good for nothing
the way is easy,
the pack is light;
flowers bloom –
take delight!
— “What the Butterflies Say,” from Gorma Tales of the Camino
I whistled while I hiked into Bilbao. At the top of the high hill overlooking the city, I saw signs to the pricy hotel I had booked for my last night in Spain, two months from now. I didn’t want it any more. One week on the Camino had already begun to tell, and I saw that my pilgrimage was not leading to a splurge, a spa treatment tucked away high on a hill. It was lovely, but it was removed, and after my homey stay at Marisa and Gaizka’s little acreage, I knew just where I wanted to go. I set off to find Begoña.
I passed her namesake cathedral and traipsed down a series of picturesque stone staircases with moss and ferns between the iron railings. The stairways followed the edge of a park downhill to the Casca Viejo, the old part of the city. Recognizing streets from my first day, I was able to quite easily navigate the old area and soon buzzed at the door of the Arriaga Hotel.
I bounced up the stairs and was warmly greeted by Begoña. She asked about my Camino thus far, and we enjoyed a quick catch-up as she flipped pages far ahead to book me a room for my last night. When we talked about my recent stay in the Basque farmhouse and learning some Basque history, she fished out – literally, using a paperclip – a pair of earrings she had been given, with the 4-petal swirl that is the Basque lauburu (“four heads”), a symbol of Basque unity believed based on the four elements earth, wind, fire, water. These earrings she gave to me as she told me, to my delight, that she and her mother were Basque! I felt honored to be given the lauburu, and such easy friendship.
“You forgot some items when you left,” Begoña said, and pulled out a bag of extra toiletries I had left by the trash in my room.
“No, no, you can throw those away. Or give them away. I had more than I could carry.” Begona nodded and put the bag behind the desk, looking surprised, with just a hint of approval that I might not be completely out of my element.
We shared an eye roll as the older American couple staying at the hotel interrupted our conversation about the Camino, stepping between us to announce they were going to breakfast. Begoña sent me off as well, with a fond “Buen Camino!” and more good advice, to see if a local bus would take me through the industrial area from Bilbao to Portugalete, as the route is isolated and unsafe, especially if one were to get lost there. I did not tell her I had already gotten lost, and called back, “Adios! Muchas gracias!” as I plunged back down the stairs.
I found the tourismo easily, and who should walk up at the same time – Pauline and Antoine! Backpack hugs all around, meaning you hug as much as you can reach, and a few minutes later, kisses goodbye, as they took the bus to the beach in Areña, and I took the underground Metro train to Portugalete. Distance to my Metro entrance – directly across the street.
I was entirely clumsy with my backpack, trying to walk in with the commuters in suits, getting stuck in the ticket gate; but, once on the train, I leaned back against the wall and watched in amazement as stations flashed by, little lights along a map overhead like shooting stars. What would have taken me hours of walking to each destination sped by, a minute or two at a time, and soon I was rising from the Metro station and then seated in a coffee shop in Portugalete, drinking cafe con leche and eating the best French toast ham and egg sandwich – pinxchos for breakfast! Perfect.
Hilarity was me trying to buy more bandaids at the farmacia. “No Compeed – bandages! Tapes, si, no not gauze, tapes already on, uh, tape? en cinta? tape? – yes! Si! Si! Gracias!” I had forgotten the word for bandages, which the pharmacist kindly reminded me was vendajes. But “tapes” got us through, and my blisters were very thankful. The pharmacist even walked me out the door and pointed the way to the Camino…possibly so I wouldn’t try to buy anything else, possibly just out of kindness.
Today’s lunch: banana chips, peanuts, and – potato chips! Salty oily goodness. I ate this feast sitting on the beach at La Playa de Areña. I raised my water bottle and toasted Pauline and Antoine in absentia. Then I toasted Begoña. Then I toasted myself: “Look at me – using good judgment, taking advice, feeding myself well, communicating and getting where I need to go.” The entire day had felt like a celebration, one ridiculous small happiness after another, each deserving a shout of glee, a toast, a kiss, as goodness surrounded me like a hug around me and my awkward backpack.
Goodness in Spanish is la bondad. I liked to remember it as “the bonded,” being bonded to the good. Like the bonds I was forging with others were strengthening the goodness I was finding. Like the bonds were the goodness, tapes to hold us together, our unity our strength.
At the albergue, the donativo table held exactly what I’d been hoping for – hiking socks and a travel towel! I felt like Camino Goldilocks, miraculously finding “just right.” My socks were overheating my feet, creating more blisters with each day; my towel was too small, and I luxuriated after my shower, wrapping myself in feather-light chamois softness.
I ate dinner at a nearby taverna with Francesca and a new friend, Felicida, a medical lab director from Mexico. Her name meant “Happiness.” My new friend Happiness. We shared the Peregrino Menu, a bottle of wine, and much, much laughter.
