A rainy afternoon at the church hostel without WiFi left two alternatives - napping or hanging out in the common room. The kids all took nice long naps, and then Foster taught me how to play Chess. All around us people conversed in various languages. Eventually, the "common meal" we had been told to expect began to come together. There were lots of people in the kitchen and lots of people chopping vegetables at the table. Many more of us looked on wondering how to help. A pilgrim from Italy, named Antonio, seemed to have taken the lead. Since the menu appeared to include pasta, it seemed like a good idea to leave him in charge. I can barely figure out how to feed four people on most nights, I have no idea how to feed 40 people at once.
When someone sounded a bell at 7:40, it appeared to be time to set the tables. People got busy setting up tables, spreading out dishes, and finding silverware. Right at 8:00, Antonio tossed the pasta into an enormous pot, and, just a few minutes later, the clapping began, and the food was ready to eat. We were mostly clueless bystanders in this process. There were two other Americans chatting with us at this point, in addition to a woman from Denmark and another from Latvia. We all decided that there were more than enough cooks in the kitchen at the moment.
Brianna and Nolan appeared in time for dinner - not wanting to miss a hot meal since they are so rare these days. First came pasta with olive oil and garlic. Then came the bread, the vegetables, the wine, and the watermelon. We all appreciated every bite of this gift meal. There was lots of cheering for Antonio and what seemed to be congratulations from the fairly large Italian contingent.
Once dinner was over, the Spanish/Basque crowd got busy with their singing dish washing routine. Nolan was absolutely delighted and exclaimed, "This is just like The Lord of the Rings!"
After the washing up show, we were prepared to attend the moment of reflection in the chapel. The kids were all trying to get out of it, but I felt guilty about having eaten this meal and having done nothing in return. I was afraid someone would deem us "unworthy" pilgrims. As we started to shuffle off to somewhere as a group, Brianna asked, "Was that wooden thing where we were sleeping something religious? I hung my towel off it after my shower." I began to sweat as I had visions of the group shuffling into our chapel/sleep quarters to see a dingy campy towel suspended from the staff of a saint.
We detoured through the sleep quarters of some of the other pilgrims in our group, ducked into a dark tunnel, and came out on the balcony of a dark chapel. Spotlights lit an ornate, golden altar below, and a large stained glass window of a pilgrim glowed above our heads. Small candles flickered everywhere. It was eerie, beautiful and magical all at the same time. Once our eyes began to adjust to the darkness, we were invited to sit down, and we discovered that the small candles burning all around us outlined dozens of small chairs built into the wall. We sat in silence. As I soaked in the tranquility, I wondered what the kids were thinking. Nolan and Brianna sat next to me. Foster was across the room.
One woman began speaking in Spanish, explaining the tradition of this moment of reflection for pilgrims on el Camino. Her words were translated by others in the group into Italian, English and French. She lit a pillar candle and explained it was a pilgrim's candle that got passed around each night. While holding it, pilgrims reflect on the good and bad of the Camino and on their purpose on this pilgrimage. She invited everyone to share in their own languages. I began to sweat again.
She passed the candle to her left, and, one by one, voices spoke out in the darkness. At first they were all in Spanish. Voices cracked and shook. People were crying, but I couldn't understand their stories. Brianna and Nolan looked at me with mild panic. "Do we have to say something?" I shook my head and told them they could just pass the candle. Fortunately our Danish friend, took the first pass. She paused with the candle for a moment and passed it along. Brianna and Nolan did the same. Suddenly, I found myself holding the pilgrim's candle in a dark chapel in a medieval village in Spain.
My guidebook has been reminding me every night that I need to have a higher purpose on this adventure - that a pilgrimage is not just a walking holiday. I have been trying to focus on that in the times that I walk alone. We are now almost a third of the way into our trek, and I am pretty sure I know my purpose. It turns out that it is not what I had anticipated it might be, but I am feeling like there is a reason for this adventure - a reason far more meaningful than the opportunity to see the flora and fauna of Spain as we stretch our legs and mark kilometers every day. It feels great to have that focus. It's deeply personal. And, given my nature, it's the last thing in the world I would be capable of sharing aloud in a dark room full of virtual strangers. I paused with the candle, took a deep breath, and passed it along.
The voices and stories continued in many different languages. Eventually the candle made its way to the woman seated next to Foster. She spoke clearly in Italian, about what I am not sure, and then she began singing. I looked at Foster. He stared straight ahead. Then, she passed the candle on to him. I saw him take a breath and, then, begin to speak. I thought, "Holy Crap! He's saying something." And then I thought, "I'm in a chapel. I'm probably not supposed to think 'holy crap' - seems sacrilegious." It occurred to me, as he gave thanks for the shared meal, the company, and this experience, that he's a pretty cool kid. Sometimes it's hard to believe he's mine.
Once the candle made its way around the circle, a small Spanish man stood and explained a blessing that he wanted to give us all. Other pilgrims translated into various languages again. Then, he turned on his iPod, started some music, and began doing a sort of shuffle-dance around the altar in his flip flops, blessing us all along the way. He circled the altar twice and gave Nolan an up close and personal blessing. All we could do was smile.
Finally, when we all stood to leave, a woman stood in the darkness and began singing in a beautiful voice. We shuffled out, unsure of what we had just experienced. We silently descended to our sleeping mats below. As I drifted off to sleep, I recalled that prior to leaving on this adventure, a friend had described the pilgrimage as a "transformational" experience. In my day-to-day, normal life, my sarcasm and attitude don't leave much space for "transformation." It's amazing what an hour in a dark chapel in Spain can do.
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