Day 1 From Alicante to Bilbao June 15-16 11.49 miles walked

The Quartier Hostel Bilbao

Very cozy

The Guggenheim

When the museum opened in the late '90, I made a half hearted promise to visit, you just never know which dreams will come true.	Bubble blower in the park at the museum	This sculpture provided me with an image of Christ going before me on the journey.
I often found the "smaller" churches to be more impressive than the cathedrals	The photo doesn't begin to capture the light radiating from this painting	The river  "Ria Del Nervion o de Bilbao runs through the center of the city making it replete with beautiful bridges and picturesque reflections.
I was especially happy to see Our Lady of Guadalupe a reminder of all my student's families from Mexico, who unbeknownst to them had been helping improve my language skills.	The cathedral in Bilbao where I received my first stamp on my credential, is also dedicated to St. James (identified by the scallop shell on his hat) as is the final cathedral in Santiago de Compostela.	From inside the Cathedral De Santiago Bilbao. A sweet sister gave me a blessing and my first stamp, I was officially on my way.

Click here for some lovely music at the museum 

A Story I Didn't Tell You

After midnight
After the searching for phone numbers and unanswered calls
After pressing 2 for English and 1 for lost and found again and again

After the pleading emails to the airport and the airlines were sent

After the frantic retracing of steps

After the prayers and petitioning of saints and distant friends

After the shower in the swampy shared bathroom
After the soggy TP and wet underwear

(Like a heard of elephants were here, I heard my grandma say )

After the cups of tepid tea
After the front desk employee smoked his last cigarette offering up final calls for faith

The roommates returned from the bars college guys,
(One of whom told me I was the same age as his mom)

Respectful, sympathetic to my plight
Maybe even optimistic. 

After we made introductions
After we said our goodnights and turned out the lights
My phone rang.

From puffy cloud-white cocoons of standard issue comforters

They listened hopefully as 

English and Spanish vied for comprehension
On both ends of the conversation

"Your purse"

"The taxi"

"Morning downstairs"

"Tranquillo"

"Its alright"'

"Sleep"

"Good night"

"Thank you very very much"

I want to jump up and hug  these guys the

French, American, Australian, German
But

The relief that floods my body is heavy 

The bunkbed ladder precarious.

I close my eyes 

The self criticism threatening

But instead I'm lulled to sleep listening to 

the Voice of Peace.

In half heard 

possibly imagined wisps

Then growing stronger

"You are safe

You are held

You are connected

Helper

You will have help

You do not travel alone

Again and again when you come to the end of yourself

Crashing

Wave-like leaving a last remnant 

of foam clinging to the sand

This dramatic display necessary to prove to you I am here

The journey is long, the Way is hard 

You forget and disregard explain away so quickly

Remember me when your faith falters 

When you fall you

Can't deny 

My providence

Can't deny

My protection

Can't deny

My provision.

Epilogue

In the morning the guys were snoring loudly when I pulled my pack from its locker, and made my way downstairs. The taxi driver (with whom, though very tired I'd had a challenging discussion about the camino and the American election, that connection made me just memorable enough) after some calling around had contacted the hotel and brought my purse with all its contents safe and sound and placed it behind the front desk (using the door code he had been given over the phone by the on-call employee). With gratitude, I explored the city before taking a bus to the next town where I would start the walking portion of my Camino.