The Way Back to the Sea

With the decision made not to fly home that day but no clear agenda, we decided to leave the hotel and walk around the city for some fresh air and to continue rebuilding our strength after our physical ordeal.

The port was in a small city in Galicia. It is not a particularly picturesque place a tourist might be drawn to, though it was pleasant enough. It is mostly a work-a-day commercial and industrial center built around a port and a Spanish naval base. There was a central square fronted by impressive looking civic buildings and there were pretty churches to see. Down by the harbor, there was a short boardwalk by a marina encircled by some stone and concrete jetties.

By the harbor, we noticed a stone pillar with the words "Camino de Santiago" and a crest of some sort carved into it. I was familiar with the Camino, which is a medieval pilgrim trail across northern Spain, but I was not aware of it having anything to do with this town. In the Middle Ages, people from all of Europe made the long trip as an act of faith or out of penance to the city of Santiago de Compostela, which legend holds is the burial place of St. James, who is the patron saint of Spain. In modern times, some pilgrims still walk for religious reasons, but now perhaps more commonly by people who did it for non-religious spiritual, recreational, health, or other personal reasons.

Some pamphlets we picked at the nearby tourist information stand explained the connection. While the most famous and popular route leads from France, the Camino was not just one path, but several leading from points all over Europe. One of the shortest routes led to Santiago from that marker.

I was mildly interested in this bit of trivia, but Rose seemed to be fascinated. She sat on a bench by the harbor and read through the pamphlet twice. Later, as we walked down a pedestrian zone flanked by shops on the way back to our hotel, she pointed out a yellow and blue seashell tile marker on a wall that pointed the way of the path through the city. When we passed a bookshop, she picked out two books about the Camino. I picked up a paperback myself, thinking it wasn't a bad idea to have something to focus on other than disturbing memories.

We saw most of what there was to see by later afternoon. We grabbed a quick meal and both of us were a little tired, so we walked back to our hotel. Rose checked out of her room and brought her meager possessions to my room so we could spend the evening together for company again.

While we were tired from walking, it was still early. We sat on the couch to read our new books. As the evening wore on, Rose curled up next to me with her book to be more comfortable. I was already becoming accustomed to her closeness, and I was unfazed when she laid with her head on my lap as she read. Absentmindedly, I draped my arm around her. I laid my book down for a moment to rest my eyes.

I woke some hours later with a sore neck. Rose was still curled up reading next to me. When I said I was going to go to bed, Rose got up to join me. Instead of sleeping, she continued reading by the light of the lamp on the table. I thought she should get some rest, but I decided not to bother her about it.

The next morning, Rose was already up and dressed when I woke up. She was sitting on the couch again, leafing through one of her new books and taking notes on a pad of hotel stationary. There were several pages of notes already.

"Did you get any sleep at all last night?" I asked, a little concerned.

Rose smiled and nodded. "I did," she said, "I've just been excited about something."

"Your books?"

"Yes!" she said, "I have an idea, but I'm afraid you'll think I am losing it."

"I'm sure I won't."

"We should walk to Santiago," she said, tapping her book. "We should walk the Camino."

"Do you really think were both up to that right now?" I asked.

"Sure," she said, "I feel much better today even than yesterday. We could take it in short stages. It's usually a five-day walk from here, but we could stretch it into six or seven."

"Why do you want to?"

She shrugged. "Ever since I read the information pamphlet, it just seems like what I need right now. I don't want to go back home yet, but I also don't want to sit here and stew in my thoughts. Maybe it would help. I think that might be good for you, too. I'd really like it if you came with me."

I thought about it. It did make sense. What I really wanted was time and space to process how I felt about what happened to us. She might be on to something. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I also felt a need for penance. Logically, I knew that didn't make sense. What happened was not my fault. But still, I thought about the hymn I had recited over and over almost as a prayer while the storm roared. Did I owe a debt for my deliverance from the ocean? I shivered as I considered that. It was all still too enormous to process.

