Memoir: The Final Day

Day 27 Alcandre to Logrono: The Final Day

Love how the clouds soften the image

It is now 4 months after Deb’s and my return to the United States from our 240 mile hike up the Río Ebro in northeastern Spain. With time for thought, I now draw a distinction between this experience and past journeys along the Caminos de Santiago.

Alongside us all the way, the Río Ebro was a silent actor in this experience; a character without a word to say; the protagonist that linked the events of the drama. 

The days of pre-dawn wake-ups and stepping out the door into the darkness to have the river one more time guide us, lead us, direct us … now reside in the past.

On our final day, while walking to Logrono, we have two choices: stay on the roadside path and save ourselves a couple of miles, or take the longer path to the right, in order to get closer to the river - to leave the tar and asphalt of the road for the dirt and sand banks of the Ebro.

Wondering how long it took erosion to form the landscape

The geographical beauty of the surrounding countryside takes our breath away. 

We see it all today: farm fields to vineyards to villages to river walking, in part surrounded by the cliffs of the eroded canyon through which we are hiking. What did this land look like for the first humanoids? Maybe it was the Neanderthals? The archeological finds of our species cousins are well-known. The Neanderthals were here first. 

 We keep walking through a countryside of contrasts, both of constancy and change. The Ebro puts life into the land without saying a word. Our quiet companion has left grandeur and timelessness in its meanderings. It is a lot to think about.

View from the ermita halfway down the mesa into the valley

On this last day, on these last miles of hiking, the landscape radically changes into a beautiful series of ravines carved into sand with steep drop offs over which we peer into the crevices. We are descending to the river bed. And at the bottom once again lies the Ebro, the organizer - the prime mover, the creator of all this. If the Ebro were a living playwright, what lines would it give us to say in the final act of our time here.

It seems to me that people somehow forget what stands around them in their lives, because it becomes routine. I heard of a theory that the brain responds to repeated identical, repetitive sensory input, but actively acts to ignore it. In that way, the brain - that is - can pay more attention to what is changing or different. It’s an evolutionary defense mechanism - a form of threat recognition.

Made it down to the level of the Rio Ebro

I ask myself, “To what have I stopped paying attention because of omnipresence?” I know the answer - my life. What is the Ebro telling me? The Camino provides what you need, not what you want.

I have been continually surprised by the small communities along the last days of the Ebro. They own / possess a sense of identity in that they have things for the people to see and do; they have not thrown in the towel to the larger urbanization. I sense pride.

High on the cliffs is a grouping of vulture nesting sites. Above us, a group of vultures are circling, catching the updrafts, flying over the valley through which we are walking. They feel the joy of soaring, wafting and floating. Effortlessly they defy gravity; breaking the bonds and boldly going where I would fall to my death. They are in flight over their land, and all I can do is walk.

In my head, I create a meaningful existence for them - as if they needed me to validate their lives. If I could put words to their lives, it would be elation and calm, awe and mystery, love of life and sense of purpose. All because they know something that I don’t - what it means to fly.

Walking through the valley created by the Ebro River

For the next couple of hours, all that is left is a series of ravines in the mesa, a railroad line alongside us, the dirt road under us and, to our right at our level now, the Ebro. In about five miles or so, this experience is all over for Deb and I.