Day 24. San Julian, a gem of a place

Alberge Miguelin is in the village of La Mesa which sits at the base of a hill atop which the giant air foils of a dozen or so wind turbines slowly rotate. I could hear the soft and distant whirrin whirrin whirrin of the blades as I fell asleep. I thought about my home in California where, when the wind is right and the waves are strong, I can hear the muted crashes of swells meeting land through the open window of our bedroom.

Not every morning, but most, I give thanks for being alive. As I set off on my daily journey, I call to mind all that I am thankful for. I am thankful for Paula, who understands this quixotic need of mine to travel to a distant place and walk for hours. I am thankful that I have three wonderful sons, born of the love between me and Paula, and pray that each of them can find a joy such as I have found in them. I am thankful that I grew up with a loving mother and proud father and six great sisters each of whom amaze me in the lives that have been bestowed upon them. I have a wonderful daughter-in-law and three beautiful grandchildren. I have been blessed with great friends, teachers and masters. I am blessed beyond what any man could expect. And I am truly thankful for all of that. And it all begins with being alive.

This morning started with a climb up and past the wind turbines followed by a long slow descent into the foggy forest and on to the Salime Reservoir and dam, generating 128 MW of electrical power. After crossing the dam and climbing a little ways I came to the Hotel Grandas where I was originally planning to stay, but realizing that it was such a short section, I had changed my plans to stay near the village of Castro, another 10 miles further ahead.

I had a fresh orange juice at the Hotel Grandas overlooking the reservoir, then continued along a country road and forested trails to Grandas de Salime, a busy village. I walked by the church and went in, hearing guitar music. Before I knew it, I was handed a song sheet and suddenly realized it was Sunday and mass was about to begin in a few minutes. I stayed, feeling a bit conspicuous in my Camino gear. I was in the second row back and just as the Mass started a young man came in and stood in the front row. He had some kind of nervous affliction and kept moving forward and back, or sideways, or in a bowing movement while seated. I wanted to lay my hand on his shoulder and tell him “Tranquilo, amigo,” and imagined him cured. Of course, I reasoned, I could not touch him – there was no predicting how he, or other churchgoers, might react. At some unseen signal, he went to the altar and picked up the collection basket and proceeded to collect donations. During the peace-giving, he went up and down the aisles shaking everybody’s hand. Later, he collected the song sheets. After mass, as I was walking to Castro, I struggled with the futility of faith. If the priest could transform a piece of bread to the Body of Christ, then surely he and Christ could cure this young kid of the nervous disorder. After a while, I realized that possibly by giving this simple soul a purpose, such as collecting alms or song sheets, the padre was giving him a reason to rejoice in being alive.

Later, I met the priest, a young man who would have no problem attracting women if he had chosen another profession. Actually, I had met him the night before, at Alberge Miguelin where he had dropped by after celebrating mass. I was nearly to my destination for today, Casa Rural San Julian when I stopped at La Parilla restaurant for a beer. I normally don’t have my “arrival beer” until I have actually arrived, but I saw another pilgrim couple and decided to stop. Soon after, Padre Pedro came into the same restaurant. I asked him if he would sign my “pilgrim’s credential” that I have previously mentioned. He was happy to comply: “Yo soy El Camino, Jesus of Nazareth”.

I ordered a bowl of butter beans with jabalí while I was at the restaurant and as I ate, the thunder, at first distant, moved in closer as the skies darkened. I skipped a cortado, paid up, said goodbye to padre and the pilgrims, and made off for Casa San Julian. The rain was pelting me as I arrived, but no damage done. Soon I had showered, dressed into clean dry clothes, found the bar and here I sit, watching the rain from the inside!

We are all always looking for that “gem”: the place that is at once so inviting you are afraid this might be the one, but you do your best to hold back your expectations because of previous disappointments. There were no disappointments here: from start to finish, it was a grand pleasure. The rooms were comfortable and rustically decorated, the bar was well stocked and had comfortable seating, the meal was a perfect blend of flavors, colors and textures, and the hosts were overly generous and polite without being obtrusive.

Aye, a lot to be thankful for today.