Home

Yes I am millions of miles and a couple of time zones away from the textbook definition of my home. However, I have found many similarities, comforts, and reminders of home while on the Camino and here in Santiago. Today, in our global community, my definition of home has expanded beyond the four walls of a house to include the people I meet, no matter where in the world, as my neighbor. While in Spain I have seen many cows and several John Deere tractors, but this might be the craziest and most mind-blowing story from my Camino. It still amazes me, and while it may not be the adventurous tale you are looking for, still prepare yourself…

I headed off the first morning down a mountain called O’Cebreiro. Being that it was my first day, my spirits were as high as the 1,270 meter mountain. Filled with schoolgirl giddiness for this amazing adventure that surly lied ahead, I set off walking. Well compared to my ending pace, it was more like flying with the goal of breaking the sound barrier. I paused once or twice for a breathtaking photo but kept my pace set to Olympian. Every time I came up behind a weary pilgrim (I passed many that first day) I would open my mouth and a cheerleader like ‘Buen Camino’ would fly out with smile. In a few days I found this type of enthusiasm thoroughly annoying, is it too late to say sorry?

About an hour and a half into my enthusiastic Camino I realized many pilgrims were stopping to enjoy some breakfast and cafés scattered in towns along the Camino. I took the hint and headed for a rather small café just of the path in a small farming community. I ordered a café con leché (the first of many to come) and took a seat at a corner table. Okay Lizzy, I thought, this is your time. Meet people, make friends, that is what the Camino is suppose to be.  I scanned the café and decided to continue to munch on my toast and coffee instead. In the midst of my thoughts, I found the English floating from the table across from me rather comforting. I continued to munch and think, unsure of how to approach anyone or even what I was really doing. I stood up, ready to get back on my way, headed to the counter and so did one of the guys from the English-speaking table. We made some small talk at the counter. Being that we were conversing in common Midwestern English, it did not take long for him to ask me where I was from.

Now being from a small town in the Midwest, I am no stranger to the “Idaho” and “Ohio” interpretation of Iowa. So whenever I am asked where I am from I always start with the States then proceed to the Midwest, and then if the other half to the conversation seems to be tracking I finally answer with Iowa. After working through this answer, all the while this stranger nodding along, he looked at me as his three other travel companions joined us and he asked, “Well where in Iowa?”

A little taken back, I answered with the typical, “Des Moines area, you know central, the capitol.” With even wider, eager eyes and ears perked up like dogs all four guys leaned in and asked, “Yah, but like, where at in Des Moines?”

I thought back to all those articles I had read about women traveling alone in a foreign country and decided to ignore them and all my mother’s good teaching so I answered, “Grimes, it is a little town northwest of Des Moines.”

 

“NO WAY!” [insert gasps and random noises of disbelief as I stood rather confused]  

“Uh, yah I really do live there,” was my quizzical response. I finally took in all their enthusiasm as I took a better look at the four similar aged men who stood in front of me and recognized the high school shirt one of them sported. I joined in the astonishment.

With the widest of smiles they introduced themselves and finally answered that they all had attended Dowling Catholic and lived in surrounding towns. We even have mutual friends. I am sure our loud enthusiasm earned us some sideways glances and a few mumbled ‘Americans’, but nothing could stop the cheesy smile stretched across my face. Here I have traveled across an ocean only to meet and continue to travel along side four guys who lived just over the fence of my back yard.

Meeting and getting to know these four guys brought me more encouragement then they could ever know. The rest of the day I replayed our encounter with every step I took. As the days wore on, my enthusiasm rose and fell with every hill, but I got out of bed each morning encouraged, knowing I would see their familiar faces, and many others, around whichever foreign town we stopped in for the night. An hour and a half into my Camino and I had gained four friends; seven days later I had four brothers, a close sisters, and many others whom I will forever consider family. 

Buen Camino