Category: Friends – Spirit

I met a couple on the Norte in a donativo albergue tucked away in the hills. They made too much spaghetti that night and invited me to share dinner. We drank a bottle of wine and talked over a cigarette. Rene is from the Czech Republic and Nao is from Japan. They are a laughing, massaging, chain-smoking duo from different sides of the world. I ran into them everyday for about a week and a half straight. We became friends.

We arrived in Priesca some days later after a sunny walk uphill. I watched them run off into the shade of the woods to be alone. Pushing each other up against the trees, their hands running everywhere.. the next moment, they were rolling around in the grass. They were in love. It was written on their faces. Eating at the picnic table and then ending up spread out on top of it. No one else exists.

One bright day at La Naranja Peregrina, after a couple of beers, I asked them for an interview.

“Where did you start the Camino?”

Nao- “Arun.”
Rene- “Gerneca.”

“When did you start walking together?”

Nao- “Well, we saw each other for the first time in Bilbao, but we didn’t start walking together then.”

Rene- “I continued alone after seeing her in the albergue..

(Nao interjects..)

Nao- “Yes, well, me too (laughing).”

Rene- “Yes, okay, you too. And after we are alone for two days, we meet again and started talking. Now we are walking ever since.”

“How long has it been?”

Nao- “About 10 days, I think.”

Rene- “I had plans to walk alone, but then I went outside for a cigarette and somehow, now I am not walking alone anymore.”

“When did you start to feel that you were more than Walking partners?”

Rene- “Wow, okay, um, where were we? On the beach?”

Nao- “Yes, but I don’t remember the name of this place. But we were on the beach. Sunny day. And then, I don’t know.”

Rene- “Its hard to remember because we are not so many days together but so much happens in so short time that we are together.”

Nao- “Noja! On the beach in Noja, I remember now.”

“Have you made any plans?”

Nao- “We have plans to drink Captain Morgan in Japan with cola and lemon.”

Rene- “Yes, with cola and lemon.”

Nao- “I prefer Captain to Jack Daniels, yes. And better with cola!”

…

Nao- “But who knows?”

Rene- “It’s complicated now, in these next days.”

Nao- “Yes, tomorrow is our last day walking together.”

I protest, “What?! Why?!”

Rene- “My life is now complicated.. because I am meeting a friend from Czech Republic tomorrow. She is the reason I come on Camino.. there were a lot of problems. And now they are coming here and I’m confused.” He continues.. “I was really in love with this girl and we’re together for one year and she was in love with her ex-boyfriend.”

“But why was it so bad? Why did you have problems?”

Nao- “Give more examples, I don’t understand either.”

Rene- “Okay, well, she was in love with her ex-boyfriend and said that she likes her ex-boyfriend more than me. She is basically obsessed with ex-boyfriend.” He continues.. “and after one horrible year things are still complicated and she writes to tell me that she’s coming here.”

Nao- “Maybe because she was really into her ex-boyfriend, now she’s really into you because you are also ex-boyfriend.”

We all laughed.

“I like Nao better,” I said after she went to grab another round of beer.

Rene- “Me too. She is a special girl.”

A couple days later, when they weren’t walking together anymore.. Nao was gone and so was Rene’s smile.

Misery. The pain of being without my oils and brushes is a pain that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. My thoughts are consumed by violets, cobalt blues, crimson reds and mustard yellows. I dream of mixing olive greens from the blues and reds and forming them into the shape of the trees that haunt me. The pain begins early in the morning, from the moment I step out of the door. I look for the mud to soil my feet. This is where I’ll find the trees.

I take the way without cars, the way only herds of cattle and weary pilgrims cross. Here, the sight of the first Eucalyptus tree brings tears to my eyes. Not even the rain can keep up. The tears tread past my cheeks and roll off my chin into the dirt. They look like the river I’ve been waiting to cross.

“I’m lost,” I cry. “Who the fuck is a painter that doesn’t paint?”

I walk off the path and sit under an oak tree, knees curled into my chest, head resting between my legs. The birds sing as I sob beneath the shaded shelter of the tree’s branches. We’ve created quite the song, the birds and I. And I wish I could paint them too. The sitting only lasts so long before I turn around to face the tree. I give it a hug. The bark scratching my face until the tears stop. A moment of rest.

“I’m sorry,” I tell the tree. “All I want is to show other people how beautiful you are.” I kiss the tree and say goodbye.. I’ll never see it again.

The way separates the traffic lights and the city’s noise from the green of the forest. And I dream of paint in every step. Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming of thickened paste to squeeze on my palate. I don’t think of food, I think of paint. And the memory of the colors keeps me full. The colors are enough satisfy my hunger for a hot meal. I ask the spring to plant me a tree and let it grow. I want nothing but my oils. Nothing else besides the medium to make the colors last and the solvent to make the colors disappear again. I will use my fingers and my toes to work, mixing the paint with my hands.

Wind, make the leaves shake. I’ll watch them dance. Give me paints to study every flurry of wind. “God, can you hear me? I’d treat a grease-stained pizza box if it meant that I could work. I’ll receive whatever you can muster up with open arms.”

The pain and misery of painting is a longing so deep. I live for work that I can’t make.. paintings that only live in my mind. The greatest pain of painting is not painting at all. It is a pain that I refuse to indulge any longer.

A postcard home..

I have made it to Logroño, Spain, the place where Rosie and I visited Sergio last summer. Don’t worry about my feet. They are getting better all the time. In a little over 500 kilometers, I will be in Santiago, Spain. I wish you could see for yourselves how beautiful these countryside walks have been. And ye wine isn’t bad either! If you can, make sure you try some of the wine from La Rioja, I think you will like it as much as I do. Give the family kisses from me, Moose (for those of you who don’t know me, he’s my dog) too!

Love,
Caroline

I think I have finally found the perfect postcard to send you. I write to you from a small cafe in Logroño, Spain. I think about how much I would like to play a game of chess with you. I’ve been practicing a little since the last time we’ve played. I can’t say that I’ve improved, but I can say that I haven’t gotten any worse. Also, do you recognize this ink? I have to thank you because you’ve left behind a nice pen for me to write stories with. You’ll hear more about them in the coming days. Until then, I think of you in England. The butterflies look like you. Bisou.

Love, your Caroline