobby for my pack, and wrote down the number of the hotel’s front desk, as well as his personal phone number. He told me to phone him directly for anything I wanted or needed. During the course of the next two days, he came to my room to check on me, returned to tell me when he was off duty, told me that he had informed his colleagues of my plight, brought me food, and wouldn’t accept a tip of any kind. He was my true Camino Angel, and I will never forget him.
After I was settled, I called my friends, who came to Lugo by taxi and then refused to leave me. I finally reached my husband in the United States. He set out within an hour of my call, and I was truly shocked, and so happy that I cried, when he informed me that he would be with me the following night. For him, this involved travel from rural Montana to Minneapolis, Minnesota, to Atlanta, Georgia, on to Madrid, and then renting a car and driving 500 kilometers to Lugo.
My friends abandoned their Camino to run errands, get me medication, contact my travel insurance, help me bathe, even lending me euros to buy a transport wheelchair. They refused to leave, until my husband finally arrived. By that point, they had missed two days of their Camino, but our tour company was able to assist them to recapture the situation.
My husband arrived in Lugo, exhausted, grabbed 6 hours of sleep, then helped me into a rental car, and the following day, I was on my way home. He made the entire round trip journey in just 84 hours, caring for me at the expense of his own need for rest.
Delta Airlines was also fabulous and arranged first class transport for my husband and me (waiving the change fee in our tickets), so I had an air bed for the trip across the Atlantic, airport assistance, wheelchair services, and special boarding.
On the home front, my children were busy building me a wheelchair ramp so I could get in to my house, arranging an emergency appointment with an orthopedic surgeon, finding me a portapotty, a knee scooter, and a leg sleeve, so I could bathe. Our town’s local performing arts center gave me a full size wheelchair to use, which is much sturdier than the light transport wheelchair I bought in Spain. Everywhere people were so kind. When I passed through Customs, the Agent took in the situation, and instead of the usual questions, quietly said, “It will be all right. Welcome home.”
Yesterday, my friends finally walked into Santiago safely, and claimed their Compostelas—true Peregrinas, truer Friends. Today they will go to Finisterre, and will begin the journey home tomorrow. My husband canceled his guitar making class in southern Spain. He had been scheduled to depart to Spain just two days after he received my call, and our original plan was that I would join him in the city of Úbeda after I finished the Camino with my friends. The instructor has been emailing him ever since to check on my wellbeing, with sympathetic interest and no recriminations for the last minute cancellation. As for me, I am scheduled for surgery on Wednesday, and will hopefully be able to walk unassisted by Christmas.
So, my Camino did not turn out at all as I had hoped and dreamed. But I came away stunned by the kindness of people—from the Peregrina who paused beside me as I lay in the dirt of the trail and prayed for me; to the Pilgrim, who gave my friends a small charm she wore for wellbeing, asking them to send it to me; to my lovely young concierge; and a taxi driver, who took the time to help a stranger; to an exhausted nurse, who cared what happened to a foreign stranger; to my friends, who refused to leave my side, even at the cost of their own Caminos; to my children, who my stocked the house with food and made all the arrangements to get me medical aid immediately upon my return, to my husband, who was at my side as soon as humanly possible…I am blessed. And you know the saying that the Camino provides? Maybe I got exactly what I needed: a renewed faith in my fellow humans. With all the ugliness of the American political situation in an election year, and mean-spirited people vying for power at the cost of the vulnerable, marginalized, and innocent, with unrest, and war, and cruelty, and mass shootings, I began this Camino downhearted and angry, mainly because my friends asked me for help in doing the Camino, and I knew their needs, and I believe in the value of pilgrimage, both spiritually and physically. And I received what I truly needed: not a successful long walk, but an intimate, ground level view of human kindness and compassion…and renewed belief in the basic goodness and compassion of ordinary people.
This Camino was full of the Unexpected. The first few days were easy, uneventful, and beautiful. But the morning we left O Cebreiro, it began pouring rain. The wind was gusting up to 90 km/hour, causing the rain to sting our faces like small stones. We kept on doggedly walking to Fonfría, and it took us six hours to walk eight miles (including a very long break to regroup, eat hot soup, and warm up.) That night we learned that we had been walking through the tail end of North Atlantic Hurricane Kirk.
The next day to Samos was beautiful: the wind had blown itself out, and although we walked in rain, it was gentle and soothing. We found sections of the trail that had washed away, including a number of trees that had been uprooted, making the path a bit more challenging at times, but we really enjoyed the walk, and arrived in Samos in good spirits.
Disaster struck the day we left Sarria and ended my Camino: The three of us were walking well, and I was happy and feeling strong and joyous. I was joking with my friends, as we came within sight of Portomarin, and suddenly, I encountered loose ball bearing-like gravel on a steep slope. I tried to stop my forward momentum with my hiking poles, but I went down hard and felt something snap in my ankle.
My friends wrapped my ankle in KT tape, and I tried to determine if my ankle was merely sprained and would feel better after a rest—at least enough to let me hobble into Portomarin. It soon became apparent that that wasn’t going to happen. Eventually, I realized my only option was to call Emergency Services.
They arrived about an hour later and loaded me first into a trail wheelchair, and then into an ambulance. My friends wanted to come with me, but the Ambulance crew would only allow one of them. Given that one of my friends has health issues and the other would have been terrified to be alone, and neither speak Spanish, I told them to stick together, watch out for each other, get to Portomarin, and I would let them know where I ended up (either Sarria or Lugo).
