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My special/typical Camino Sunday/any day .
Horizon to horizon windmills, the crows cawing in Spanish. I’m alone slowly walking the long hot maseta; sun beating down, no shade, and thinking no one knows where I am. What if I needed help? I resolve
to get a cheap mobile phone that works in Spain.
Coming off a long stretch along an irrigation canal, passing by a village, there is a low wall in the shade. I sit; have some water and a snack. Along comes a minivan, out steps an older guy carrying two buckets, one with small candies, the other with a small round purplish fruit. He holds them out to me. I take one candy and two pieces of fruit. The fruit is sort of grape like but has a large single pit. The old guy then takes a handful of the fruit, places it in my hand, reaches out his other hand, shakes my hand and announces, “Amigos.” He gets back into his minivan, stops down the track for two pilgrims coming along, and repeats his offer.
I am impressed and surprised and forget to get his picture.
Rested, I walk on and meet up with Larry and Jan from British Columbia. Now retired, Larry had run a homeless shelter and Jan had worked in Special Education. (Later I learn their daughter is working trying to develop renewable energy sources, so I tell them my waterpower story — a story I tell to anyone who will listen.)
We walked a good way and came to a mini-park. There was a waterspout, a cement table, benches, and two people, Deborah and Pablo putting things away, tidying up. I told Deb and Pab about the old guy with the minivan. They knew him and said when they got the chance they would take his picture and send it along.
Deb and Pab were in the tourist trade introducing folks to the Camino. They had just served lunch to a group now off walking. Deb helped me with the resistant waterspout and then sat me down, gave me a nearly full liter of gazpacho and a cup. Then Pab handed me an entire two-foot French bread and Deb handed me half a container of hummus and a dessert plate of fruit. They smiled, saying it was just a normal Camino gesture, got into their big bus and left.
After my lunch I still had most of the long French bread. Seeing an older local woman passing by, I offered the bread to her. She refused it. Turning around, I saw two pilgrims approaching and passed the bread along.
Resuming my walk, I went to a cafe a bit beyond the albergue where I would stay that night. Here I met Brian, who will be fully introduced later, as well as Maid Marian from Sweden and Irene (Rene) from Australia.
Irene and Marien, now both in their sixties, had been friends since their early college days when they had worked one summer at a hotel in Britain. They had been writing, but for years hadn’t seen each other.
Then there was Mick, from Australia, a large intense man in his fifties, who stared at me and declared we could have great serious conversations. Mick had a plan to finance everything with a small tax on every bank transaction. He claimed no one would complain because the tax would be small and hidden. When told of this plan, Vicki (You’ll meet her later) immediately complained, “No, that’s just a regressive flat tax.”
“So it goes.”
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Camino Santiago de Compostela Neal Spitzer, artist, realist painter of people, paintings, portraits, portrait commissions, limited edition archival prints Poetry in Public Places Neal Spitzer, artist, realist painter of people, paintings, portraits, portrait commissions, limited edition archival prints Poetry in Public Places Neal Spitzer, artist, realist painter of people, paintings, portraits, portrait commissions, limited edition archival prints Poetry in Public Places Neal Spitzer, artist, realist painter of people, paintings, portraits, portrait commissions, limited edition archival prints Camino Santiago de Compostela
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