Day 17. A little help from my friends

Last night I was faced with a major decision. The coastal trek with its ups and downs, and trying to keep pace with Steve from Montana and Collette from New Zealand, had left me too tired to consider the options: a short walk to Colunga or a much longer trek to Villaviciosa. So I decided to sleep on it. I awoke and showered and packed my bags, still not deciding, but in a positive mood. I went down to the lobby hoping I could get a cup of coffee. “Are you 307?” asked the night manager. “Oh, my room number! Yes, I am 307.” “Well, I have laid out breakfast for you.” And so he had: there were honeydews and croissants and boiled eggs and cheeses and more. And a coffee machine that produced a very good cafe con leche, which, when augmented with a cortado, made the perfect eye opener for me. Having supped on olives the night before, I ate a bigger breakfast than usual.

Most pilgrims collect “sellos”, or stamps, along the Camino. Instead, I am collecting “dichos”, or sayings from different people along the Camino. When I asked Adrian, the night manager, to write something for me, he was pleased to comply. Adrian told me that life can be compared to an hourglass. We live on the top of all the sand that has seeped through the neck of the timepiece, representing the past. Our present life is the falling sand. We cannot see from where we are how much sand is left on top, or our future. It may be a few grains or a beach full. He took my “pilgrim’s passport” and drew an hourglass with the inscription: “We do not know what lies ahead; enjoy every day.” He was nearly forty years old (he looked about thirty!) and had been working in the hotel business since he was eighteen, doing everything except making the beds. He had recently bought a van to travel around in, which was his dream. Adrian is a madrileño, but when I assumed that made him a “gato”, he corrected me: gatos are the offspring of parents who are both madrileños and his mother and father were not born in Madrid.

Adrián had treated me so well that I had nearly made my mind up to do the long walk to Villaviciosa. But I wasn’t quite there yet. I left the hotel, walked down to the seaside promenade and headed west. An older gentleman came walking the other way and wished me “Buen Camino!” I acknowledged with a nod, but as I walked past I called out to him. I thanked him for being the first person to give that greeting this morning. We chatted. His voice grew serious and he told me he had a gift for me. He opened his palm and gave me a memento which meant so much to me that I could not quite fathom it. I told him it must be very special to him. After all, he carried it in his hand as he walked. “A gift, if it is to have any meaning, must be difficult to part with,” he said. “And bring pleasure to both the giver and the receiver.” We chatted a bit more, then, with a fumbling of goodbyes, we parted ways. I knew then that I was going to Villaviciosa.

Today I did not stray from the yellow brick road. The trail to Colunga teased with a few more approaches near the coast, but afterwards the Camino led inland and the scenery changed. The countryside got hillier and the paths often led through forested green canopies.

Today I stay on the official Way,
And yes, TS, it’s many steps before I rest. 
Time to walk, save the talk
for another day.
It might seem it’s a dream
but it’s time to pray
So I sing, the words ring,
And drift away
And so I stay on the official Way
And yes, confess, it’s time to rest. 

And here I sit in the Trébede bar in Villaviciosa writing my post, with 25 miles logged, further than I have ever walked in one day! And why not come here? The name itself is intriguing, meaning “vicious village”, or perhaps, more aptly, “vice-ridden town”, but an old name, because there is not much sign of of sin in this town. Little kids run around, grandparents show off the grandkids, couples, old and young, hold hands, glancing at each other with what can only be described as love. And somewhere in Ribadesella, an old gentleman named Jose Luis, known to his friends as Pepe, sits, without a treasure he once held close, I suppose, for many years. I imagine him thinking of a stranger he met, and feeling comforted, knowing his gift is in good and appreciative hands.

Vete en paz.