As we emerged from the Mega Hostel known to the faithful as Orreaga, we walked past the local church that proudly refused communion to non-Catholics. Then by the watery morning light, we followed the Yellow Scallops Sigils into a lovely forest of medium sized trees that told me I should be quiet for a while, and to listen to what their leaves had to say. I hadn’t seen a forest quite like it before, and I basked in the sweet peace of cool greenness that a kid from South Texas rarely felt. One tree especially seemed noteworthy, or at least our trail thought so.

See? Kind of a bad ass, right!? All gnarled, grumpy and defiant right there in the middle of the path! It’s knobs and odd angles tell us it’s been messed with, chopped at, perhaps fully regrown from a stump’s remains. He’s the kind of tree I could stop and listen to for a while. When you put your hand on the it’s bark, you can feel all the life it’s seen, all the pilgrims, all the people, even Napoleon’s Eagles, the Imperial French army, probably walked around it’s trunk on the way to Pamplona. Yeah, I’m into trees. Love ’em. It may have something to do with being raised in a place with so few of them, but the feel of bark on my palm always soothes me. People, on the other hand….

Sadly, many of my fellow pilgrims did not heed the trees’ desire for sacred silence. After all, there are sitcoms to talk about. It turned out we left a little late in the morning, and so hit the trail at it’s most populous time. There were clumps and groups and crowds of folks who were traveling together, and a few single travelers who would latch on to groups or form groups of their own. And all these pilgrims talked and chatted as clumps, groups, crowds and unified singles are wont to do. Bleah. Humans. Gross. And you don’t have to take my word for it… tell ’em Kelsey!

But don’t worry too much all you animals lovers, the mornings are the only time you will feel crowded on the trail. After sunrise and before 8 am is when most folks get out the door. But everyone has a different pace and takes different rests, so the crowd never lasts…unless you want it to!

Happily, the Camino holds space for all kinds of socializing. Whether you’re a Chatty Cathy or a Silent Sam, the only thing you have to say, is ‘Buen Camino’. It’s the traditional greeting between pilgrims and after a few days you will begin to hear it in your dreams. When it is said to you, answer back ‘Buen Camino’, and then you can then shut up all you like, satisfied that your duty to etiquette is fulfilled and Miss Manners will not frown down upon your visage. Stacy and I made a number trail buddies for a few stops and chose to be blissfully alone for a few as well.

Socializing at the albergues is entirely different. There, your options will be defined by the space. In the huge, hundred-or-more-bed-albergues there are many ways to hide among the crowd and avoid the pressure to socialize. But in the albergue that is a family’s home, and it’s just you and three other people, there will be nowhere to hide. That being said, I have never seen any guest ‘forced’ (passively or directly) to socialize or participate in group activities.

Now, I want to be clear, the Camino Santiago is not a walking tea party of Chatting Cathy’s and Bragging Johns. Nor is it a procession of stony-faced puritans mutely trudging along whilst contemplating sin and suffering in an unjust world. In fact there is no homogeneity of any kind on the Camino. Even amongst the Spanish, who are the majority nationality of pilgrims, there is no common demeanor; just ask the Catalans and the Basque. You are going to meet all kinds of people who like to talk and don’t like to talk in every way conceivable and inconceivable…..

…but I do know what it means.

It’s easy to worry about trying to get along with so many people, so many customs, so many worldviews. And there’s a lot of ways to hike a trail.

You see this section of the Camino was going to be our first real day on the Camino. Previously were were so occupied with surviving the winds of the Pyrenees and Evil Corporate Dinners that there wasn’t any time for chitting or chatting or any other trivial social nonsense. But now, as the rosy fingers of dawn spread over Roncevalles, my desire to listen to the leaves rustle in the soft morning wind was foiled by a cluster of Australian women sharing their hard opinions about bacon and the best white wine.

I’m not a big idle chatter kind of guy. After all my years in the Arts and as a Clergyspouse, I still consider it to be work. In addition to my loathing for small talk, the things I actually like to talk about are politics, sex, religion, comedy and arcane points of History. There’s not a lot of takers on those topics, and frankly, why should there be? Those topics are nuts. And what kind of jerk doesn’t like sports!? I am aware I’m damaged. It was a lifetime of Improv comedy and comic book consumption that destroyed my patience for mundanity: I’ve read too many amazing stories and made up too many skits and jokes to find pleasure in talking about mortgages or the bloody Chicago Bears’ kicking game. Screw that, tell me about the time you cheated on your girlfriend with a parking lot attendant. Or war, or death, or The Firesign Theater, just don’t waste my time with the mundane!

Just I was busily thinking of more reasons about how right I was to hate pointless chatter, we came out of the woods and onto a road lined by wide fields with a village in the distance. As I looked up into the sky, an eagle soared up and then past all of us, a mere 40 or 50 feet above our heads. And then another eagle followed right behind him, and then two more swooped in hot on his tail feathers. The hell?? Suddenly, the sky above us was full of Spanish imperial eagles racing past us, clawing the air with their wings, screaming with the lust for the hunt as they headed up to the mountains.

The Eagles of Napoleon!

There is an eagle sanctuary in the village, and they release the birds in the morning to go and hunt. We were lucky enough to have witnessed it at the perfect time. I didn’t even attempt a picture. There was no way to capture it. I was genuinely astounded to have seen a flock of eagles, and I laughed aloud and then just started talking about the Eagles of Napoleon, the eagle-shaped standard that each of Napoleon’s armies carried before it as they marched across Europe, including this very road upon which we were standing! The people around me seemed to appreciate the story, though a little startled at my enthusiasm, but I found I didn’t really care about their reaction too much.

I have always considered the presence of a hawk to be personally significant as they have come upon me in various startling ways over the years. Now, a flock of friggin’ eagles blows past me like a parade of portents. What the hell am I supposed to interpret that as? The Romans had a whole system for it called Augury, but I ain’t Roman and this ain’t Rome.

I then realized that I wasn’t Mind-bitching about the other chattering pilgrims anymore. I had something more important to think about now.

The truth was, I always did. So, I thought about that for the next few miles.

Buen Camino.