As
we walked we tried to figure out what day of the week it was. We were pretty sure it was Wednesday but we ticked off the segments we had walked and, laughingly, decided we were two days off – it was Friday.
At a rest stop we told another pilgrim how we
had figured out that today is Friday. Nope, he said, it’s Thursday. A pilgrim at another table popped up her head
and said, “I thought it was Wednesday!”
We pilgrims drift along in a world where days of the week don’t matter. It’s wonderful.
Five
of us were having dinner together and we challenged one another to remember
where we had stayed the previous night.
All of these little pilgrim towns –
Hornillos del Camino, Carrion de los Condos, Calzadilla de la Cueza, El Burgo
Ranero, Mansilla de las Mullas – run together in our heads especially when we
have no anchor in the Spanish language.
Then the question came up … “What town
are we in tonight?” We dissolved in laughter when none of knew. We pilgrims drift along in a world in which
not only the day of the week doesn’t matter, but where we’re sitting doesn’t
matter either.
The
Camino is steadily stripping us down to living in the moment.
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