THE YEAR OF THE CANADIANS

I got used to being the only Canadian in my cadre. I got used to energetic German pilgrims asking what I was doing here, when in Canada we have "the nature" in abundance. I got tired of having to explain that while we had bears and forests and fast flowing rivers in abundance, we didn't have walking trails studded with ancient monuments, cafes and cosmopolitan cities. But on this Camino, things were different. I'd already heard about the French Canadians from Montreal, and today when I got to the albergue (the second humblest of the five), one of my roommates turned out to be an older Canadian woman named Marianne. Marianne was from the West, she was conservative, and a devout Catholic. She was thrilled to be spending a biblical forty days month "walking with the Lord" despite some physical hardships. She'd fallen prey to the cellulitis so dreaded by pilgrims and had had to rest in Burgos for nearly a week. Now she was pushing hard to get to Santiago on the fortieth day. Being an old hand, I wanted to tell her that hurrying would just land her back in trouble, but, being an old hand, I also knew that everyone walks their own Camino, and I wouldn't be helping Marianne by telling her what to do. Besides, Marianne was one of the most bitter people I'd met (so well named). Her family didn't support her journey, and at least part of her zeal was fueled by the idea that she was going to "show them!". That sat uncomfortably with me. It didn't seem that her journey was giving her much peace of mind. But Jesus said, I bring not peace but a sword, so who was I to judge? I tried to meet her in the here and now, and be a witness to her experience. But she wasn't easy company, and I found myself looking for ways to avoid being where she was. The next day I would meet a tall Canadian woman as she roared up the big hill past Hospital. By their luggage tags ye shall know them! She had a big flag tag dangling off the side of her backpack, the classic Canadian talisman; protection from being taken for a Yank. I was sitting having a rest. For the first time in ages, I had hot feet, so I was resting them. "Hi there, Canadian!" I said. I was surprised at how happy I was to see a fellow Canuck. She was Shirley, a retired nurse from a village only 50 miles from my own! Our meeting went like this. "Where are you from?" "Ontario." " Me too! Whereabouts?" "Near Kingston." "You're kidding, me too!" She looked at me..."Are you a nurse?" At last we differed. Later she introduced her walking partner Mike, from the town next to where my brother lives, not at all near Kingston. I did not do that classic Canadian six degrees of separation quiz with him. I preferred to maintain a little anonymity. But it IS a very small world.