After Belgium I spent a night in Prague and took a bus to Hungary the next morning. I stayed in Budapest for 10 days with Eszter, the Hungarian I had a crush on at the beginning of this whole adventure.
It felt strange to be back in the swing of normalcy, as if such a thing was possible after walking the Camino.
I felt no bitterness or resentment toward Marieke. Actually, I was alarmed at how fast I seemed to be “moving on.” It was as if my mind had compartmentalized the Camino experience, like it was all some dream I had just woken from.
I arrive in Belgium late in the afternoon. The weather is exceptional: half-clouded skies with no reservation of sunlight, a perfect balance of cool and warm. I exit from the train station and hoist myself against a tall statue, eagerly looking for my squirrelly Belgium. 15 minutes pass before I spot her standing only 20 meters behind me, clad in a gray hoodie and a black leather jacket, lightly faded jeans and the tall leather boots of an amazon. Upon realizing that it was me looking at her, we sprint toward one another and embrace as if someone had just come home from war. It felt good to be in her arms again. Her radiating eyes still contained the ability to fully arrest my sensibilities.
“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”
– Annie Dillard
October 8, 2017 - Day 31
Pedrouzo, Spain.
In 20 kilometers, I will reach Santiago de Compostela. The anticipation has left me sleepless. Ali and Karen are fast asleep. I hope to see them again soon. I pack my things and make a quiet exit.
It’s dark out. Cars lie dormant under the hazy hue of flickering streetlights. Shop-signs strobe with a familiar fluorescence. I’m on the corner of a three-way intersection, eating a bun Karen had given me the night before. A wiry cat pokes its nose around, searching for food perhaps. Not too far ahead, I hear the rhythmic clacking of steel against pavement and rock. I finish my bun and proceed into the twilight, guided by nothing more than a small yellow arrow.
I wrote these letters to my friend, Stepan, from the Czech Republic. Including them because they might help to create a better picture of my experience. He had joined M and I a few days before M left. These letters were written afterwards.
September 23, 2017
Hey it’s Phil.
I walked to Hontanas yesterday from Burgos (about 30 km). It’s a beautiful village worth staying at. Today I’m walking to Itero de Vega, about 21 km. Glad you’re on the go again, see you soon I’m sure, ultreya y suseya!
These are the emails Marieke and I wrote to each other after she was gone. They might give you a better picture of my Camino experience. Writing to her was always a highlight. Sorry for the grammar. I wrote every letter on my phone.
September 21, 2017
I just realized I did not give you my email. Safe travels! Thank you for everything.
–Phil
September 23, 2017
Yesterday, as I walked away from Burgos, it hit me: you are gone.
October 1st, 2017 - Day 25
Dawn. A cast of silhouettes and gray clouds against the dark expanse. A string of headlamps clambering up a mountain. At the top, an iron cross.
The autumnal air invigorates me, my legs are weightless. I pass several pilgrims on my way up. Shanti is up ahead. I reach him and he smiles at me. We climb through the dark together, delighting in the thrill of the ascent. The Spaniard and I are at home here in the highlands of Galicia.
September 28, 2017 - Day 22
* To be yourself–
* Easy to say, hard to do.
* What we think is not ours.
* What we believe is shaped by others.
* The only thing we own is
* what we feel.
*
* Our inner compass, the way we connect with
* The outer world; only we can see and touch and
* Feel the way we do. Never lose it.
* Never let it go.
Met Enrico and Sia today. Italian Photographer, Jewish Psychologist. Good vibes, good conversation. Talked about the nature of identity and self, meditation, instant gratification, feelings.
Day 21
4:30am. I inch out from my sleeping bag like a slug, careful not to disturb the others in the room, pack my things, and head downstairs. Pauline and Morgan are already awake. We’re late.
My eyes are crusty. I wolf down a prepacked sandwich – chorizo and cheese – with yogurt. Pauline makes us some coffee. Bland, but it will do. Shoes on, rucksacks shouldered, and we’re on the move.
September 23, 2017 - Day 17
We are always on the cusp of collapse and redemption. Do we choose to rise, or do we settle and fall?
Stories = meaning. The mind is a meaning-making machine.
Stories have the power to change people’s lives, and we are the narrators.
Today, a group of Americans invited me to their table at dinner. They were much older than me and asked a lot of questions.
I’ve sunken into the depths of an all-too-familiar melancholy.
She is gone. I am alone. My emotions are swinging to the erratic cadence of an unforgiving metronome.
I miss the jade of her eyes, those luminescent opals I so often lose myself in. The ease of her smile, always able to bring about my own. The way she plucked those juicy blackberries from their thorny brambles, always a tad out of reach, the hem of her shirt lifting ever so slightly in the process, revealing the contours of a titillating landscape I secretly wished to explore.