As you’ve probably realized, if you’re following this blog, I journal the following day a summary of the previous day.
Yesterday after THOMAS and I parted ways, I walked to the Centro Salud, the Health Center, where I was hoping to get my foot checked and get medical clearance for walking the Camino terrain.
After walking more than a mile to get there, I hope you’re getting the irony of all of this, I was refused care because of my USA insurance card- or something like that. I was told to go to a different center called AMEC. Again this was a good walk, perhaps a mile. Of course, I am carrying my backpack and everything that I have with me. So far, my foot isn’t complaining.
I get to where AMEC is supposed to be and can’t find it. I step into the Farmacia and ask. The pharmacist steps out front of the building and points across the street to what looks like a huge apartment complex. I walk over and find the hidden entrance.
The receptionist asks for my insurance card and explains that I need to be seen at Centro Salud.
Are you getting the picture?
No one wants to deal with an American Insurance. Before leaving home I verified that all would be well. I guess I should have asked the Spanish medical system, not Anthem.
I explain that Centro Salud sent me here. The woman was perplexed and I knew I had to find a way to get past her if I was going to see a doctor. One of the waiting patients understood what was going on and was able to help with some English.
I asked what it would cost to see the doctor and was given a sliding scale that I could live with.
When the receptionist understood that I would pay and she could give me a receipt to submit to my insurance, she was at least willing to approach the doctor about the situation.
He came out to meet me and the three of us went the length of the hallway to his office and examining room. The receptionist was helping him to get rid of me with the looming language excuse. I didn’t understand a word, but the body language of both heads bent and wagging back and forth was all I needed to understand.
ENTER GOOGLE TRANSLATE!
I smiled calmly as I pulled out my iPhone, much like a cowboy from an old western movie who was quick on the draw. Left handed, of course. These Cargo pants pockets make great holsters.
Quickly, but calmly, I set Google Translate into motion. When the doctor read a message that he could understand, I switched to Spanish and offered him the phone to respond to my request to see me. He agreed and off we went, the receptionist trekking back to her post, Doc and I becoming friends without barriers of language, insurance or receptionist.
When we do all we can to eliminate the imagined walls that isolate us, we can build relationships and friendships.
BTW the doctor ‘s name is Santiago. I wonder if his middle name is Ignatius?
He checked my foot and listened to my concerns about the unpleasant side effects of the antibiotics that I was experiencing. He understood immediately and offered advise and medication to help.
When we came out of his office smiling and laughing with his hand resting gently on my back, the receptionist just stood and watched.
I approached the counter wearing my warm inclusive smile and asked what I owed. No credit cards accepted. I think they have a real trust issue with people who do not speak their language.
Some thing I have noticed throughout my travels in Spain, there is a strong regional loyalty that is defined and limited by language. The two that stand out from my narrow experience are Catalan and Basque.
She gave me the amount of 50€. I produced the cash and requested a receipt on letterhead for my insurance company. She easily understood my request and busied herself with providing the receipt.
Just then, Dr Santiago came down the hall toward me to gather his next patient. I lifted my phone and quickly snapped a candid shot of him, exclaiming, “Perfecto!”
Now she was all smiles and the entire waiting room transformed as Dr. Santiago turned beet red. It was a fun-filled joyous moment with lots of healing laughter.
No barriers, no differences, only the bond among people that shared joy provides. This is a very special Camino.
The good news is that all that walking to and from medical centers brought me quite close to the Estacion Tren Calahorra.
I walked passed the station to the Main Street since I had some time before the train was due to arrive. I stopped at Cafè for a cafè con leche. Actually I wanted a comfortable place to rest my backpack and alone time to write.
Workmen were painting and talking around me but that didn’t bother me. When I write I enter into a different time and space. I am able to tune everything else out.
I left a little coffee in my “grande” glass, yep, you heard right. When I order a large coffee it comes in a drinking glass. Like a squatty tumbler. As long as there was something in my glass I felt I could take up space there. No one else was in the place. I don’t think they minded me hanging out in the midst of their remodeling.
