May 28, 2012
Queridos amigos,
Yesterday, for the first time, a Spaniard called me pilgrim. The barmaid had shown me the way to the computer room, but I decided to eat first. I walked down the hall and turned left to go into the dining room instead of to the right and the computer room. The barmaid ran after me shouting, "Peregrino!" Which sort of makes my status official.
This morning when I checked out, I debated whether to use the computer one last time. Four them sitting there, and who knows what awaited me in the next town. All the lights in the computer room were out, all the computer screens black. I asked the bartender about it and he said give him a few minutes and he would have everything back up.
I went to my room and finished packing, then pulled up a chair in front of the computer I used last night to upload pictures. There in the camera card slot was my 8GB camera card. Need to watch staying up so late at the computer. Easing back on the digestifs probably wouldn´t hurt either.
As I check out, I notice that one of my trekking poles is five inches shorter than the other. How long as this been going on? No wonder I’m lopsided at the end of the day.
This morning finds another perfect day, and more miles of evenly spaced sycamores.
Among the people I pass is a very spiffy hiker. Clothes form fitting, neat pack, uses his poles well. He and I will leapfrog each other during the day.
I hear a man overtaking me and step aside,. He does not want to pass me, he wants to join me. His Spanish is rough. He is from Italy, and uses many gestures to make his points. We agree that the scenery has been spectacular.
He said he has a friend in San Antonio. Apparently the friend visited an Indian tribe, perhaps in El Paso, and shared the songs he heard. The man, who is Mosé Loss, pronounced Mo-ZAY, then proceeds to sing at some length these songs and does a dance as we walk.
He says he operates heavy machinery back home. I inquire about his Spanish; he picked it up while traveling in South America.
I tell him I’ll be 68 next month. He asks, 1944? Yes. He exults and shakes my hand enthusiastically. He too was born in that year, in April. He started his Camino in St. Jean Pied-le-Port on May 13. Which is to say he started farther back than I did and a week later and now has overtaken me.
Then he tells me that his wife died of cancer. He reacts with sweeping gestures of grief. I tell him Susan´s story and in no time we are both sobbing as we walk. Half a kilometer on, he brightens and talks of children and grandchildren. He spreads his hands to show me the length of his latest grandchild. “Belíssimo!” he says.
We come to a modest rest stop. A roof and a picnic table, but at least it is shade. We drop our packs and drink water. An older woman arrives, takes out her map and seems to be having trouble figuring out where she is at the moment. I try talking with her in Spanish but she just doesn´t have the vocabulary. I produce my guidebook and show her the map. Is she German? No, she answers. Dutch? Belgian? No, no.
We soon establish that she is Australian and we rejoice in our common tongue. She is traveling with her daughter and her daughter's friend, who soon join us. She is going to the same town as I am tonight.
I ask her to take a photo of Mosé and me, which she does. Then I take a pic of the interesting banner on the back Mosé’s pack. He writes down his address for me, I give him my card, and we're off again.
With Mosé Loss
Mosé Loss Shows His Colors
The trail narrows and I take the lead for a couple of miles, Mosé following 15-20 yards behind. We pass through a little dip in the road. Pilgrims are all spread out, some with bare feet, some eating, an Asian girl gingerly removing the ace bandage from her foot and heel. It is tempting to think of resting in this cool, shady glade. I wonder if Mosé will succumb. I start walking backward to see what he'll do and he quickly emerges. He´s not a man who takes a lot of rest stops.,
I let him take the lead and we go on to the next town, Reliegos. I want to stop for a cold drink before I make the last push to Mansilla de las Mulas. Mosé is going on to Leon; which is to say, he will cover in one day what I will cover in two.
He shows me the massive bear hug he will give me when we meet again. We shake hands and he is off. Not exactly looking forward to the bear hug, but it’s better than the way old men greet each other in Oman, by rubbing noses.
I step into the bar and order an extra large glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and a large bottle of cold water. A woman is sitting at bar speaking great Spanish. I ask her, in Spanish, where she's from. New York.
Her father was an oil man and she grew up in Venezuela. I tell her I have a friend with the same background who also speaks beautiful Spanish. She wants to know his name, but does not know him. I should think not; he's probably 15 years younger than she is.
Turns out she went to high school for two years in Austin, to the old St. Mary's girls school on Red River. Now she lives in New Jersey. She's divorced, used to work in advertising in Manhattan. Mad Woman? I ask. She smiles and says no.
I share Susan's story, saying the treatment was far worse than the disease. She says she has seen that repeatedly with family and friends and if she ever gets cancer will pass on chemo and radiation, and “bring on the Jack Daniels and the Chesterfields." She also is staying in the same town tonight.
I arrive in Mansilla de las Mulas, and check in at my hotel; really charming place.
The Lobby of My Hotel in Mansilla de las Mulas
Curious Banner in My Hotel
After cleaning up, a boulevardier emerges from the hotel and has lunch. A nice one, with a fat fish that is a local specialty. The waitress asks me to sign the guest book, and I write a glowing report on the Casa Marcelo.
I stop by a farmacia and try to buy turmeric, to help with the inflammation in my toes. The matron in charge has never heard of it. Instead, she sells me industrial strength ibuprofen.
The owner of the hotel says I can use his computer, but it goes blank every 20 seconds for another 10 seconds. Fighting to hold onto my sanity, I seek out El Puente Bar, where they have computers, and here I sit.
That’s it for today. Tomorrow, an easy 12-mile walk will bring me into Leon and a welcome rest day.
Adios for now,
John
| NEXT: Mansilla de las Mulas===>Leon