Day 1 – Vía de la Plata

Santiponce – 9.5 km

I settled into my 4-bed dorm last night, and stayed up far too late chatting with my hostel mates: Lorenzo from Italy and Xiuwen from Shanghai, now living in London. We talked politics, travel, and TV until past midnight. Lorenzo told me he learned English watching Dawson’s Creek and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. That quickly spiraled into talk of Angel, Bones, and all things David Boreanaz. I asked if he knew SEAL Team, but he hadn’t heard of it. It streams on Paramount+, which isn’t available in this region. His eyes lit up when I told him it has seven seasons. Xiuwen, kind and thoughtful, stressing over upcoming job interviews, chatted about her love of raccoons. Their company helped melt away my nerves about starting.

After another restless sleep, I got up early and took my time packing my pack. The first week on Camino is always a little disjointed, as you haven’t gotten into the natural rhythm of waking, walking, arriving, washing, eating, and sleeping. Once it was light, I got my first stamp from the hostel for my credencial, and away I went. Since I had done the recon walk the day before, I was confident walking out of the city. Soon enough, I was on a special walking path used by locals for jogging, biking, or walking dogs which would bring me north to the next little town of Camas, about 5.2 km away.

I loved walking amongst the locals. I got a few nods, and “Buen Camino!”s along the way. One serious jogger even gave me a fist bump and a wink as she flew past! That’s when I really felt like I was on My Way.

And then, disaster.

Two Spanish women were walking toward me. As I went to plant my right foot, my ankle buckled. I heard a pop and suddenly I was flat on the ground. Instinctively, I tried to jump up and “walk it off,” just like my grade 6 teacher used to say. But with my pack on, I was more or less stuck. The women rushed to help, lifted me up, and fussed over me with concern. Embarrassed, I tried to brush it off, but the truth was obvious: this hurt more than a quick roll. Still, Ms. Gosso’s voice echoed in my head, and I limped on - slower pace, smaller steps.

As I continued through Camas, I noticed a lot of eyes on me. I wondered if it had something to do with tourism anti-protests I’d heard about before leaving Canada. Surely you’ve seen pilgrims march by before? I didn’t see anywhere I felt comfortable stopping, and still felt rattled after my fall. Eventually, I made it to some picnic benches and decided that would be a good spot to assess and regroup. I got my backpack off and checked myself out. That’s when I noticed the large scrape on my knee. The eyes I’d been feeling from the locals were probably due to the blood they saw running down my leg! I didn’t have any antibacterial wipes on me, so I cleaned myself up with a little hand sanitizer and water, then covered the scrape with a few bandaids.

My ankle was throbbing. I sat down on the bench and wondered how to proceed. Just as I was thinking, oh my God, this might not work, a dog ran over to me with purpose and happily let me pet him for five minutes while his owner sauntered along well behind him. The Camino always provides. The owner wished me a Buen Camino as he passed, and I decided to keep going to Santiponce, where I had planned to stop for a coffee. With my extremely slow pace, I wondered if I should stop there for the day or attempt the next 13 km to Guillena.

I walked for about 1.5 km on a dusty path until I realized I’d hit a dead end. Always annoying on Camino, but par for the course. Except this time, with my ankle throbbing, my knee stinging, and my elbow banged up, I was pissed! Jason Hayes (played by David Boreanaz) from SEAL Team echoed in my head: “The only easy day was yesterday.” So I turned around, found a paved road, and walked in the direction of the main stretch of the Camino.

As soon as I was back on that main stretch, I saw a café and decided I needed to stop for a café con leche and a zumo de naranja (orange juice). Spanish servings are not the same as North American ones; they’re tiny, and I don’t even remember finishing my first round! I immediately ordered another of each and sipped them both. It was a low point. I was in real pain, and my gut told me this wasn’t going to go as I’d hoped. Staring out the window at the industrial area with cars whizzing past, I suddenly saw a pair of legs and poles stride by. Another peregrino! Relief flooded over me. At least I wasn’t alone.

