When Susan and I walked into Mansilla de las Mulas we were soaking wet. Our eighth day walking on the Meseta, an elevated plateau in North Central Spain, had already been long and hard before the rain set in. A few days prior, we decided to walk this alternate route because the trail took us into a more isolated agricultural area that was quieter and better suited to introspection. And at a pragmatic level, accommodation was easier to secure away from the crowds. Perceived competition for beds had accelerated a resource panic among pilgrims, especially as we entered the open plains, and towns were smaller and less frequent.
Even so, most people had opted to walk the easier gravel path that follows the main road from Sahagun to Mansilla de las Mulas, despite the unpleasantness of walking next to heavy traffic. Walkers shun the Roman road, as we discovered, for the same reasons that others love it.
Built by Emperor Augustus in about 13 BC to facilitate his conquest of Spain and Gaul, the 20 km section of Roman road from Calzadilla de los Hermanillos to Reliegos, is the longest continuous section surviving in Spain. These long, straight roads were very well built.
They were wide enough to accommodate two chariots back then, and remain sufficient for one big tractor today: though the cambered upper surface of small broken rocks has suffered as the traffic changed from sandals to dual wheels.
The Roman road traverses a broad-acre irrigation area that hosts a busy agricultural community. Many walkers report that they find it barren, boring and a bit scary. We spent two days on the Roman road. On the first day (14 km) we saw five cars, four tractors, and one header. There were no other walkers. One of our Camino friends walked this section alone. She found herself walking quickly, checking her watch and map frequently, and then deciding to catch a taxi back to the main route the next day. Although this section passes through large forested areas, much of the trail wends through low hills that draw the eye across the open paddocks and toward the clouds and the endless horizon.
Our small figures naturally diminish in significance as we walk these endless roads. Australians are familiar with the big sky and the clarifications it can offer.
The Roman road is also extractive. Every step requires consideration and care, lest a rock shifts and an ankle twists. Watching your footfall, and scanning ahead to find easier lines in the path, is exhausting. But this level of attention to the moment is also freeing. Our daily walking is very simple. We watch the scenery, we watch our footfall, and we watch our companions on the same path. During the second day of Roman cobbles, we also watched a windy wet change move towards us. After lunch and back on the smoother real Camino trail, we watched for puddles and tried to avoid spray from passing traffic.
Opening the door of the Albergue was a relief as, dripping wet, we prepared ourselves for the routine reception: show your passport, pay the accommodation fees, comprehend the new house instructions, stow your shoes, and stay out of trouble. But our reception in this Albergue was surprising. After weeks of walking across a foreign country without rudimentary language skills and amongst a crowd of others, we had become accustomed to anonymity. Sometimes this generic status gleans a generalized kindness – other days, less tolerance. It usually isn’t personal, and we move on.
But on this day our reception was different. Our hosts took our heavy bags and wet coats as we entered. They helped us to remove our soaked shoes, offering newspaper to help them dry more quickly. Then they directed us to our beds. They waited patiently as we extracted our passports and money from under layers of clothes. They asked us our names and then actually remembered them. The next morning, they made us tea and ate the same humble breakfast that they offered. They farewelled us individually.
I found this intention, to recognize and receive each pilgrim as an individual, very moving.
Pilgrim literature makes sense of this epic undertaking by dividing the journey into three sections (let’s not quibble about the inherent body/mind split!). The first phase is dominated by the physical challenge, which necessarily continues through all three. During the second phase, as the new routine of attention or ‘present-centeredness’ becomes entrenched, you realize that your goal of reaching Santiago de Compostela won’t be achievable if you fail to comprehend and receive care for your present needs. Each footstep must matter, or tomorrow’s planned steps may not be possible. The open sky and isolation of the Meseta seem to intensify this learning.
Tomorrow we leave the plateau and begin the third phase of our walk. I pray that the anticipated soul work is as rich and rewarding as the tough old Roman road.
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