I nodded. "It does make sense, I guess. What do we need? What would the plan be?"

Rose was ready with her notes. We really only needed clothes and shoes fit for walking, a map. small backpacks, light sleeping bags and a few other hiking necessities. Food and water were available in the villages along the way. Most pilgrims did not carry tents. Instead, we could stay in hostels along the route set up especially for pilgrims.

As Rose described the plan, her eyes glowed with excitement. Without much cajoling, I agreed to make the trip with her. I was so happy to see the light in her eyes again, I could hardly refuse.

We did some more research at a computer in the hotel lobby. After breakfast, we got a taxi to an outdoor store in the city. It was expensive to outfit both of us, considering we were starting from almost nothing, but I swiped my card without a second thought. We agreed to sort out and share the cost when we got home, but I was not concerned about money if this plan would give either one of us a measure of comfort. I was rapidly becoming infected with her enthusiasm for the venture. It was nice to have something to focus on besides the accident.

Later that day, we both called home to tell our respective families what we intended. As expected, they were not at all pleased. In a way, the sinking was a trauma for them too. They understandably wanted us both back. Rose's parents insisted they were going to come over to Spain to meet her if she was not coming home. After some patient explanations, we persuaded them all to trust us to know what we needed at the moment. As a concession to their worry, we agreed to pick up pre-paid phones in order to report our progress and continued well-being. It was a fair demand.

Rose and I spend the rest of the day sorting out our gear and pouring over her guidebook and map. We turned in early that evening. We held each other as we tried to sleep. We both struggled to drift off again, but this time part of the difficulty came from our excitement to get started with the walk rather than the unwelcome memories.

We got up with the sun, gathered our things in our packs, and checked out of the hotel. It was a short walk through the still-sleeping town back to the placard by the harbor that marked the start of the route. Seagulls wheeled and cackled overhead and the smell of the sea was in our noses. Standing there by the small port, we took a deep breath together before we turned our back on the harbor and set off on the pathway through the town's narrow streets.

Soon we were on the outskirts of town. We silently followed the footpath as wrapped its way around the bay. The sun was rising in the east over that body of water and the cool morning gave way to a warming day. By noon, we were over a bridge across the bay and working our way south toward Santiago, the heart of Galicia, and away from the sea.

On the other side of the bay, we came to a town and the first hostel along the route. Although it was still early in the afternoon, we decided not to push ourselves very far on the first day. We were both feeling much better but were only a few days removed from the hospital. The host at the hostel gave us a warm welcome, though he spoke only broken English. We left our packs in the hostel and went out to find food for dinner and the next day on the trail, trusting the goodwill of any other pilgrims that might come in for the night. We brought our groceries and a bottle of wine back to hostel and enjoyed watching the sun set over the bay while we ate a light dinner. While we saw a handful of walkers pass by, no others decided to cut their first day as short as us. The host showed us to lock the door from inside when he left for the night. We didn't mind having the accommodation to ourselves. Pushing two of the Spartan bunks together, we slept snuggled up together again.

While we had spent most of the day in silence on the path, I realized, as I settled down to sleep that it had been several hours since I had thought about those terrible hours in the storm. I shivered as the recollection came back. Rose noticed the movement and I felt her grip onto my arm a little tighter. I knew it would probably be a long time until the mental wounds scarred over, but for the moment the walk was proving to be the productive diversion I sought and Rose's company was infinitely reassuring.

We left early the next morning. Following our instructions, we locked the door and closed it behind us. The path wound through some more towns before it branched off into the woods. Under the trees, it was pleasant and cool. This place dispelled all my preconceptions of what Spain would be like. Unlike the hot and dry parts of the country to the south, here on the northwest corner, the weather was frequently wet and the land was green and fertile. The path meandered through wooded areas, though occasionally it joined up with roads as we passed through light industrial parks or little hamlets.

