I had worried about not getting up on time, having forgotten how to set my wristwatch alarm, but all was well. I had time for a croissant and coffee in the bus station cafe before heading out to try and unscramble which bus of the several which were coming and going, all seemingly in the same direction, but of which, predictably, none seemed to be mine. As I sat on the bench, a bit tense about the confusion, I saw three women straggle in with heavy backpacks. One was my sort of age, and the other two looked to be in their thirties; they smiled and sat down. When I heard North American vowel sounds coming out of their mouths, I couldn't help myself.
'Canadian or American?' I asked. I would have put my money on the former, but it turned out they were from the Great North West, Oregon to be precise. Ah, how nice it was to talk with some people from my continent.
We sat together on the bus, and I heard about their adventures of the day before; their first day on the Camino. They'd got off the bus a few stops shy of the station in Lugo, and had to walk up that very steep hill past the university to the old city, proper. They were a mother and daughter group, and the two younger women had left their children with their fathers for two weeks, while they visited Spain. They had a week to walk to Santiago, and then it was on to Madrid, to meet up with their husband/father (not a walker), and then to Barcelona. How great was that! Even though I was ON the Camino, I was envious. How weird is that!
As the mother, whom I'll call Sheryl, and I chatted away, we discovered a shared love of gardening and the politics of community and inclusiveness. My last Camino experience taught me that it was usually left-leaning Americans who came to do the walk, so I wasn't surprised. The daughters were charming and funny, and the whole group just exuded intelligence and reasonableness. Pretty soon, in my head, I was calling them "Great Oregonian Women".
When we got to Sarria, (still just as horrid as ever), I asked directions to the Camino, and showed it to the ladies. We set off together but soon were on our separate ways. We met up again, by chance, near the town hall, and I showed them where to go to get their first sellos. For me, it was lovely to watch these peregrinas starting out. I took a lot of vicarious pleasure in their adventure, and I was glad to be able to be a camino angel in a small way to them, paying forward the many kindnesses I'd received along the Way, both times. As much fun as it was to be in their company I didn't want to intrude, and I knew how important it was for them, and me, to walk their own Camino. I had told Sheryl that I was "sauntering" through Spain. Later I discovered, through Henry David Thoreau, of all people, that the meaning of saunter may have had a pilgrim origin.
Here's what he had to say on the matter:
I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who understood the art of Walking, that is, of taking walks, who had a genius, so to speak, for which word is beautifully derived "from idle people who roved about the country, in the middle ages, and asked charity, under pretence of going à la Sainte Terre"—to the holy land, till the children exclaimed, "There goes a sainte terrer", a saunterer—a holy-lander. They who never go to the holy land in their walks, as they pretend, are indeed mere idlers and vagabonds, but they who do go there are saunterers in the good sense, such as I mean. Some, however, would derive the word from, without land or a home, which, therefore, in the good sense, will mean, having no particular home, but equally at home everywhere. For this is the secret of successful sauntering. He who sits still in a house all the time may be the greatest vagrant of all, but the Saunterer, in the good sense, is no more vagrant than the meandering river, which is all the while sedulously seeking the shortest course to the sea. But I prefer the first, which indeed is the most probable derivation. For every walk is a sort of crusade, preached by some Peter the Hermit in us, to go forth and reconquer this holy land from the hands of the Infidels. (and by infidels, Thoreau meant, I believe, those who would despoil it).
I also know now that there is a World Sauntering Day, June 19. "The purpose is to remind us to take it easy, smell the roses, and enjoy life as opposed to rushing through it." The definition of saunter expounded by followers of this way of life is as follows: Sauntering is a verb to describe a style of walking; it is not a sashay, prance, trot, or lollygag. Simply it is to walk slowly preferably with a joyful disposition. (Thank you, wikipedia.)
I mean to keep that festival!
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