The Road to Belorado

(Get it? The Road to El Dorado?...Even if you don't we've been singing about it all morning with our made up songs....we even put it to the tune of the Eagles' "Desperado" at one point...)

2:17 PM, July 19, Cafe Monterrey bar in Belorado, booth near the cigarette machine

The Road through the province of La Rioja passed quickly and I have already arrived in the province of Burgos, a province within the state of Castille and Leon, although we will not reach the large city of Burgos until Wednesday. The road has been easy, with fewer steep climbs and more rolling plains--it almost makes me nostalgic for the "amber waves of grain" which paint the countryside of the Great Plains.

While it has now only been 9 days (yes, that's right, only 9 days on the Road), it has felt like an eternity; the loneliness which I knew last summer had somehow found its way into my backpack to be carried as a heavy load along the Road.

The effects of the loneliness started to show two days ago. My appetite all but disappeared, my mood could not be lifted, I lost my creative flow and had no passion for writing, and I slept at every chance I got. And two nights ago, I questioned why it was that loneliness occurred the way it did. I think I have some sort of explanation.

Imagine that there is a thermometer type gauge that has a liquid that rises and falls where increased liquid means more loneliness. There is some threshold (let's call it "boiling") where I do not function beyond. It is the boiling point where I do not want to do any work, where I do not want to eat, where I only want to sleep to escape. School can get awfully lonely; however, the intense amounts of work and commitments I have from Undergraduate Conduct Board, to Judiciary, to Basketball, to Chi Psi, to academics itself distract me and slow the filling of the gauge. And, best of all, close dinners with the friends who I love and even a really warm hug from a friend can actually move the gauge closer to absolute zero.

Well after a week with no voice contact with any loved one--and very little email--I was flirting with the boiling point, and I saw my ambition and will to move begin to evaporate.

Last night, we chose to stay in an albergue run by a group of nuns. Most of our fellow walkers were at the new, state-of-the-art "hotel-like" (said Boris, the pantalones German) hostel, but we liked the rustic feel of the 16th century building, the sister that quietly ushered us in, and the very old doors through which we passed. Lida and I sat in the garden in the center of the complex. Every so often, a nun would rush by a window just before I could get a good look. After a few minutes of enjoying the peaceful quiet, Lida asked me what was wrong.

We talked for hours, and it was wonderful. We're all a little bit homesick, and we're all a little bit lonely, but we can do this. And I believe her. We can do this. I can do this.

Today I was much happier. I think Lida and Lisa have finally ascended to the point where they can be considered very close friends--close enough that a hug warms me to the core and even their silent presences on the Road to my right and left can make me feel strong.

But on this note, I think I'm beginning to realize that distance is something that is learned and not inherently felt. The love which I am so lucky to be surrounded by at school and at home is of the same strength no matter where I am in the world. It is only that I perceive it to be further away when I'm here than when I'm, say, in Santa Fe. And this makes me happy. If loneliness is only a perception, than it is quite easy to overcome, no?

Today my appetite was back (in full strength) and I'm going to sit down with my pen and paper in a little while because I think my will to write has floated back to me on the cloud that carries my muse. And my temperature? Luke warm, if not room temperature.