I get lost in small towns. Imagine how many times I would have gotten lost on the camino if the yellow arrows pointed in the wrong direction or didn’t exist at all. In places where there were few arrows I prayed for some.
I recall when I was walking down what seemed like a dried up stream path, all solid rock, which I was thankful to have my Black Diamond sticks to brace myself with, hoping for yellow arrows. I did not want to walk up this same path. I rested on a large rock while eating a banana when a South Korean lady came by. I was so relieved.
Another time I was heading back to Pamplona, and the absence of arrows clued me in that I was going the wrong way. The sculpture of the bull also helped! I remembered seeing it the day before.
While walking with Yvonne one day I missed the arrows but we got back on the trail in the end, but probably walked farther for the error. We had followed the arrows, but one could have misled us.
The patch I wear on my backpack reminds me of the trust I placed in the yellow arrows and the people who put them there!