It was evening when I arrived at my next pilgrim shelter, which was the monastery at Cenarruza. I had been walking down a muddy trail for the last bit, through a town called "Bolivar" where they actually had a statue and a little museum devoted to the South American liberator. (I wonder if there's a similar commemoration of George Washington somewhere in Britain?)
When I was almost there I was overtaken by the young French couple I had met outside of Orio a few days earlier. A monk came to receive us and showed us the pilgrim shelter. We were able to shower and could even hang our clothes up to dry on an indoor clothesline with a small heater/fan blowing on it. We attended the evening prayer service, and then the monk brought us a fantastic dinner. We were joined by an elderly couple from Austria. After dinner we went to the compline service. One of the monks stayed up far past his usual bedtime to hear me talking about my own darkness and heaviness.
There was peace there. I slept well.
When I was almost there I was overtaken by the young French couple I had met outside of Orio a few days earlier. A monk came to receive us and showed us the pilgrim shelter. We were able to shower and could even hang our clothes up to dry on an indoor clothesline with a small heater/fan blowing on it. We attended the evening prayer service, and then the monk brought us a fantastic dinner. We were joined by an elderly couple from Austria. After dinner we went to the compline service. One of the monks stayed up far past his usual bedtime to hear me talking about my own darkness and heaviness.
There was peace there. I slept well.
My first blister of the pilgrimage. There would be many, many more.
On the outside, Helmut and Helga from Austria. Inside, Mathieu and Camille from France.
