Obviously it was my own fault. I was goofing around and showing off balancing on a log when I fell in the ditch. But what I foolhardily thought was maybe a few inches of water and the risk of getting my feet wet ended up being more like four feet of water. I was suddenly and very unexpectedly submerged root to toot in dirty rain water along a desolate stretch of gravel road, something like ten miles from the nearest town. At least I had an audience for this incredible performance - a weary gaggle of pilgrims who would soon go about the business of spreading the story far and wide of the girl who fell headlong into a ditch of water, which is how I became 'camino famous.' Bask in my glory, all.
Before this unintended benchmark and beginning on my 31st birthday, I set out to spend the next 42 days transversing the more than 500 miles from St. Jean Pied de Port at the base of the Pyrenees in France all the way to the Western coast of Spain, ending with my toes in the Atlantic ocean. This was the Camino de Santiago, an ancient pilgrimage route that can trace its history well back over a thousand years, and which millions of people have already walked before me. Presumably I'm not the first to fall into a ditch.
I’ve known about the Camino for several years, and I abruptly found myself with a lot of spare time after, well, after my boss of the previous seven and a half years died. This rather unexpected turn of events shook up the comfortable life I had built, and I felt unceremoniously tossed out of the 'nest' by her death. She left me not without survival skills, however, and indeed a great number of gifts, including important lessons about living ferociously, loving abundantly, and seeking out a high quality, adventure-riddled life. She left me with time, and time, as it turns out, is the greatest of gifts. With a 'use it or lose it' attitude toward my now empty date book, I booked my tickets, bought some boots, and suddenly found myself tripping across Spain, trying not to give my mother anything to worry about and failing miserably.
I met the ditch about two thirds the way through this great saunter, somewhere in the 25km stretch of flat and introspective landscape between Carriòn de los Condes and Terradillos de los Templarios. It had been pouring rain for two days, the kind of gentle steady rain that soaks into the earth slowly and in between deluges hangs sulkily in the air without falling to the ground. This was the day we were forewarned that there were no places to stop before reaching the next town. Which is why when my companions and I came across a small rest area off the road with a few benches and a man with a cart serving coffee, we stopped for a bit with a bunch of other rain-soaked peregrinos. The rain had swelled the ground like a sponge, and filled the ditches alongside the path. It should have been obvious that the water level was reaching kiddy-pool depths, but not thinking things through is the foundation for my special brand of klutzy, stumbling showmanship. And so, with an audience of resting pilgrims, I perched upon a ditch-adjacent log and prepared to dazzle my friends with my Olympic-level balancing act. Unfortunately the only thing they were impressed with was the tremendous height of my splash and the subsequent speed with which I flew out of the water, caterwauling with laughter mixed with...well, just general screaming, probably sounding something like a cat if it had more of a sense of humor about getting wet.
This spectacle, like all breathtaking occurrences, was met with a moment of stunned silence as the pilgrims watching the scene gaped at the still rippling surface of the water, before predictably launching into raucous laughter. They then jumped into action to help me before hypothermia set in, and I spent the next two hours immodestly undressing in plain view under a stranger's proffered poncho, peeling off every article of soaking wet, dirty clothing and wringing it all out. My camino family busied themselves with examining my possessions for water damage, and handing me dry clothes and their only towels. Towels are precious things on the camino, being something you generally want to keep as clean and dry as possible, and I was touched so many were held out to me.
There was still a long, cold walk ahead before we could stop for the day, but the following hours were some of the warmest in my heart as we walked along the way, the tempo'd crunch of our feet on the gravel punctuated quite often by boisterous rounds of giggles as the memory would replay.
PERSPECTIVE IS THE GREATEST WORD
When your days are filled with only one to-do: walk from A to B, you have the privilege to spend a lot of time thinking. One of the things I thought about almost constantly was perspective, and how easy it is for my views on aspects of my life to become skewed. We're so susceptible to losing perspective, especially when we overemphasize the importance of ourselves. There are always occasions to reset your perspective, but they usually come with caveats, such as how the impending death of a loved one can extinguish old grudges, or how seeing images of the homes and lives uprooted by a hurricane can make your small apartment feel like a palace. It's a little harder to reset perspective on a smaller, more daily scale. Falling into a ditch was a great reminder for me of what, at least in that moment, was actually important.
There was a lot I could have been mad and upset about, and I certainly could have been embarrassed. But when I popped out of my Camino baptismal, all I felt was absolute joy. Falling down wasn't in the slightest bit upsetting, because I was immediately (well, almost immediately, they mostly laughed first) surrounded by concerned and caring people who were not at all perturbed that I had just caused a delay in their day. I was still whole and remarkably uninjured (although later found out quite bruised), but able to amble on, whereas my camino could have ended right there. I was patinated in a film of dirt, but again, whole, and even with several miles ahead until the nearest lodging, I knew that whenever it was that I made it to a shower, it would be the most delicious shower of my life. I knew that although it might be several hours, a shower was forthcoming, and I would relish that simple ablution which I often take for granted. I thought of those who have never had the pleasure of a hot shower, and found gratitude that was not there before. I also knew that at some point I would be able to machine-wash and dry my filthy clothes, and I was deeply appreciative to know I could, and I thought of the people who will never know the bone-warming contentment that comes from wrapping yourself in still-hot, detergent-scented clothes from the dryer.
The only real casualty was my iPhone, which although swathed in an Otterbox case, inside of a plastic bag inside of a water resistant other bag, still managed to get water damage. For the next two days Siri would keep responding to unasked questions while flashing a dazzling display of colors on the screen appropriately close the colors of a bruise. Of course it was disappointing to think my photos were gone, but the memories were still there, as were the people I had made them with. I also used my phone to pay bills back home, and in searching for a computer made friends with the sweetest hospitalero who, after chuckling, insisted I use his computer for free once he learned I was the girl he had heard fell in a ditch. A phone is a phone, replaceable, and a small price to pay for these treasured encounters with helpful, kind people.
With this perspective, I couldn't be upset, all I had was joy. In this ridiculous experience, I was shown so much kindness and patience, and was reminded to count my blessings and to be grateful for what I had and not mourn what I had lost, be it time, phone, or dignity. Much like the ditch, there are a lot of little everyday things in life that we see with distorted depth perception, although we usually think things are way bigger or more important than they really are. Sometimes it takes falling in to learn something is not that big of a deal after all.
...
This is the first post in a series about the Camino de Santiago, with less emphasis on the day-to-day logistics of walking, and much more about the fruits that came from this experience. One of the challenges the Camino gives you is that you can't rely on the Camino itself too much, as it is a finite term, but you can learn and bring those lessons back, apply them to your life, and share them with others.
Comments