After a long hot walk of 32 km from Molinaseca I arrived late afternoon at my pre-booked accommodation in Villafranca del Bierzo on the Camino Frances. There had been days of very high temperatures, and the previous day my informal group was chased by thunderstorms across the hilltops. At one stage I came across a pilgrim sprawled full length at the side of the road. The woman appeared to be OK, and after I enquired, said she was fine.
The walk took me through acres of beautiful vineyards with locals offering bunches of grapes as I passed by. This was typical of the hospitality offered to pilgrims by the locals. On arrival at the hostal I was immediately offered a refreshing cold orange drink, so appreciated by one who was hot, dusty, sweaty and very weary. My legs had done great work in the last few days!
My routine on arrival was to shower, do laundry, have a brief nap, head out to explore the village and have some dinner and have an early night. This day was no different and I headed through a maze of streets from the top of the town down to the busier streets. I was both delighted and very surprised to encounter many pilgrims who recognized me, some of whom I had imagined were several days ahead. (Hello New Zealand! was the cry.) Of course, you only need to be one day, or even a few hours ahead or behind and you miss people.
I came across Sueellen from the USA, whom I had first met in Pamplona. During Mass at San Juan de Ortega she had discreetly pushed a tissue into my hand when I was quietly crying, lacking either a hankie or a tissue. Grieving for my beloved husband. Such kindness.
I told Sueellen that I wasn’t going to Mass as it would be a bit late for me, but intended getting an early meal and heading back for a quiet night. Sueellen was therefore surprised to see me at Mass, my intentions having been set aside with all the catching up with others and my exploration of the town. However when I had heard the church bells ringing, I thought I ought to go to Mass where there was also a pilgrim blessing.
Sueellen promptly invited me to share a meal with another pilgrim and her, by then it was 2000 hrs, still light. Once rain began, everyone at the bar moved inside but it was another enjoyable meal and good company. All was good. Of course when it came time to leave around 2200 hrs, it was dark, though dry. I was pretty confident I knew the way back to the hostal, as it wasn’t too far. I set off up streets, continued on uphill and then back downhill, frantically thinking to myself, you’re not getting anywhere. I had my phone and the name of the hostal, but lack of direction and running out of houses was a bit of a concern. That’s quite an understatement.
Houses started to thin out before I came across a house with lights on and could see a woman at the open kitchen window. I called out “Senora, Senora”. An elderly Spanish senora was making meatballs (at 2230hrs!) and, probably hearing the desperation in my voice at that late hour, sent her husband to the door. They didn’t know the hostal nor could they drive me, but with little English told me that I should go back a bit, down the hill, across a gully, and after a time I should be on the right path. I did as they said, it was pitch black. I used the light on my phone which was running short on battery, but still leapt with fright when a sprinkler came on beside me in a small park. Once through the darkness, and some dubious back alleys, I reached a lighted street and eventually a part of the Camino that I recognized from entering the town. I all but fell into the hostal doorway with the utmost relief around 2300 hrs.
So much for my quiet night. Almost five years on I’ve only just told my family of my late night adventure. On recollection, I don’t know why I didn’t use a taxi, probably because it was such a short distance from the bar back to the hostal. Google maps might have helped but I had no data.
It took me an hour to cover what, in the earlier light, had been less than an easy 10 minute walk. I could have stumbled in the dark and as nobody knew where I was, could have ended up injured, left lying on the side of the road like the pilgrim seen earlier. My guardian angel must surely have been working overtime. Even writing this account recalls a very anxious hour. It was an unforgettable but, fortunately, not repeated experience.
Marie-Therese
September 2024
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