Starting Point: Ledigos, España
On Tuesday, April 12, I had a nice leisurely 8 mile walk to the Camino’s halfway point: Sahagún. Some midmorning rain gave me an excuse to make a pitstop at a small cafe for a breakfast snack of toast with Nutella and a conveniently timed bathroom break. I arrived in town around 2 with time to stop at the post office and have a delicious three-course lunch. After
I spent the night in yet another parochial albergue inside a monastery. Instead of the prison cell I had encountered last time, I was assigned to a room with two bunk beds and a small pellet stove. I felt extremely fortunate to have a room (with an attached bathroom!) all to myself. I wasn’t sure if it was good luck, God’s grace, or the purposeful decision of my host. The Camino, it seemed, continued to provide.
(End Point: Albergue Santa Cruz, Sahagún, España)
After checking in, I went to the tourist office to receive my half-way-mark certificate (just in case I didn’t make it to Santiago, I’d still have something to show for my efforts) and treated myself to a 30-minute foot massage that was absolutely heavenly.
Later that afternoon, I attended the pilgrim’s mass at the monastery during which the presiding priest, Father Ángel, offered a pilgrim’s blessing in the mother tongue of each of the pilgrim’s present. Later that evening, a few of the monks joined us pilgrims for a modest potluck supper. There was something so powerful about each of us bringing something to eat, rather than each of us paying for dinner. That evening after our shared meal, I finished and sent a letter about shared meals.
I hoped to reach León, the next major city, three days later, in time to witness the observance of Good Friday, but I still had at least 35 miles to get there, 18 of which I needed to walk the next day, my longest stage yet. In my pages the next morning, I did the Camino math on how to break up the day. First stop at 6 miles, second stop at 10 miles, last stop for the night at 18 miles. In the best-case scenario, it would be at least ten hours of walking.
At 8 o’clock the next morning, I stood outside the monastery, breathing in the cool, fresh morning air, steeling myself for the miles ahead. Father Ángel had risen early to bid farewell to the pilgrims after breakfast. He embraced me, then gently patted my stomach, offering a blessing for my child.
In almost every other accommodation, I’d either let myself out the front door alone or left among a large group of pilgrims trying to depart by the mandatory exit time. This felt like the first time my host had taken the time to see me off. Remembering my childhood spent in an endless series of heartsick goodbyes, I felt a familiar pang of sadness at my departure. Like the interaction with the midwife, I felt a slight twinge of tenderness at being so well looked after. I thanked the priest for his blessing and was on my way.
It was time for the longest walk of my life.