Last night, I'm sorry to say I was 'that guy' in the albergue. I drank 3 small beers as we watched the first bit of Germany v Greece at the local bar. Unfortunately that meant that twice in the night I had to make a journey that made the floorboards of the albergue creak and groan. I was not alone in making that journey, but I heard a couple of coughs that seemed to indicate that I had disturbed peaceful sleep. Now my partner in this venture snores, as did another guy down the way, so I' m not the sole guilty party here. Then again at 6:45 as we we packing up, I did drop my toiletries bag with a bang that woke folk who expected to sleep until 7:30.
The morning was very cool and foggy. Pete put on his long sleeves, and we did 3K of road walking. It was a foggy, foggy morning, but luckily only a few cars appeared out of the fog to drive us to the very edge of the road. Once we left the road, the Camino crossed several medieval bridges (restored I think) and a church our guidebooks said was from the 14th century (again restored). In the cool morning mist and sunlight the beauty of the stone church surrounded by ancient oaks shaggy with hanging moss and tall pines was moving beyond words. The Camino wound on following thousand year old footpaths though meadows, forests, and small hamlets. The Way was soft underfoot--no asphalt. The day warmed and the fog lifted. It was the most peaceful morning of walking in a series of wonderful mornings these past days. Prayer, song, and small talk came easily to our lips. The birds chirped. The flowers perfumed the air. Quiet peace filled us. I told Pete that this was the Camino of my dreams: contemplative and filled with shalom. Restless hearts could well find their rest on Ways such as the Way we walked this morning.
We meet our Polish friend at a break spot that several other pilgrims had stopped at. He had spent the night nearer to the highway in a pension. He said with obvious delight that he took a long bath. When brief showers either too hot or too cold are the norm, a hot soak in a real tub is quite the well deserved luxury. Buen Camino my Polish professor.
On our way through one of the small hamlets, we saw the home of a local sculptor who invites all peregrinos to step into his yard and worshop. His generousity of spirit and creativity just brought a smile to my lips. We couldn't make out more than a word or two of his rapidfire Spanish (after we did our 'No hablo . . . Speech he just kept going). Yet his work and desire to share it with us said all that we needed to understand.
We walked happily to our day's destination, Miraz. A 70 year old German woman who had walked from Irun as we had was at the albergue entrance and told us the place didn't open until 2.30. It was 12:30, so we all adjourned to the bar next door. Now I'm becoming European--I ordered beer. Since college, I can't remember drinking alcohol at midday, but here it is commonplace, so when in Spain eh? The German woman ordered a sandwich, as did Pete, and we adjourned to the patio under the grape arbor.There with the warmth of the afternoon, we talked with the bar owner in our pigdin Spanish, less than pigden German, and little to no English. Despite, or maybe because of, our different languages, we managed to share quiet laughs, common concerns, and a bit of talk of futbol (the 60 something tavern lady thinks Spain will face Germany in the finals). I kept looking at Pete and repeating our go to phrase, 'dude, we're walking in Spain'. The peace of the morning blended seamlessly and perfectly into the easy fellowship of the afternoon.
Some other customers came and the tavern owner hurried inside to be as delightful and gracious with them as she had been with us. Across the street workman are painting a large house. A neighbor drops by to inspect and offer comments to the homeowner. The painter steps into the conversation pointing and talking rapidly. As all this life is bustling away, a man wheels a barrow full of gelagos (a large leafy green veggie looking like an overgrown broccoli without the flower) through the scene. Gelagos is grown in large quantities in every garden we've seen, but until I ate cauldo gelagos, we could never find any evidence of its use in the cusine. We figured they pickled it for winter. Anyway, our German friend stopped the fellow with the barrow full of green to ask about the veggie. She tasted the raw leaf stopping the conversation about housepainting and simply stunning the barrowman. Who knew that there was a raw gelagos taboo? In the nick of time, before things got ugly in that cross-cultural miscommunication sort of way a large horned cow, the head of a mini-cattle drive comes onto the scene. It like a scene from an American western. A dozen beeves (that's what they call them in the movies although I doubt the Spanish use the term) amble right into town. A large woman with a stick yells out something just as the lead cow seeks to break the raw gelagos taboo too. Then the other cows pour into the scene, each and everyone threatening to break taboo as the housewife yells at the cows not to step on the painters tarp and the barrowman looks for a way to safely exit the scene with all his gelagos unchewed by the now thoroughly interested in taboo-breaking cows. Friends as the scene unfolded before me I could only say that it is just such a wonderful wonderful world. This is a world of great beauty, warm fellowship, and zany fun. Find some for yourselves--make some for yourselves. On this Camino such beauty, such fellowship, and such fun have filled me up and my heart just begs for more.
The albergue finally opened. Its time for showers, laundry, and chewing the cud (since I'm still overjoyed by bovine hijinxs) with the Canadian and English hospitaleros. They are retired, but for the love of the Camino they come year after year to spend two weeks in this small, hardly on a map Spanish village, to welcome and serve peregrinos. They promise me that the tavern keeper will cheer as loudly as anyone when Spain meets France in tonight's quarterfinal futbol match. I'll be sure to lift my glass in her direction when they score--a salute from a pilgrim to yet another person who has the phrase, "remember you too were once a stranger" written in her heart and giving life to all her graceful ways. Buen Camino.
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