Day 3
Today was a short day, in Camino terms: I just had to get myself from Akerreta to Pamplona, a distance of 9 miles. The path promised to be the easiest one yet, being mostly level and morphing into suburban bike routes after it gets near the city. I figured I’d try to spare my blisters my sneakers for a day and walk in my sandles, which actually was pretty comfy. I just couldn’t go very fast.
This brings up a bracing fact about the Camino. As long a you are going at their pace, your new friends are with you. But as soon as you speed up, they slow down, you stop for a tourist day, or they get blisters and need to wait to heal them — you will likely not see these people again. Never in your life. We’re all going in the same direction, yes, but a lot of people only do just two week sections of the trail every year, and are exiting at Burgos or Leon or Logrono. Some are doing the whole thing but have a deadline when they NEED to get there so they can get back to work, or their sisters wedding, or their BFFs baby’s arrival. Get out of those folks’ way. They are basically RUNNING the Camino. Their hiking poles click up behind you like a train coming. In short, everyone has their own schedule. Everyone’s Camino is their own.
So covered in tape and bandaids, my Camino today was a solitary, slow one. I said bye at breakfast to my buddies who I have spent 90% of my trail time with already. I’ve spend like 15 hours with these people now. Because of my jet lag that’s like four times as much as I’ve slept. I know them well enough to miss them. Maybe every few days on the Camino you make new trail friends to replace the ones you lose to blisters and short vacations. You have to be able to keep up with these new friends though! Which brings me to...
The Spanish word for blister is ampolla. It’s such a cute little pretty word, isn’t it? It sounds like a flower or a type of butterfly or a fancy wine. NO! It’s NOT! It describes part of your body that out of freaking nowhere swells up like a grape and wants to burst all over the Basque countryside! Ampollas have heartbeats, have agendas! They want you in pain, friendless, questioning your shoe and life choices.
I will spare you the details, as the internet already has enough dark corners, but here’s the general run down: surgery on my five blisters tonight seems a general success. Yes, if you’re keeping score, that is three more than I had this morning. I walked into the pharmacy here in Pamplona a few hours ago and said good afternoon in Spanish, and without looking up the pharmacist said the same. Then he put his pen down and looks at me and sighs loudly. All he says is “Camino!” And throws a bunch of stuff I need on the counter. Didn’t even have to use my google translate for the obscure blister care words. Thanks, Pharmacy guy! Us pilgrims appreciate you making one thing about this easy, because nothing else seems to be. Ah, see that negativity creeping in? That would be those devious little ampollas. See how they find you when you have your guard down?