Tosantos

The Franciscan albergue in Tosantos, refuge for pilgrims

One of the most memorable quotes I heard on the Camino de Santiago was also the most humbling. It was in the village of Tosantos, in the chapel of a small, rather spartan albergue devoted to St. Francis of Assisi. We pilgrims had all just finished a communal dinner and were now gathered with the albergue's two hospitaleros--José Luis and Jesús--for a multi-lingual prayer service. José Luis, the main hospitalero at Tosantos for years now and once a pilgrim on the Camino himself, had the floor for a few minutes while a French pilgrim translated into English what he had to say.

"We bring nothing to the Camino," José Luis said. "We give nothing to the Camino. The Camino gives to us. Pay attention to what the Camino brings you. The Camino does not bring you what you want. The Camino brings you what you need."

Village of Tosantos

Maybe you need to be American to find this kind of statement truly revelatory and humbling. Because America is a place that teaches its citizens to believe that the whole world wants what America has, and if the whole world can't come to America to get it, then the duty of Americans is to to bring it to the world...whether the world wants it or not. The difference between this philosophy of the USA and the message offered by José Luis in the albergue in Tosantos comes down to the difference between power and vulnerability. Not that those two concepts are necessarily diametrically opposite to each other. But they are in the mindset of American culture.

In America, power comes from having things--preferably lots of things. And even more power comes from convincing other people that they want lots of things--preferably from you or the source you endorse. The average American's sense of self-esteem is deeply rooted in this particular definition of power--the power to have what others want and the power to make others want what you have. (I admit, I can get caught up in it myself.) In America, if you can't acquire lots of things and can't convince others of the importance of things, then you've failed. And if you're among that crowd that can't be convinced, the ones who refuse what they're being told to want, then you're a riddle at best, a fool at worst. Such scenarios essentially put the hand up to power after all, and make way for powerlessness, for weakness, for vulnerability. And who but a failure or a fool would do or allow that?

Sun setting beyond Tosantos

A pilgrim is who. The kind of person who makes the choice to willingly live on their own two feet and out of a 15/20-lb rucksack for a month in pursuit of a bunch of stamps on a credencial or passport (one that's not even recognized by any government or nation on earth) and a rolled-up piece of paper with some message in a long-dead language on it from the Catholic Church essentially saying "Nice job." In the old days, the rolled-up piece of paper, known as a compostela, was supposed to grant and give proof of a plenary indulgence by the Church. "A plenary what?" says today's even most devout Catholic-raised pilgrims. (For sure. What is a plenary indulgence and what am I supposed to do with it now that I've got one?)

When José Luis said we pilgrims bring nothing to the Camino but in fact the Camino brings us what we need (and not what we want), he was right on a number of levels. Pilgrims carry the basics with them while walking the Camino. Their most prized (meaning necessary) possessions are a good pair of walking shoes, good trekking socks, some bandages, maybe a needle and thread to drain blisters, fresh water, a hopefully bed-bug-free sleeping bag, maybe a poncho if it rains, their credencial, and not much else. These things aren't "nothing" but they certainly don't amount to much of value in the "real" world, in life off the Camino.

Me and all my possessions for the Camino, on my mattress in the Tosantos albergue

Meanwhile, if the Camino was meant to bring pilgrims what they really wanted, it would bring them much more than a certificate from the Catholic Church at the end of the long walk. As the Way goes on, most pilgrims find that what they're wanting most sorely are things like a hot shower, a comfortable place to sit down for a few minutes, a spot in the shade or out of the rain and wind, a sheltered toilet...preferably with toilet paper, a night of snore-free sleep, maybe a foot massage or back rub, a pair of socks that don't smell. While you can argue whether these desires serve spiritual needs more than physical or material, you can't help but notice how basic these desires are, how unlikely you are to find them for sale in anyone's luxury-item Christmas catalog.

