In which we take the path less traveled…
So let me begin by saying that I am a rule follower. I was raised by parents who had very clear expectations. I did my best to live up to those expectations. They said “Jump.” I asked “How high?” And although I did not always want to follow the rules, I knew what was expected of me. I was the oldest. I set the standard. I had a responsibility to them. Yada yada yada.
It should come as no surprise then that when I walked my first Camino I followed the guidebook. I walked each stage as it was laid out to be walked. I did not skip a stage. I did not take a bus or a horse or a taxi. I walked every single step.
When I was at the albergue in Grado I shared a room with a Welch woman who lived in Switzerland. She was young and beautiful and bubbly and she was walking the Camino del Norte, the path that runs along the northern coast of Spain. Grado is not on the Camino del Norte. It is on the Camino Primitivo. An entirely different route. Leeza was curious about the Camino Primitivo so she took a bus to Oviedo to walk a stage of the Primitivo to see what it was like and here she was, in an albergue on the Camino Primitivo, in a bunk next to me. We talked for awhile. She was a physiotherapist. She was the one who brought the massage gun and gave us all massages. She was headed back to the Camino del Norte the next day, taking the bus to where she left off and continuing on that route.
I was fascinated by this. Struck by her decision to diverge from the prescribed course. To give herself permission to do something different. To take a chance. Go her own way. Surrender to curiosity.
Now this may seem like a silly thing, but to me this was a “moment of illumination.” It had never really occurred to me, not that you could vary from the script, but that I could give myself permission to do so.
From Lugo the Primitivo headed south to join the much more crowded Camino Frances. But there was a variant that cut through forest and along a meandering river that took the walker from the Primitivo route to the north. The variant allowed for the avoidance of the towns I’d already walked when I’d done the Frances, towns that I hadn’t liked very much the first time around. This variation led north to Friol and then to Sobrado dos Monxes where it joined the Camino del Norte. I wanted to do it. Gary was in but Kristen had booked her albergues along the traditional Primitivo route. After walking together since that second day, we parted ways after crossing an old Roman bridge. We promised to see each other in Santiago.
Gary and I wandered off. Into the forest. Along a gurgling stream. Through fields of grasses that made Gary’s eyes itch with allergies. Across bridges - some of which were rotted through and required a kind of parkour effort to cross - to the town of Fríol. We stopped for a picnic in one of the tiny towns, enjoying a shared sandwich and some fruit. The walk was decidedly flat now that we’d crossed into Galicia and the tiny stone villages were back, one of the things I’d loved when I’d walked the Camino Frances.
We made it to Friol by late afternoon, stopping for our daily Kas Limón and meeting up with Pedro and Paola who had walked the variant as well. At the café we shared a table with a lovely Dutch couple who were cycling and we enjoyed an hour or so chatting about our experiences so far.
It was a beautiful walk on a sunny warm day. A reminder about what can happen when I give myself permission to take a different path.
