Fever Recovery in Logroño and Finding the Pilgrim Spirit Once More

The drenched pillows speak of fever’s night visit – my body, a furnace that consumes itself. Sweat-soaked blankets twisted into ropes from fitful sleep. Morning brings no clarity, only the strange constriction in my lower ribs that makes each breath a conscious act rather than the invisible gift it should be. This is how pilgrimage teaches – through presence and absence, through what works and what fails.

Two nights in Logroño. Two nights of fighting whatever invaded my body in the midst of this sacred journey. The fever that retreats with daylight only to return like an unwelcome pilgrim at dusk.

Morning Reflections at Picasso Cafe

I sit outside Picasso Cafe in morning sunshine, a small sparrow landing near my table, perhaps hoping for crumbs, perhaps offering solidarity. The light touches my face, and for moments, wellness seems possible again. I decide: if tomorrow doesn’t bring strength enough to walk, this is my ending point. Three nights in Logroño feels like enough surrender to illness.

Returning to Pilgrim Life at Albergue de Pérégrinos

At one o’clock, I find myself at Albergue de Pérégrinos, waiting an hour for opening – an unexpected rosary time, alternating between sun and shade as prayer beads slip through fingers. As pilgrims gather, we create an improvised system – backpacks lined in arrival order, standing in for their owners. A queue of empty vessels holding our essential possessions.

I feel the conflict immediately – these pilgrims arrive dust-covered and exhausted from kilometers I’ve missed. My rested appearance after hotel nights feels like cheating, though my body knows the fever that necessitated it. Strange jealousy rises – they’ve earned their fatigue on sacred paths while I’ve battled sheets and thermometers.

Yet as I make my bed, arrange my few possessions in the albergue’s simple space, something returns. The ritual movements sync me back to pilgrim rhythms. The presence of others walking the same path pulls me into the current I feared lost. I am still a pilgrim, even with days of detour.

Eventually, something shifts – the infection morphing into something more bearable. Allergy. My voice grows hoarse, but with allergy, I can walk. With allergy, I can continue. This feels like grace.

First Communion Celebrations and Spiritual Reflections

Outside, Logroño bustles with First Holy Communion celebrations – little girls in white dresses like miniature brides, elaborate hairstyles, families dressed in finery. The fashionable spectacle around what should be spiritual transformation breaks my heart. Where is the faith beneath the fabric? As evening approaches, communion dresses give way to bachelorette parties, a few drunk adults. The sacramental and the profane blending in Spanish streets until indistinguishable.

I think of children presented to sacraments without home faith foundations, who will soon conflate Jesus with Santa Claus – both magical stories adults tell that eventually disappoint. The spiritual space opened by sacrament filled instead with confusion when no one tends it. My thoughts darken with the sky.

The Case of the Missing Flip-Flops

Returning to the albergue, a smaller violation awaits – my flip-flops, left in the shoe rack, have disappeared. I search floors, look under beds, finding them eventually beneath a stranger’s bunk. My accusatory finger points without hesitation: “Those are my shoes.” Apologies flow that I barely hear as I reclaim what’s mine. Later, I wash them thoroughly, sprinkle them with perfume-as-disinfectant, hoping alcohol content kills whatever alien presence invaded my essential comfort.

Preparing for Tomorrow’s Return to Walking

The hospitalera speaks no English; I speak no Spanish. Yet when I need help arranging backpack transport for tomorrow’s gentle re-entry to walking, no translator is necessary. Her kindness bridges language. With transport arrangements, I must also book tomorrow’s albergue – against my usual practice of walking without reservation, letting the Camino provide. But these are unusual circumstances. Adaptation is also pilgrimage.

I prepare for tomorrow by purchasing a baguette and ham – breakfast for the 12 kilometers before the next rest point. My voice fades but my resolve strengthens. Tomorrow I walk again, lighter without my pack, but walking still. The goal is to be on the Way, to continue this journey.

Note to Self:

Seek spiritual support in times of weakness. The blessings offered along the Camino aren’t mere ritual—they’re sustenance for both body and spirit. Remember how the kindness of strangers carried you when your own strength faltered. The pilgrim’s path includes both independence and the humility to accept help when needed.

The Power of Pilgrim Blessings

The pilgrim’s blessing awaits at evening Mass. I will go, seeking spiritual and physical restoration. Some people, I sense, don’t wish me well on this pilgrimage – perhaps from jealousy, perhaps from misunderstanding. But blessings run through scripture’s veins, and I will collect this one as I did in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port and Roncesvalles. Blessed to continue, blessed to persevere.

This is pilgrimage – not just walking, but stopping when necessary. Not just strength, but vulnerability. Not just solitary determination, but community support. Tomorrow, the Way continues.