We were more talkative on the second day, now that we had settled into the journey. By unspoken agreement, we avoided talking about the accident. Although we had been acquainted at school and had sailed on the Endeavor for several weeks, we were coming to know each very well after spending just about every moment since the accident together. I was happy to see her smiling and seeming to enjoy herself. In a moment of self-reflection realized that I had been smiling all day myself.

I was also realizing that Rose was an attractive woman, although I felt uncomfortable with that idea, like it was inappropriate to think of her that way at that moment. Objectively, I had always found her to be pretty, but we had been strictly classmates and professional colleagues. I was finding I liked her. I was wishing I had known her better under different circumstances.

At one rise in the path with a pretty view of a green valley, we found little sticks had been worked through the links of a fence to make crosses. Rose started gathering sticks. It some time, but together we made nineteen new little crosses. We held hands as we walked on from that spot.

"Do you think you will ever want to go back to sea?" Rose asked me several miles later.

"I don't know," I said, "maybe, maybe not. I'm just taking things one step at a time right now."

"Literally and figuratively," she said with a smile.

"I suppose so," I agreed.

"I'm not sure either," she said. "I can't imagine it right now, but it's everything I've worked for. I really loved being on the ships." She shrugged. "I guess I am still taking it one step at a time too."

The last part of the day's route led us over an old bridge into a small city. With its stone buildings and cobbled streets, it looked medieval. We found a hostel and ate a simple meal at a family-owned restaurant. I shook off the mental image of Niko telling me about his uncle's restaurant or the one that he wanted to open. To redirect my thoughts, I asked Rose about her family and told her about mine. The conversation wound its own way as we shared a bottle of wine and finally, we walked back to the hostel before it closed.

The third day was the most beautiful. The light industrial areas around the bay were now long behind us. Now, we walked through golden valleys of farmland. In places, there were crops in neat rows. In others, sheep grazed on the lush green grass. We stopped for the evening in a larger town. The main square was ringed with busy restaurants and dominated by a stone church. The hostel here was larger than the others we had stayed in. It was also more crowded. We found some beds in the back of the dorm room, but it would have been odd to try to push two beds together here in the full room. We would have to sleep alone tonight.

I awoke with a start to the sound of a scream. I recognized it immediately as Rose. As I fumbled in the dark, there were raised voices from the other guests, and someone turned on a light. Rose had been disturbed by a nightmare and now she was mortified to be the center of so much attention. It took a few moments to reassure our neighbors that all was well and there was some muttering from less understanding people.

Neither of us got any more sleep and we decided to leave early. We were silent through the morning, but the warming sun loosened our tongues.

"I don't think I want to stay in anymore hostels," Rose said. "We should stay in hotels or something. I saw most of these villages have little inns."

"I understand," I said. "Are you feeling alright?"

"It's fine," she said, waving a dismissive hand, "but I would prefer the privacy."

"Of course."

"I do think we're missing something if we avoid other pilgrims though," she said. "The community is part of the point, according to the guidebook." She shrugged.

"We'll just have to do it again sometime for the full experience," I said with a smile. "Next time we'll go the long road all the way from France."

"Like 500 miles? I'd like that," she said returning the smile. I reached out to her, and we walked on hand-in-hand for a few paces. It was another long day, but a pleasant time together.

That evening found us in yet another little town. We found private accommodations instead of the hostel as we had agreed. We lay down in our little bed, but Rose turned to face me instead of letting me spoon her like usual. I was surprised by the change in routine. She seemed unsure of herself, so waited before reacting at all. Rose took a deep breath.

"Um, I think something has changed between us," she said. Her eyes were wide with nerves as she spoke.

I did not respond; I could feel that she had more to say. Her words came haltingly.

"I... I've noticed you've been acting differently toward me," she continued. "Maybe you feel something about me. I just wanted to say that, if that's true, um... I feel something too." She noticeably held her breath.

"Yeah, I feel it," I said with a nod. I reached over to lay a reassuring arm over her. I felt her exhale slowly as I went on. "For me, I feel so close to you. This time together has been so important to me. It's been special."

"Me too," she said. She took another deep breath.