It was beautiful outside. I consumed my last swallow, packed my gear and strapped it on, heading to the parking area of the train station.
I found a concrete platform on one side of the lot. I couldn’t figure out what purpose it served. There were some yellow wild flowers around it. I hooked up the Music of the Plants machine and listened to the song of the yellow wild flowers.
As it was close to the time the train would be there, I went in to secure a ticket. A young man jumped to my rescue asking all of my questions and translating the replies. He made everything so simple.
Secured my ticket. Went outside to wait. The young man came out. We talked until he was surprised by a friend’s unexpected arrival. I left them to their catching up.
Headed to Alfaro . Only two stops and I am off. Doesn’t pay to remove my backpack. I get off the train and head to the road that looks like it will go into the town. I am greeted by a beautiful rose garden, mostly yellow and red.
Going up the road to the town. Getting pretty good with Google Maps guiding my steps. I easily found the Hotel Palacios. Once I settled in, I walked around town looking for interesting and meaningful sites.
I found the main attraction, the Cathedral of San Miguel. It was not opened in the evening. It is now a museum more than a place of prayer.
I saw a group of three older ladies on the street and asked where Mass would be celebrated tonight. After a short pause, they all started talking at the same time, they encircled me, seems to be the pattern here, and led me away from San Miguel, indicating with very definitive gestures and turning of imaginary keys that San Miguel was locked up and there was no Mass.
I was then herded through narrow streets to another church that I never would have found. Our Lady of Burgos is a smaller church and obviously the active parish in the town.
They took me in and showed me around. Each explained in detail the statues and altars. The most important they made very evident. It was an altar dedicated to Our Lady of Burgos. The small enclosed statue was backdropped with bright strings of intense white LED lights. A simple neighborhood church.
After conferring with one another, they ushered me outside and rang a doorbell. Before the bell could sound a couple of men came from the door next to the one being rung. There was a flash of words and excitement as they explained to the two men their tale of finding this Pilgrim who wanted to attend Mass.
The short hefty man sat at the small desk in the tiny room and searched for English words so that he could talk to me. Frustrated with his limited English, he helped me understand that the Camino Ignaciano passed the church's other door in the back. He was very proud of that.
He pulled out his stamp and offered to authorize my credentiale with pride.
Yes! Of course.
We left the room and I wasn’t certain if I had met the priest or the person from the church that has the stamping duty for the month. I’m serious.
I said goodbye to the ladies and went into the church an hour before Mass to have some quiet for prayer and meditative journaling. I hid in an out of the way place so no one would see me.
It is their custom to say the Rosary prior to Mass. one of the church women led the prayers.
They are so proud to do these things. I think having a foreign visiting Pilgrim is also the talk of the town for a while. There are very few Pilgrims on this part of the Way.
At the time Mass was to start, the same short hefty man made his obvious entrance up the side aisle to the sacristy. In a moment he was vested and singing as he approached the altar.
Before Mass started, I snapped a quick photo of him to assist my memory of this night.
After Mass I went back to my room. I walked passed a Bull Ring. It tore at my heart. I can’t stand the thought of killing a beautiful beast in this way of pain with no opportunity for him to win the so-called contest.
As night was embracing, I looked out my window to see that the bull-ring was directly across from where I was staying.
I tried unsuccessfully to call Jessie from the room phone. I was disappointed that I couldn’t get the call to go through.
I went down to dinner around 9:00 pm. I attempted to translate and interpret the menu with Google Translate Camera feature. Not a good idea. The young man who was to serve dinner laughed and suggested that I trust him to help me instead of Google. Interesting lesson, isn’t it? How do we discern which voice to follow? Especially when a voice can be so instructive and helpful in one situation and totally debilitating in another. A deep lesson in discernment. Listening to the waiter was definitely the correct move. Had a meal of salad, tender beef chunks in a rich tomato based sauce, a piece of melon for dessert- so sweet! And a decaf coffee.
To bed.
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