Day 19 or I Am Really Annoying

Notes on Day 19, March 14, Fromista to Carrion de los Condes

Today was just my day to be annoyed with absolutely everything. Leaving the haven at Boadilla yesterday and continuing on to Fromista in the afternoon was a mistake. Something happens during the last 5km after you´ve already hiked 20 that means the difference between being pleasantly tired from the day´s efforts and wishing like hell you could be reborn into a younger, stronger, more flexible body. Those last five transformed Corina and I from blissfully contented peregrinos to sick, hobbling, whimpering grouches by the time we got to Fromista.



And I was so looking forward to enjoying the obnoxiously perfect 11th century Iglesia de San Martin in Fromista that afternoon. I tried to let myself be awed by its harmonious proportions, its plethora of carved corbels, each one different, and it´s simple, honest interior. But I was wiped. Completely wiped.



And this morning I said goodbye to Corina. I will miss her and I hope fate or fortune or both bring us together again. She was feeling ill and decided to take a bus ahead to Mansilla where she could stay at an albergue there that is reputed to be run by some lovely Germans. I understand the longing for the comforts of the familiar. Other than the Middleberry Sisterhood, I am the only American I have met on the Camino so far. The only one. I am actually happy about that, but there are moments, however brief, when an accent from home would be heartening.

But today, about a quarter of the way out of Fromista, I encountered the next best thing: a Brit and an Aussie. Kai and Pete. And together the Triumvirate of the British Empire hiked about 10km griping about Bush, Blair, and Howard. Lamenting over environmental destruction and poor inner city diets and corporate greed. Unabashedly bitching about the war in Iraq and the infuriating ¨reasons¨ behind the whole nightmare. We exclaimed, we swore, we protested. We were sure the sheer passion and vehemence of our complaints must ensure the righteousness of our grievances. It was a grand old bitch fest I tell you. And then, at Villasirga, the wind went out of our sails. We fell silent. We were finished. We had a drink in a bar. We separated and I continued on alone.



It was fun to holler and cuss for three hours, but I found I was still in a foul mood. And continuing on alone gave me ample time to dwell and obsess on all my current annoyances. I was annoyed again with my feet. (The feet, by the way, have been better, but they never fully recovered from the punishment of the evil boots. The shooting pains in my heels have waned, but new blisters are threatening to erupt, and my arches are starting to talk back). I was annoyed that I got lost coming out of Fromista this morning because road construction had fucked with the trail markers and Extremely German Peter had to whistle at me from 200 meters away to get my oblivious ass's attention. I was annoyed with my sweat, which has soaked my pants in the general region of my ass so that I have some new chafing to enjoy. I was annoyed with the bugs, which formed a cloud around me on the trail today like Pigpen´s cloud of dirt. Jesus do I reek that bad? I guess I do. I was annoyed with the Provincial government of Palencia for ¨paving¨ this section of trail with large stone gravel instead of pulverized gravel. People, that is just mean.



And I was annoyed with my guidebook for inventing a snide little acronym for this section of the pilgrim trail, which was ¨developed¨ by the provincial government which named it the pilgrim ¨Senda¨, or road. My guidebook calls the Senda ¨soulless errors of national development agencies¨ and I was annoyed that the author had imposed his disapproving and crotchety judgement on a part of the Camino I hadn´t even experienced yet. And then, 5km later, I was annoyed to realize he was completely right. The government had ruined every last inkling of natural trail on this section of the camino. Punks.

And finally, I was annoyed with myself. Because today I came face to face with a part of myself I really do not like. When I met Kai and Pete on the trail today, I had already decided these jokers were cool. Carmel skinned Kai and Pete with the eyes like pale green sea glass. They were good looking for sure, but they were cool. And when I meet people I have already decided I think are cool, I grow, by degrees in proportion to their coolness, decidedly uncool. I immediately fall into that fawning, simpering, hang on your every word, validate your every idea, grotesque imitation of a 15 year old trying to score a party invitation from the head of the cheerleading squad. And my voice almost autonomously decides to grow about three octaves higher so that I sound like an idiot who just inhaled a balloon full of helium. How annoying is that? How is it that at 33 we can still be afflicted with spasms of inferiority complexes?

And it´s not that I want them to think I am attractive like I thought them (I realize that is pretty much a lost cause on this camino of unshaven armpits and uneven sunburn and uncombed hair), but I just wanted them to think I was cool. You know, this cool chick from the states who is out here roughing it and all that shit. Why can´t I be that nonchalant, distant but evidently sophisticated chick that could give a rat's ass if you like her or not? Which of course ensures that everyone will like her and think she´s cool and flock to her.

But then I was annoyed because that nonchalant, laissez faire, oozing cool chick is just and act too. A facade, as Corina liked to say. And the magic of the Camino is that you need no facade here. The roles we play at home, the things we think define who we are: our jobs, our hobbies, where we live, our Ikea sofa and Crate & Barrel dishes, they don´t exist here. And there is no one to judge you for what you have or have not done with your life. No one to presume if you are cool or not, and no one who really cares. Because here those labels are meaningless.

And so I arrived in Carrion de los Condes a little grumpy, a little self pitying, and not very pleasant. So it was probably a blessing that no other pilgrims I knew were in the albergue in the 13th century monastery.



But I am glad I had a chance to meet this ¨person¨ that I can sometimes be on the camino today. Because she is not me. And maybe I can say goodbye to her here too.