I departed Dulles airport in Washington on May 3rd, arriving in Madrid the next morning. I took a taxi to the home of my friend Estrella Melendez, who allowed me to park my duffel bag and street clothes at her house during my trek. She loaned me an extra cell phone, drove me to El Corte Inglés, a department store, where I purchased a phone card and a train ticket to Pamplona. Back at her home, I changed into my trekking gear, grabbed my backpack and trekking poles, and took a taxi to the Atocha train station where I boarded the train to Pamplona.
I spent the night in Pamplona, and walked to the bus station the next morning. I had to keep asking directions to the bus station. Finally, one older woman walked me to the station, at least half a mile, and stood by the teller’s window until I had the ticket in my pocket. This was not the first time I experienced such kindness from a Spaniard.
The bus station waiting room was full of pilgrims with their backpacks and walking sticks. I chatted with a Canadian woman named Donna Kliachik, and, on impulse, handed her my business card; months later, I was very glad I did.
Grateful for the little Spanish I have. I sat next to a middle-aged Spaniard on the bus from Pamplona to Roncesvalles. This was his third time doing a part of the Camino and will not be his last. A nice fellow, with a curious way of singing to himself.
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