"The Camino provides." --Anyone who's ever been a pilgrim
Is it true? How could there not enough bunks at the end of a 15-mile walk? And the next village is another two or three or five miles away? And it's raining??
Picture yourself getting up in your dorm room at 5:30 or 6:00 am. It's dark, and you grope around to gather your belongings, even though you've slept in the clothes you will walk in today. Trying to be quiet, yet it's astonishing how much noise a backpack zipper can make in silence. ZZZZIIIIIPPPPP!! Shhhh... Off to use the toilet, run a comb through your hair, a quick tooth brushing, and out of the Alburgue you bound.
Because you're a morning person? Because you like the challenge of finding those yellow arrows that point you in the right direction in the dark? Because you can't wait to use that cool headlamp you bought at REI?
No. Because you have a fear of not having a place to sleep at the end of today's walk. Or...at least, some pilgrims seem to have this worry.
I've been reading a lot about this lately. Opinions vary on the likelihood of getting a bunk at the end of the day. Generally, most pilgrims report that beds have a way of appearing. If an Alburgue or Refugio is "completo," then a school may open up its gymnasium. Locals along the Camino may invite you in. If you're a person with funds...say 20 or 30 Euros...you can find lodging in a private hotel--only sharing with two or three others. This is considered a luxury. But if you are the snob who insists that not only must you sleep alone, but also have your own shower...you will pay a lot...and you'll probably be at a truck stop, off the Camino path. If you're hell-bent on this elitist isolation, maybe you should just stay home.
Here's how it works: Pilgrims are only allowed to stay one night in an Alburgue. You have to clear out by 8 am, so the hospitaliteros can clean up and get ready for the next batch of incomers. (So, 5:30 or 6 am isn't really all that early, although these early birds are called "rustlers" because of the noise they make.)
You already have an idea of how far you want to walk during the day. So, you set out. An Alburgue may or may not provide breakfast....which in Spain is a cup of coffee, maybe some toast or a piece of cake. Hopefully, a cafe or bar will appear, and you'll be able to get something more substantial. Such as cafe con leche and a slice of tortilla (one of my favorite Spanish foods, an egg and potato pie) or a bocadilla, a hearty sandwich.
How quickly you walk is your decision. You can pump right to the next stop on your itinerary, or be willing to be distracted. Landscape, farmers, sheep, cathedrals, Roman ruins, castles, wildflowers, wine, storks...it's all up to you. It is YOUR pilgrimage.
Once you arrive at your destination--there are Alburgues in nearly every village--you claim your right to a bed by parking your backpack in line with the others. First come, first slept.
Then you have lunch/dinner, explore the village, visit the cathedral, chat with other pilgrims at the local bar--there seems to always be a local bar--buy some postcards, write in your journal. Whatever, until the Alburgue opens in early afternoon.
At that time, you return to your backpack and count how many pilgrims are ahead of you. Hopefully, your previous calculations were correct, and you will be given a spot. If not, you can look elsewhere in the village, or continue to the next location.
In a world where we like to control everything, this can be unnerving. Some people will get a Spain SIM card and frantically phone ahead for any kind of reservation. We're accustomed to having everything we want, when we want it. The very idea of not knowing where we'll sleep at night is unheard of. We can't handle vagueries. Traumatic.
And, yet, it's how pilgrims walked for hundreds of years. Before cell phones. Before Internet. They simply had faith that the Camino would provide. It's just one night, they reasoned. Tomorrow can deliver more.
This is one of the reasons I chose to walk the Camino. I don't want to plan. I want to see what turns up.I want to trust that the universe--and the Camino--will deliver.
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