Going Home

I’m in the airplane to fly from Santiago to Paris. I feel naked without my mochilla.

Today I went to the pilgrims’ museum. It was there, reading about pilgrimages and their importance through history and why people do them, that it hit me. I’m a pilgrim.

A pilgrim.

I’ve stepped into the stream of history, become part of something thousands of years old.

I saw pictures of people bathing in the Ganges. Read how pilgrimages change people, change the world. And I realized, I who always feel that if I’VE done it it can’t be that special, that I have done something special. That while 300,000 people complete the Camino each year, I am still unique.

I’m having some trouble with that.

After meeting Bjorn I went back to my hotel and got my bag, then took a taxi to the airport. I realized I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, admittedly at 11, so I got a bocadillo and a Coke. Almost 9 euros! I’m spoiled. For 10 euros I could get a three-course pilgrims’ menu plus wine. (Sigh) I think there is a lot of the Camino I will miss.

The flight to Paris had only one interesting thing happen. I was sitting next to two Asians. One asked the steward for tea, specifying “hotto.” The steward was totally confused. I, with my 37 days of pilgrim practice, said, “He wants hot tea.” That’s happened to me more than once lately.

Well, the other interesting thing was we disembarked on the tarmac. I haven’t done that in a while.

The cab driver flirted with me and told me I was beautiful.But that may have been the tip. My hotel was awful and didn’t have a bathtub. It didn’t have a restaurant either, so I got a Twix and some madelines out of the vending machine.

I repacked my backpack and went to sleep. Fred called a little after 6 to make sure I was up and not going to miss my plane. Apparently I am never allowed to leave again.

When I check in this morning somehow I don’t have a seat. The man says the plane is very full, and something about standby, but that doesn’t make sense. He says I will get a seat assigned at the gate. I think this is the norm for everyone. So I wait at the gate, and my name appears on a screen.

When I check in I ask why my name is on the screen. “You were on standby, but we have a seat. Is good news for you.” Well, it is good news but I’m confused as to why I need it. I bought my ticket in December. Surely the airline knew I was flying.

I realize that all the zen-like pilgrim calm and acceptance would have been out the window had things worked out differently. Someone would have had to EXPLAIN why, after seven months, the airline hadn’t figured out I was supposed to be on the flight. I might have even used inappropriate language. Fortunately I was spared, and I can continue to pretend I am above such things.

In a beautiful twist of fate, not only am I on the flight, but the only empty seat is NEXT TO ME! I get a window. I get space to curl up or stretch out. This must be my reward. I’ll take it, God, I’ll take it.

I have set off EVERY SINGLE SECURITY GATE I’ve gone through. I think it is the various pins and screws that now hold bits of me together. I have been patted down, wanted, and had my hands wiped for residue.

Speaking of which, we were asked to stay on the plane while Customs boarded IT. Then they called for a passenger, Khalil somebody. Then after a bit they let us deplane.

I keep confusing airport personnel. “Is this it?” as I put my cell phone and money belt in a bin. “Yes.” “Did you buy anything in Paris?” “No.” Clearly I am not the norm, and I see it as I look around me.

People are absolutely anchored, tethered, by stuff. They haul it in bags, so many they can’t carry them all but need a cart. I have to wait to deplane while everyone gets their stuff. The carousels rotate with it, and the shops we pass urge us to buy more. And while I’m not at all sure I could be a digital nomad anymore, this is a lesson I hope stays learned. I need people and experiences, not stuff.