We began Day 7 in the moonlight, but most of the group had left before I hit the road at 6. I attached myself to a group of Italians who had powerful headlamps that would not likely miss the waymarkers in the dark, but one still had the feeling of feeling our way in the dark. Everyone, it seemed, was picking their way through unfamiliar village streets, searching for the yellow Camino markers. We went forward haltingly, poking about in alleyways before retracing steps and looking elsewhere for those elusive markers.
At one point we entered a thick forest and in the pitch blackness I wondered how we would ever find our way clear across Spain in such blindness. But people do it. They make their way through life with very few certain markers, but enough. God provides.
We reached the town of the Sacred Fountain (Fonsacrada--I will detail the story tomorrow, after we hear it tonight at Mass from the lips of the town's pastor) in great pain again, and found all the albergues full again (they are fumigating the main albergue because of bedbugs). So we went wearily to the next town, with only 8 beds available, and 7 would have to sleep in the field. But God sent a messenger again, an older man named Bistor, who scooped us up in his pickup (in groups of four) as we trudged the byway. He took us to a camping area with bungalows, large kitchen, even a swimming pool with an ice-cream booth, and of course wifi. The accomodations were a godsend, but not half as lovely as the good cheer and heartfelt encouragement of this villager.
When we told Bistor today we had decided to take a rest day, he approved: El Camino conviene una cierta tranquilidad. "The Camino is best traveled with a certain tranquility." Tomorrow we begin our march through life again, trying to maintain a certain tranquility.