As it turned out, it was Lugo, and eventually, the ambulance arrived at the university hospital. There, I learned that my ankle was broken in two places and would require surgery within the next two weeks. The doctor stabilized the ankle with a plaster cast and told me I couldn’t put any weight on it at all, and should return home as soon as possible. He then discharged me. I asked if he could recommend a good hotel where I could go, but he told me that he didn’t know of any. At that point, I was beginning to be scared. I had heard so many positive things about the Spanish medical care system and I was about to be turned out, literally, into the rain, completely helpless, in an unfamiliar city, with no one to help me, and nowhere to go.
As the nurse took me in a wheelchair to the hospital exit, I desperately asked if she could call a taxi for me and recommend a hotel in Lugo. She stopped then, and really took in my situation, and was appalled that I was being released under these circumstances. She jumped into action, made reservations for me at a hotel with an elevator and room service, and slipped me a handful of pain meds to get me through several days. Then she called a taxi, and asked him to stop at a pharmacy to buy me crutches. The taxi driver was wonderful and did everything requested, including setting my new crutches to the right height. The problem was that I have never used crutches of any kind before and I simply didn’t have the balance or capacity at that moment to use them, without putting weight on my foot. Seeing this, the taxi driver let me lean on him, as I hopped into the hotel, then he talked to the young concierge, got me checked in, and demonstrated how to use the crutches before he left. I sat in the lobby, and was contemplating crawling to the elevator, when the young concierge came to me. He wrapped his arm around my waist, let me lean against him, with the crutches in my other hand, chiding me gently, when I inadvertently put weight on my foot. Then he personally took me to the room, helped me to the bed, returned to the lobby for my pack, and wrote down the number of the hotel’s front desk, as well as his personal phone number. He told me to phone him directly for anything I wanted or needed. During the course of the next two days, he came to my room to check on me, returned to tell me when he was off duty, told me that he had informed his colleagues of my plight, brought me food, and wouldn’t accept a tip of any kind. He was my true Camino Angel, and I will never forget him.
After I was settled, I called my friends, who came to Lugo by taxi and then refused to leave me. I finally reached my husband in the United States. He set out within an hour of my call, and I was truly shocked, and so happy that I cried, when he informed me that he would be with me the following night. For him, this involved travel from rural Montana to Minneapolis, Minnesota, to Atlanta, Georgia, on to Madrid, and then renting a car and driving 500 kilometers to Lugo.
My friends abandoned their Camino to run errands, get me medication, contact my travel insurance, help me bathe, even lending me euros to buy a transport wheelchair. They refused to leave, until my husband finally arrived. By that point, they had missed two days of their Camino, but our tour company was able to assist them to recapture the situation.
My husband arrived in Lugo, exhausted, grabbed 6 hours of sleep, then helped me into a rental car, and the following day, I was on my way home. He made the entire round trip journey in just 84 hours, caring for me at the expense of his own need for rest.
Delta Airlines was also fabulous and arranged first class transport for my husband and me (waiving the change fee in our tickets), so I had an air bed for the trip across the Atlantic, airport assistance, wheelchair services, and special boarding.
On the home front, my children were busy building me a wheelchair ramp so I could get in to my house, arranging an emergency appointment with an orthopedic surgeon, finding me a portapotty, a knee scooter, and a leg sleeve, so I could bathe. Our town’s local performing arts center gave me a full size wheelchair to use, which is much sturdier than the light transport wheelchair I bought in Spain. Everywhere people were so kind. When I passed through Customs, the Agent took in the situation, and instead of the usual questions, quietly said, “It will be all right. Welcome home.”
Yesterday, my friends finally walked into Santiago safely, and claimed their Compostelas—true Peregrinas, truer Friends. Today they will go to Finisterre, and will begin the journey home tomorrow. My husband canceled his guitar making class in southern Spain. He had been scheduled to depart to Spain just two days after he received my call, and our original plan was that I would join him in the city of Úbeda after I finished the Camino with my friends. The instructor has been emailing him ever since to check on my wellbeing, with sympathetic interest and no recriminations for the last minute cancellation. As for me, I am scheduled for surgery on Wednesday, and will hopefully be able to walk unassisted by Christmas.
So, my Camino did not turn out at all as I had hoped and dreamed. But I came away stunned by the kindness of people—from the Peregrina who paused beside me as I lay in the dirt of the trail and prayed for me; to the Pilgrim, who gave my friends a small charm she wore for wellbeing, asking them to send it to me; to my lovely young concierge; and a taxi driver, who took the time to help a stranger; to an exhausted nurse, who cared what happened to a foreign stranger; to my friends, who refused to leave my side, even at the cost of their own Caminos; to my children, who my stocked the house with food and made all the arrangements to get me medical aid immediately upon my return, to my husband, who was at my side as soon as humanly possible…I am blessed. And you know the saying that the Camino provides? Maybe I got exactly what I needed: a renewed faith in my fellow humans. With all the ugliness of the American political situation in an election year, and mean-spirited people vying for power at the cost of the vulnerable, marginalized, and innocent, with unrest, and war, and cruelty, and mass shootings, I began this Camino downhearted and angry, mainly because my friends asked me for help in doing the Camino, and I knew their needs, and I believe in the value of pilgrimage, both spiritually and physically. And I received what I truly needed: not a successful long walk, but an intimate, ground level view of human kindness and compassion…and renewed belief in the basic goodness and compassion of ordinary people.
