Category: Friends – Spirit

In albergues you are one of the crowd. You check in, check out, get your stamp, never see the volunteers again. Occasionally however, you are recognized as a pilgrim in need.

I arrived sick and a little depressed. As I stumbled in the door and dropped my pack the lady next to the desk said “one moment please” in Spanish with a sweet smile on her face. When she returned that smile was still there.

I asked her if there was a bed for the night and she nodded enthusiastically, I mumbled a few words and then asked if she spoke English. She grinned beautifully and said in Spanish, “your Spanish is good, we don’t need to speak English” (or something close to that, because my Spanish isn’t that good).

that small compliment lifted my spirits straight up to good mood status and as she pressed the key into my hand with both of hers she smiled the beautiful smile again and told me that breakfast in the morning was free. Hallelujah. I went upstairs to find that she had given me my own room at no extra cost. When I called my father a few minutes later I almost cried telling him about the kindness the lady showed to me.

Just two days ago as I walked through Burgos I was blessed again.

I had been reading my Bible in the sun and presently I was walking back to the hostel trying to move slowly and letting my mind wander. I had been praying the last few days for an opportunity to play a piano. One of my favorite things to do at home is to sit in my living room and play my old wooden upright. I’m not particularly homesick here on El Camino but I’m used to playing everyday and I had begun to feel my fingers itching.

I passed by a perfume shop and did a double-take when I glanced in and saw a baby grand piano just sitting in the middle of the store. I walked in and couldn’t think of the words to communicate so I just pointed to the piano and asked, “Why?”

She smiled, shrugged and said something that I didn’t understand and then asked “do you play?”

“A bit.” I answered.

“Do you want to play?”

I nodded and the lady turned off the store music. We were alone in the store.

I began to play and the piano felt like a dream, it was tuned well and the action on the keys was just right. I played for about 15 minutes feeling a little self-conscious but I was determined to let out all the stress and weariness of the journey in that one moment. The wooden keys felt soft and the sunlight was coming in the open door.

when I was done I sat back and thanked the woman. She asked me where I was from and if I was a pilgrim to Santiago. I said yes I was and then she then she took me by the hand and led me to a perfume display. She took my hands gently and as she muttered something in Spanish she began to anoint my hands with perfume from the bottles, rubbing it all over my skin. This was so touching to me that I said nothing and just let her bless me and my journey.

I came back the next day and bought some perfume for my sister. The lady was pleased to see me and when I said coarsely “You bless me yesterday” she answered, “You blessed me.”

 

I met Flo at an old wooden table in Saint Jean Pied de Port France. We were both checking into the Belarus albergue and after we shyly shook hands and introduced ourselves we followed each other around the rest of the day. Flo isn’t from a small town in the southwest of Germany which most Germans don’t even recognize the name of. The name escapes me as well.

The next day Flo and I woke up, walked out into the street and wished each other good luck and a “buen Camino.” We then turned on our heels and walked out of town together at exactly the same pace.

Flo and I walked this way all the way over the Pyrenees mountains and into Roncesvalles. By the end we had talked so much about our lives that it felt like we had known each other for weeks. From Roncesvalles on we wordlessly assumed everyday that we were walking, sleeping, eating, and surviving together.

each day as we walked and the landscapes would blur together around us there would be a dull music that appeared in the common silence between us. When you walk for miles over rocks and hills and cobblestone roads in silence you begin to become aware of details around you that are normally insignificant. Flo’s carved staff strikes the dirt and rocks making a distinctive “click.” My scallop shell attached to my backpack clacks and chimes against my water bottle and I noticed that they make up the only sounds around us when we walk together other than the wind and the bird song; “clack, plink, clack, click” are the only sounds we hear for miles at a time. I notice also, in the times where I walk alone, how much I miss the click of Flo’s walking stick.

Flo taught me that Germans are polite. Flo said so himself and demonstrates it by never speaking over others and demonstrates it by never speaking over others and always paying attention to how I’m feeling; he’ll ask me if my legs hurt, when I’d like to eat, etc. The only German word I know is one that Flo taught me. It isn’t very useful because the word is “schmetterling” and means “butterfly” – not very handy but very entertaining when it is my only contribution to a German conversation.

Having someone to endure things besides turns hard tasks into bonding experiences. When you do squats for an hour or a similar exercise your legs normally feel warm for a day and then you wake up in the morning with growing pains. Flo and I walked for so long over the Pyrenees that my legs began to stop feeling warm and I began to feel my thighs and calves ripping and repairing themselves in real time. Flo and I panted up each hill and kept looking at each other in disbelief, realizing that each of us had actually signed up to do this. It was there that we coined what would become our signature catch-phrase from then on. Over the coming mikes through rain, exhaustion, hills, and valleys we would look at each other, grin, and say: “Could be worse.”