Day 31

Wander the town, shop in the Mercado Asbastos.  Make it to the Pilgrim's office, have to get a security check since I'm not carrying a pack, how things have changed.  Stop in the chapel, meet with a Camino Companion, something I didn't realize I needed.  This has been such a solitary journey for me, much more so than even the Portuguese route was, there was so much I needed to get off of my chest that I never found the opportunity for: it all spills out, in tears.

In the evening, I check out of the albergue, and head up the hill to a bus stop.  I catch a late bus to Madrid.  From Santiago, I have a seat to myself.  At the next stop, a man gets on, asks me about terminals at the airport, followed by, "So, are your husband and son meeting you at the airport?"  No, in fact, they are not.  When I tell him so, I can see there will be no sleep for me.

For 31 days I've felt relatively safe among men (San Bol, notwithstanding, but that was warrantless on my part.)  Right before I left on this trip, a friend of mine, someone I have always trusted, was accused of rape.  This threw me for a loop in many ways, one of which was that I really questioned my judgement of whom I can trust.  The mere question not finding a place to rest within me, unsettled, angry, triggered (I've been assaulted by "friends" in the past, the election cycle in the USA triggered me as well, reminded me of one I had blacked out, somehow), confused, saddened, clenching my jaw so hard, I developed hard enough twitches in my eyes, that I had trouble seeing out of them.  And now this, like being kicked out of some paradise and into the "real" world.