I carried on, wincing (but pretending not to) as I went. That stretch was awful: no sidewalk, just me walking against oncoming traffic through a busy industrial zone. Not fun on a normal day, and almost unbearable with a hurt ankle. My saving grace was that it was overcast. Close to noon by now, it was still hot, but at least there was no sun beating down.

After about 10 minutes, I saw that same pilgrim stop at a bench and pull out her guidebook. I approached, and we chatted. Her name was Christine, a retiree from Australia. I told her how I’d fallen, and how seeing her legs and poles through the café window had steadied me. She said I was the first pilgrim she’d met too, and she was glad not to be alone. She had planned to head to Guillena but decided to ease in, and stop at Santiponce. The hostel was just a few hundred meters up the road. We wished each other Buen Camino, and I continued on.

A short while later, I stopped at the last café before Guillena. They were only serving sandwiches, but the woman behind the bar said she could make me whatever I wanted. I asked for ham (here, that basically means prosciutto) and cheese. While waiting for my Coca-Cola at the bar, I met Miles, a young guy from New York, also on Camino. He’d never travelled solo before, and I told him I thought he was brave for choosing this route as his first. He told me I was the first pilgrim he’d come across and said he also felt relieved to know he wasn’t alone. He finished his beer, and we parted with the hope of meeting again in Guillena.

As I ate, the sun blazed out in full force. Not what I wanted, but 13 km in the sun is par for the Camino as long as you’ve got water. I decided to push through. Again, more roadside walking. And now, my ankle was screaming.

At last, I reached a large, busy roundabout, buzzing with traffic. I realized I must have missed an arrow leading to a safer crossing. For a split second I considered running across, but the thought was laughable. Even with two good ankles it would have been risky; with one bad ankle, impossible. The heat pressed down, and all I wanted was to get off my feet for a minute. I spotted a scrap of shade by the roadside, just enough room for me and my pack. But when I got closer, I saw broken glass scattered everywhere. My heart sank. No relief after all. Then I noticed a piece of cardboard, just big enough to sit on. I shook it off, threw it down, and plopped onto it. Out loud, I muttered, “I live here now.”

This was another low point. By now it was close to 2 pm, the sun was brutal, and I knew two things: my ankle couldn’t hack 13 km, and my body couldn’t hack the extra time in the sun with my slow pace. “Adapt or die,” another SEAL Team quote rang in my head. Then another: “To not doubt. Only decide.” Anyone who thinks I watch too much TV can say what they want - I leaned hard on those mantras today.

I was scared to take my boot off. I didn’t even feel like I could walk back through Santiponce to the albergue my guidebook recommended, which was a 30-minute walk or a 3-minute drive. So, I Googled “taxi near me” and called.

I am stubborn. Asking for help is not my strong suit. Maybe it’s being an only child and having been called spoiled my whole life, or maybe it’s pride. But I’ve always felt the need to prove (to others and to myself) that I can do it alone. Today I couldn’t, and that was hard to admit.

Speaking by phone in Spanish was another challenge, but after being given a better number for a taxi in my area, I managed to explain in shaky Spanish that I was a pilgrim on the Camino, I’d hurt myself, and I needed help getting to the albergue. Ten minutes later, after describing exactly where I was on the side of the road, I was told a taxi was on the way. I could have jumped for joy (well, not really) when the taxi rolled up.

Three minutes after pick-up, I was hobbling up the steps of Albergue Itálica. As the hospitalero asked questions, I suddenly heard: “Chantal?” I looked up, and there was Christine’s smiling face! Such a relief.

The hospitalero stamped my credencial, showed me to the dorm, and brought me ice for my ankle.

Day 1 of Camino done. Much shorter distance, much longer time to get there - but I made it. Having Christine there to greet me, generous hospitaleros, and patient taxi dispatchers proved, once again, that the Camino provides.

Hasta la próxima vez!