On another level, the "nothingness" José Luis spoke of refers to the ego check that the Camino becomes for most pilgrims. It is generally a good idea not to bring your ego to the Camino. That includes the ego that thinks it has the answers to all the world's--and certainly your fellow pilgrims'--problems and the ego that has expectations of getting answers to your own problems. Offering advice and answers and seeking advice and answers on the Camino is a surefire guarantee for disappointment and frustration all-around. This is an especially hard thing for an American pilgrim to accept. Because advice and answers have become as much a commodity, something considered worth working, striving, paying, living, and dying for, in American culture as much as any material object. Advice and answers are another means to feeling powerful and important for Americans, and giving up the pursuit and trade of them (of anything really) leaves the average American soul open to feeling lost and vulnerable.

Pilgrim shadow on the mountainside near Tosantos

But that's kind of the point of the Camino. While everyone has their own reasons for wanting to walk the Camino, and everyone discovers their own pace and experiences their own daily triumphs and limitations and let-downs and joys, I'd say many pilgrims learn similar lessons of faith, acceptance, and openness while walking the Camino. Understand that at times you will lose or not know the way to go on the Camino, just like you will not always know the answers. Understand also that you will likely find the way soon enough, either on your own or through the help of others--and understand that even once you find the way again, the answers still might prove elusive. Accept that this is just fine, good enough for now and maybe for always. Figuring out the right way is probably more satisfying than figuring out the right answers. Accept that you might need other pilgrims' or locals' help at times. Accept that other pilgrims may not want your help when you have it to give. Accept that sometimes another pilgrim friend wants to walk alone awhile. Accept that sometimes another pilgrim friend needs someone to walk with and talk to awhile. Accept that some days you won't walk as far as you wanted--some days you'll be too tired and other days you'll find you just won't want to. Accept that you'll change your mind and change your plans some days. Be open and aware to what the Camino puts in front of you--it might be just the thing you need, if not what you were explicitly wanting. Be aware of what the Camino has put behind you as well--it might be just the thing you needed to let go of or leave behind or lose.

The Tosantos albergue. Jean-Louis, a French pilgrim, is tossing walnuts out the window to the children of a German family walking the Camino together 2 weeks at a time over the next few years.

Now all this might seem a lot to absorb from a few minutes' talk from a hospitalero in a very basic albergue in a tiny village on the Way. But that's Tosantos--one of the most welcoming and warmest albergues on the Camino. Materially speaking, the Tosantos albergue won't give you much. Pilgrims sleep on mattresses on the floor in somewhat drafty rooms with squeaky floorboards, and the only washing basin for cleaning your clothes is a sink inside the men's toilet and shower room. The dryer, meanwhile, is a few clotheslines in a large but scraggly-looking lawn garden across from the albergue. On the plus side, there's a kitchen and dining room--and a communal dinner and breakfast where everyone pitches in by setting the table, peeling and chopping vegetables, ladeling out soup, slicing bread, heating up milk and water, washing dishes, etc. And whatever you "get" from your stay at Tosantos, you pay for through donativo, by donation in a private box, not through a set price of 7 (reasonable) to 15 (rather outrageous, for the Camino) euros as in most albergues.


Jesús in the kitchen with one of the pilgrims, getting the dinner ready

There's also an unexpected and lovely little field trip thrown into the bargain. In the late afternoon all of us pilgrims who were already checked in and interested were invited to walk up to a hermitage built into a white-cliff cave in the mountain beside the village. The hermitage, known as Our Lady of the Rock, contains a beautiful, ornate altar and an image of the Christ Child from the 12th century that no one ever gets to see, because the church there is locked up at all times. Except for Tosantos pilgrims that is--as recently a local woman has begun to take up pilgrims from Tosantos and allow them to see the inside of the church (with the agreement they take no pictures) while she explains about its history.