"But it's not just the company or friendship," I confessed, "I feel really attracted to you. But also, like, unsure about whether that's... right... under the circumstances."

"Yes!" she said. The tension of the moment was resolving, as we recognized the similarity of our complex emotions. "That's it exactly. I was worried about whether this was what I was supposed to be feeling." She reached over to me, and we held each other in tight embrace.

"This feels right to me."

"Me too," she breathed.

We had been sharing a bed for company for almost a week, but this was totally new. My hands slid over her clothes, exploring her body for first time. I felt a desire that had been growing over the last few days well up as she sighed and similarly ran her hands over me. She raised her head, and I tilted mine down to meet her. Our lips joined in a passionate kiss. As our tongues gently entwined, I slid my hand under her shirt. It glided up her smooth belly to cup a small breast. She drew a sharp breath that she let out as a soft moan as I ran my palm over a swollen nipple. Her chest rose and fell heavily as we kissed and our hands roamed.

I hesitated as my fingers were about to slide under her waistband, waiting for any hesitation on her part. Instead, she pushed her shorts off her own hips and spread her legs for me. She gasped as I massaged her with my fingertips. I groaned as her hand found my manhood over my shorts. I stopped touching her only long enough to help her pull down the waistband of my own shorts. I grunted with pleasure as her soft hand encircled my shaft and softly stroked it. I rolled over so I was poised between her welcoming thighs. Holding myself over her, I let her guide me to her. Her breaths raced with anticipation until I slid smoothly into her. She moaned and raised her hips to take all of me in.

Our eyes were locked as I moved in her. She moved with me, breathing slowly and deeply with the steady rhythm. I had never felt so close to another person. I was not a virgin, but I realized now that having sex was different than making love. I thrust strongly trying to go deeper. She cried out and wrapped her legs behind me, drawing me closer. We kissed as we rocked our bodies together, but we had to break the kiss as we both gasped for breath. I felt her writhing with urgency as she approached her climax and I pumped hard to ride over the peak with her. I grunted and shuddered as I came in a pulsing orgasm, and I felt her spasm around me. We rode out the waves of pleasure together, holding each other as the sensation subsided. When the feeling passed, we snuggled together to rest.

It took two more days to reach Santiago. We felt a thrill of excitement when we saw the towers of the famed cathedral on the horizon. It was exhilarating when we walked through the arcaded cobblestone streets of the town and down into the plaza that marked the end of our journey. We cheered and hugged each other and took a few pictures.

After a few moments, we wondered what to do next.

"Let's go into the cathedral," Rose suggested. "It's the traditional end of the trip." I nodded agreement and we went up the grand stairs in front of the enormous church.

The dark sanctuary was crowded with pilgrims and tourists, but the noise of the people was respectfully hushed. The cavernous ceilings soared above us and our steps echoed softly on the stones. We explored the building before we slid into a pew to contemplate our next steps. I could see that something was bothering her, but I was unsure of how to help.

Abruptly, Rose stood up. "Can you wait for me here?" she asked.

"Of course," I said, a little startled. I watched her disappear around a corner into the crowd. I more than a little surprised when she returned a long time later with an older man in a priest's collar. I stood up as she approached. Before I could ask what was going on, she suggested we go outside to talk. The three of us made our way through the crowd and out the side door of the church.

"This is Father Doyle," Rose explained. "He's a visiting priest hearing confession here. I asked him if non-Catholics could offer a confession and he said it's not really the same, but that he would be happy to listen to whatever I had to say."

"She told me about what happened to your ship," said Father Doyle in a lilting Irish accent. "She said you both felt guilty about surviving when so many of your shipmates didn't make it. I told her I didn't think she had anything to confess in that regard, but I understood the impulse. I also wanted to tell you both a story, so here we are then."

"Okay, Father," I said nodding. "Rose is right, I have been feeling guilty. Or maybe like I have a debt to repay." I told him about the hymn we sang in the life raft as a prayer for deliverance. The old man nodded with understanding.