Camino Stories: The Beach
I thought September would be mild but summer still lingered. More than that, the heat of each day was no indication that the seasons were changing. This particular day, the only defense against the blazing sun were a few thin clouds drifting by. The route started in a bustling town then took us out into rolling hills of corn not yet harvested and stone buildings from centuries past. We trekked along the quiet asphalt, hoping over each crest we’d see a stretch of level ground or perhaps a bench in the shade. When life is stripped to such simplicity, the mind is clear of the heavy and nuanced issues of daily life and is usually left to consider the immediate. Happiness for me, today, would be found in the moment I could sit and wrestle my shoes off.
Around lunch, the path dropped down a rugged road into Santillana del Mar, a historic village with stone streets and an accumulation of tourists spilling out of the buses idling nearby. It was an abrupt change from our morning. The buildings held their own wonder and charm, but the atmosphere was plastic and commercial. Souvenir and cheese shops lined the streets. Stickers, pins, posters, and all the other usual knick-knacks that eventually collect dust elsewhere hung in each window and doorway we passed. Navigating this maze, we found a table on a patio and watched the day-trippers stream by like zombies (though we pilgrims likely fit the part of a half-dead and stenchy creature just as well). Each, one after the other, squinting in the sun, held their phone out to snap their pictures, most of which I believed would also collect dust, digitally speaking. They seemed oblivious to the few pilgrims who were pleased to simply have a seat in the shade.
