This event took place some 20 days ago.
Yes, this is a reflection of my slowed-down blogging pace. But this post would have a very different slant had I written it in the hours or few days that directly followed the marathon. I needed some time for the pilgrimage to ruminate in my mind, and the pain subside from my body.
First a map:
i just love maps. and this one is pretty crucial for explaining my course.
Valenzuela is circled on the map. I live there. Some 15K off Ruta 2. I took the bus from Valenzuela and headed east down Ruta 2 to meet my friend Elmer in Itacurubi de la Cordillera (yellow arrow) at about 5pm. We began our trek at 5:45pm. With about 33K (about 21 miles) ahead of us.
Necessary background info: Elmer had walked some 47K (about 29 miles) the day before from Coronel Oviedo (other yellow arrow). He had napped and rested in San Jose de los Arroyos and Itacurubi before our 5:45pm departure. He was an excellent walking partner, and the pilgrimage is something I’ll never forget about our friendship. I’ll give him photo credits, too.
Our destination is the large blue arrow to the west. Caacupé the capital of Cordillera. Significant sidenote: Cordillera means mountain range. (Granted these aren’t the Rockies or even the Appalachians, but each step on these hills was a trial).
on the road with elmer
Why the pilgrimage?
Caacupé is the religious center of Paraguay. And December 8 is the national festival to celebrate La Virgen Maria – the virgin Mary – and the immaculate conception.
The faithful venture to Caacupé on this holy day every year. By bus, by car, by moto, by foot. And I believe the idea is that in return for the pilgrimage, the meditations conducted, God will answer the pilgrim’s prayer.
I’ve broken that down to the very regimental act itself. And obviously the faithful have a different approach. They say the rosary, light candles, pray, sing and focus their hearts on God and The Virgin. Despite their body aches, bloody feet, or heavy hearts, pilgrims humbly commit this act of faith. They arrive at the church or the plaza, rest a moment, maybe attend a mass and return home.
In talking with family and friends here, I learned that the crux was the walk itself, not being in Caacupé. That’s just the destination. But the main event is the journey.
jasyra'y: dya-c-ra-e: literal meaning; youngest (kid) moon. new moon. elmer's pic.
So why the pilgrimage for me?
I had lunch with my host family a couple of days following the pilgrimage.
Host dad Amado asked me again about my faith. No I’m not Catholic, no I’m not Mormon. I’m Protestant, I explained. Host mom jumped in to explain that we basically believe all the same things as Catholics, but one differentiation is that we don’t really recognize Saints. And then the conversation went something like this.
Amado: Entonces, por qué caminaste a Caacupé? No era por la virgen. No sos Católica. (Well then, why did you walk to Caacupé? It wasn’t because of the virgin. You’re not Catholic.)
Me: Ah, verdad. No sabía que sos abogado. (Ah, true. I didn’t know you’re a lawyer.)
Ada: Jaja, él es todo. (Haha, he is everything.)
Me: Por la experiencia hice la peregrinación. (I did the pilgrimage for the experience.)
For the experience is probably not a good enough reason for Amado. I suspect he’s done everything in his life to support his family. And for the experience never would cross his mind. Pero así es. But that’s how it goes.
The Pilgrimage.
We started out at 5:45pm at a slow pace due to Elmer’s 29 miles walked the day before. It rained that afternoon, a blessing from La Virgen, because the temperature dropped significantly. I fueled up on bananas, sesame crackers, and a termo of ice water, and the occasional terere. I wore leggings, tank top, good socks and tennis shoes. I carried a small back with yerba, my camera, some money for a souvenir, and a long sleeve shirt. My yoga mat was strapped to my back. I’d sleep on it that night in the plaza in Caacupé.
along the ruta there's the sacred and uh...less sacred: story love mothel $3 for 2 hours. elmer's pic.
this is paraguay (or the midwest?!). elmer's pic.
Here’s our first break. There were medical tents set up all along the ruta, and staffed with people from Health Centers or Cruz Roja, Red Cross. They had cold water, bandages, chairs and first aid.
Conversation dwindled and the steps were more labored. Along the shoulder of the highway where we walked, there are raised lomitas (little speed bumps). Tripping on one will throw off your pace, if not knock you over. We used a flashlight periodically to note when one was coming up.
Policemen stood along the shoulder at regular intervals helping to monitor approaching traffic.
Just after midnight, we’re on the other side of the turnoff for Piribebuy. The midnight mass has started in Caacupé.
Vendors are more concentrated at this point. They’re selling everything from meat on a stick, to fruit salad, soft drinks, chipa, hats. The places with chairs are full. We find a bus stop with a bench, taking the extra steps to cross the road to reach it. I make the mistake of going horizontal. My muscles don’t respond when I stand up. Completely stiff. The blisters on the toes are screaming.
I see a banner hung along the road advertising Piri, a soft drink, saying something like la bebida de tu peregrinación (the drink of your pilgrimage). I want to kick that sign. Piri is the last thing I want, and it has nothing to do with my walk.
I was looking for one thing on the horizon. The giant white cross that announces your arrival to Caacupé. We continued for 6K more non-stop, silent. People are beginning to walk in the other direction. Buses are full leaving Caacupé. Tempting. The mass has ended. It’s about 1:30am. We pass a tent operated by some scouts. They’re giving away sugary juice that makes me gag. And free hot dogs. I turned down free hot dogs. Appetite was gone.
Another hour more and I see the dome of the church. It begins to drizzle. I nearly cry from exhaustion and relief, and for completing the journey. It was around 2:30am. Nearly nine hours later.
Elmer and I settle in, locating a free spot in the plaza suitable for two to stretch out and sleep. It’s a light sleep. There’s singing and dancing on the stage constructed in front of the church entrance. I think it went quiet for a while until the sun came up around 5-something. I hear a man’s voice on the big speakers.
He’s speaking words of welcome. And the most beautiful Guarani. Guarani is often spat and slurred. But his was like a song. Tupãsy Roga. House of the Mother of God.
the plaza on december 8
A mass begins with visiting archbishop of Boston Séan Patrick O’Malley (could he be any more Irish!?). He tells a story about his early years as a priest, ministering in a jail. Apparently his first “sermon” with a message of liberty rang a little too true among inmates. The following day there were several who escaped.
We pack up camp and leave. Steps are delicate, but come easier. I locate the Valenzolana (my bus home). Well actually, I recognize one of the drivers and ask him where his bus is parked. I go and sit on it. I wait for him to come and drive me home. And I appreciate every kilometer we travel to my doorstep.