Walking up to the hermitage, Ermita de la Virgen de la Chiesa

Exterior of the hermitage

Built into the cliffside

The hermitage of Tosantos seen from a distance, aways from the village

This was a special enough opportunity as it is. It was made even more so on the day I was there though by a mass service in the hermitage, performed by another pilgrim, a priest from the Philippines, Father Manuel, whom I had met right after checking in at the albergue. I'd had no idea until the mass began that Manuel was a priest. And apparently he had no idea, no expectation, that he'd be serving mass in this unusual little cliffside hermitage when he arrived at Tosantos. At most, he thought he might get a chance to lead some prayers or a service in the chapel inside the albergue after dinner--but then he was told he could perform mass at Our Lady of the Rock if he wished.

After the mass I learned that this was Father Manuel's second time on the Camino. His first Camino had been a couple years before and began in St. Jean Pied-de-Port--this time he had started from farther afield (I believe from La Puy in central France) and was walking the Camino in honor of his mother, who had passed away.

Meeting Father Manuel was one of the highlights of my Camino. Not because of anything he said or did in particular. Though one of my reasons for deciding to walk the Camino de Santiago was some struggles I've had in recent years with issues of faith and forgiveness, Father Manuel didn't offer any wise, priestly wisdom or judgements for me on these issues. In other words, he didn't have any answers for me--and didn't pretend to either. I admit, answers and resolution to my struggles and doubts were what I was wanting from the Camino. Instead all I got was the comfort of the friendly and familiar face of a Filipino priest who kept popping up on my Camino after our initial meeting in Tosantos. Essentially I got what I needed.

Karen on the Camino, crossing the Meseta

I got some other much-needed Camino friends in Tosantos too. Tosantos was where I met Karen, my friend from Austin who was my most frequent walking partner during the most difficult part of the Camino for me, the Meseta and whom I met sitting next to me at the communal dinner in Tosantos. Along with companionship, Karen brought music to my Camino. A musician herself, Karen and I had some good long conversations about music and the music scene in Austin, and she let me listen in to some good rare songs on her iPod a couple times. When she wasn't walking with me, I had the funny memory of some lyrics she had made up on the spot one day to keep me going and break the sometimes overwhelming silence and loneliness of the road. (Her lyrics: Oh I wish I were a motor scooter/ Oh I wish I were a car/ Cuz if I were a motor scooter/ I wouldn't have to walk so far./ Oh I wish I were a bicycle/ Oh I wish I were a motor cy/ Cuz if I were a bicycle/ I wouldn't have to swat this fly.)

Tosantos also brought me the smiling face and big-hearted spirit of Andreas, the children's clown and juggler from Milan. I first ran into Andreas a few days before Tosantos, in Lorca. But I didn't actually meet him or speak to him until Tosantos, where he showed up at the albergue a little late in the day, too late for the mass in the hermitage. I remember after mass coming back to the albergue and seeing Andreas sitting out front, making balloon animals for the 5 young children of an amazing German couple who were all walking the Camino together for 2 weeks every year until they reached Santiago. Like Father Manuel, Andreas kept popping up on my Camino from then on, until the village of Rabanal el Camino, where he remembered it was my birthday and shouted birthday greetings to me from up the street (the only birthday greetings I got that day)--and then I didn't see him again until Santiago.

Andreas on the Camino, with his juggling pins. He eventually gave them away to some children in Los Arcos to lessen the weight of his backpack. Picture by peregrina Marie-Belle

As for Father Manuel? Father Manuel was the first fellow pilgrim I ran into in Santiago after having walked 40km in one day to get there. I was exhausted to say the least, and it was getting dark in the old city and everything was still seeming too overwhelming and unfamiliar for me to feel relieved or joyous from having finally arrived. But then there was Father Manuel with a few other pilgrims. A friendly and unfamiliar face in an unfamiliar place, just when I needed it. He gave me a hug, congratulated me, and told me to make sure I get to the pilgrim mass the next day. "It's the feast day of St. Simon and St. Jude tomorrow. The botafumeiro will be there" (meaning the giant swinging incenser that's only brought out for special masses). And indeed it was there, and so was Father Manuel, serving mass with several other priests from around the world.

Me with Father Manuel from the Philippines in Santiago de Compostela