Camino Wander #3: Day 38

Astorga to Rabanel del Camino

The early morning light streaming through the windows of the Gaudí museum is stunning. Gaudí is a master of architecture, though his work feels a little too ostentatious for me. Still… the windows. The turrets. Beautiful.

Of course, I’m still getting dressed as I gaze at this view. I’m in no rush—but I probably should be. I have 20 km to walk today, but now getting up, dressed, and packed takes only minutes. I don’t need to do my hair—I’ll be wearing a hat all day. Makeup—not that I wear it often anyway—wasn’t even considered when I packed. I get dressed after checking the strapping on my knees, brush my feet, wash my face, and put on my shoes. My pack is mostly sorted the night before now. It’s a useful habit for when staying in albergues.

Astorga is quiet. The locals are still tucked away, but deliveries are happening. A bread truck drives around tooting its horn, and locals come out to buy bread from the back of the van. I’ve even bought from similar vans on previous Caminos.

By now, there are two types of pilgrims left: the bed runners and the ones truly committed to the journey. Many are reaching that emotional point where they start to recognise what this walk means to them.

Even though I’m walking the same path, I feel like an outsider, watching the world unfold around me. I’m not sure I’ve noticed anything particularly new this time, aside from new albergues, closures, new restaurants… and, of course, the increase in pilgrims. I feel like I’m meant to be here just to observe.

As I make my way toward Rabanal, I find myself thinking about my book—how I can weave this journey into Merritt’s story. It’s unfolding day by day. (I just hope I can read my handwriting when I get home.)

Ten kilometers into the walk, the plan changes—again. That’s when the lavender appears in abundance. At this point, I have no choice but to stay flexible. In case you don’t know, I’m highly allergic to lavender.

With my buff wrapped around my face and antihistamines going down like lollies, I manage to flag down a taxi. He gives me a wave—and keeps driving. I want to scream, but I keep going. It’s a kilometre and a half to the next town, and I think, ‘If I can just make it there, i can call a taxi - or ask someone to call for me.’ I don’t have much farther to walk when a car honks beside me. I look up—and it’s the same taxi I flagged earlier. He’d gone to Astorga, picked someone up, and was now heading back to Rabanal. By this point, my throat is tightening, my eyes are watering, and my face feels like it’s on fire. I beeline for the car.

“Do you mind sharing your taxi?” I ask the woman inside. “I’m allergic to lavender, and it’s everywhere.”

Not only does she not mind—she even offers me her EpiPen. (She’s allergic to bees.) I decline, thank her, and let her know I’ve taken enough antihistamine. But it makes me think: I should probably talk to a doctor when I get home. Maybe an EpiPen is in my future.

Honestly, the reaction scares me. I know immediately I have to get out of the area fast—there’s too much lavender to take any risks. I have a private room booked for the night, so as soon as I arrive, I shower and wash my clothes. I tell the hospitalera about my allergy, and she goes out of her way to help—giving me the number for a taxi for the next day and even offering her own remedy. Then I find the nearest bar and order a cold drink with ice to soothe my throat. It feels *gooooood*.

I spend the next hour reconfiguring my plans—again. It seems I won’t be going to Cruz de Ferro (the Iron Cross) to lay my burdens. But since this is my third Camino, I don’t have many heavy burdens left to release. Besides, I can lay them elsewhere. Still, I feel a bit disappointed. Historically, that has been one of my favorite days on the Camino—the wildflowers are usually breathtaking. But not if they’re mixed with lavender.

I remember my first Camino. I arrived in Rabanal with what I now believe was pneumonia. I felt heavy. I was ready to quit. But my Camino angels convinced me to lay my burdens at the cross first. I still felt awful, but lighter somehow. An allergic reaction isn’t the same as that illness, but today I feel that same kind of exhaustion—like every ounce of energy has been drained from me. Sure, I’m disappointed that I can’t walk to the top, but I know my limits.

What reminds me of all this today is a woman I met late in the afternoon. She’s struggling with severe tendinitis and shares that she’s also been dealing with a lot of grief. She tells me she arrived in Rabanal by taxi at 9 a.m., and when she knocked on the monastery door, she burst into tears. A monk ushered her in. She feels like she’s failed her Camino, but I wonder if her grief is manifesting physically—into the tendinitis. The mind and body are undeniably connected. It’s not uncommon.

Later, I go to vespers. The Benedictine monks chant at 7 p.m., and it’s deeply meditative. I’m not religious, but I find it very spiritual. I can’t understand a word they’re saying, but it creates a space for contemplation. My eyes wander around the centuries-old building, with its crumbling stone and crucifixes on the walls, and I just breathe.

I’m staying in a single room and I sleep soundly, knowing I’m safe, alive, and with plans to walk on. My Camino is not over. It’s just another taxi ride away.

Steps: 16, 115 steps

Distance: 10.8 km

Feeling: Appreciative of empathetic people, willing to help.