Around the bend, I see a horse standing near the gate. I stop to talk to him for a while. He is busy seeking out acorns amidst the leaves. I pick up some on my side of the gate and offer him a handful. His soft lips touches my hand and one for one he eats them. I pat him until he moves on.
Just up the road I see a solitary ostrich, so out of place here in this wet world, and I wonder if it longs for Africa's sun like I do.
I have walked in the rain for two days and have given up all together to stay dry. I feel the water dripping from my jacket´s sleeve on to my hand. In the forest, the leaves are heavy from the rain and there is no shelter.
I first see the neck of the guitar wrapped in green plastic. I notice a fern leave tied to the bar handles of the bicycle. Then I notice the bicycle and finally I recognise the pilgrim. It is the Dutch pilgrim on the bicycle with only three gears!
He recognises my shepherd´s crook. Coming back from Santiago? I ask. He says that he has been to Santiago and is now on his way back to Holland, for he needs to attend to some matters.
And when he speaks about the cathedral and how beautiful it is, his voice falters from emotion and he puts his hand on his heart. He tells me that he is a drug abuser and that he needs to go back to Holland to do a four month jail sentence, but first he wanted to complete the Camino. His parents do not know about the jail sentence and while he is doing it, he wants them to think that he is still somewhere on the Camino. And then he adds: And when I come out of jail, I will be a new person.
We clasp our arms like the Roman soldiers of old, and wish each other a warm Buen Camino! knowing it will be the last time that we will see each other. He blows me a kiss before riding off. I turn to look at him, but see only the neck of the guitar, an arm stretched out waving. Buen Caminooooooo! he sings.
I realise then that we do not know each other´s name, and that it is also not important.
I pray that he will travel safely and that after completing his jail time, become a man of sober habits. My hope is that he will choose to follow Him, the only Way, for all his days to come.
Buen Camino!
Jovita
17 October 2013
Thursday 17 October 2013
The Three Musketeers
I walk mainly through fairy-like forests. Big wild mushrooms grow together here and there. It is easy to believe that fairies exist when I look at this world.
When I go through one of the villages, a women pushing a wheelbarrow comes from the opposite direction. It is full of grapes. I greet her. She tells me to take a bunch. When I thank her, she laughs. It seems that in the smaller communities people are used to sharing what they have.
Later on during the day, I notice a walnut on the ground. I crack it open, very un-lady like, with my boot and eat it. I notice several others and pick-up six in total! A little treasure I keep for later.
Later on during the day, I notice a walnut on the ground. I crack it open, very un-lady like, with my boot and eat it. I notice several others and pick-up six in total! A little treasure I keep for later.
I come to an Albergue situated in a village with two houses and a street. There is no store, no restaurant. The hospitaleira, a Spanish women, explains that the private Albergue a few kilometres away, will come and collect us by car and after dinner bring us back. There is no charge for the transport, only the dinner, which is the standard price.
There is a Brazilian couple, a Swedish astronomer, an Austrian youth worker, three Spanish young men and a South African donkey ambassador.
We are squashed into the car. I suddenly realise that this is the first time in five weeks that I have gone anywhere without walking! One of the Spanish pilgrims is rather amazed. They only started their Camino in Ponferrada, about a week´s walk.
Later through dinner, we have animated talks. The Austrian youth worker speaks Austrian German, English, Latin and ancient Greek. He is learning Spanish on the Camino. A discussion follows about the words pimientos (sweet peppers) and pimienta (pepper). The conversation is mostly in English, which is then translated into Spanish and Portuguese. The Swedish astronomer keeps mostly to himself. He is vegetarian and finds it hard in Spain to keep to his vegetarian diet. I learn that all three Spanish pilgrims are unemployed. One is a primary school teacher, the other one is a Human Resource officer, now doing is Masters Degree, and the third one has something to do with accounting. All three are from Andalusia. I tell them I would like to visit Andalusia, and specifically the city of Granada and the Alhambra of course. They seem a little surprised. I tell them of one of my favourite classic music pieces: Recuerdos de Alhambra, by Spanish composer Francisco Tarrega.
The food is good, home made. The Galician soup, made of potatoes, kale cabbage, and this time, with chunks of port meat, is a feast. And this is just the first course!
After dinner we are driven back to the Albergue. I sit in front next to the driver and ask him to thank the old lady in the kitchen, for the food was really delicious. He says that the Galician soup is good for the body, and for the soul! I say. He laughs, yes for the soul indeed!
I set out early in the morning in pouring rain. As I walk through the forest, I switch off my flash light for a while. I am in complete darkness and absolute silence, except for the little stream running along the path, formed by the rain water. After I switch on the flash light, I notice that the cows in the field are standing together under a tree, avoiding as much of the rain as they can. I slip and fall. For a moment a sit in the rain and do a mental check: no pain, no blood. All is good. I struggle to get up with my back pack. I am now completely drenched.
Later in the day, the three young Spanish men pass me. One complains that it is not a good day, it is raining and they are wet! They have walking sticks made out of branches picked up along the way.
They possess that special something and camaraderie seldom seen in today´s youth and I know they will excel in what ever they choose to do in life.
They possess that special something and camaraderie seldom seen in today´s youth and I know they will excel in what ever they choose to do in life.
When they pass me, I notice that they have the exact same yellow ponchos flapping in the wind. Los Tres Mosqueteros! I shout after them. Two turn around and smile. The middle one, the tallest of the three, the primary school teacher, without missing a beat, lifts his sword and the other two follow suite, placing their swords on top of the teacher´s. I can almost hear them say 'Uno por todos y todos por uno' (One for all, all for one). They walk like that for a moment. I smile.
Later on, I see the last of the yellow poncho flapping in the wind as they turn a bend in the road.
Buen Camino Athos, Portos and Aramis!
Jovita
17 October 2013
Sunday 13 October 2013
Vesperas and Completas
I had a good day. The route was full of shade, through green forests along water streams.
I come to the village built around the Monastery and head for the Albergue. It provides basic pilgrims facility. The hospitaleiro is from Ireland and we chat for a while. He plays Simon & Garfunkel songs and I hum along.
The hospitaleiro tells me about the two services to be held tonight. The first one is Vesperas, the sunset evening prayer service, at 19h30 in the church. I enter the beautiful old church, simpler in decoration than most. After the bell rings, the monks file into the church. Some wear black, the novices I assume, and they sit to the right of the altar. The others wear white and sit to the left. The priest has an emerald green toga over his white robe.
The organ starts to play, a first for me in a Catholic church. When I look back, I see that the organ has, not only vertical pipes, but horizontal pipes as well. I think of angels and cherubs blowing on trumpets.
The service is held for pilgrims. I am always in wonder at the reverence, rites and rituals of the Catholic church.
Just before 22h00, we enter the Monastery and are led to a small chapel. Here, the Completas, the monks singing, takes place.
The monks come in all dressed in black. After a short reading, a young monk starts to sings the 'questions' and then the others sing the 'answer'. And I so wish I could tape it, for it is beautiful.
When it is finished, I notice that one young monk is wearing washed out jeans underneath his black robe and another one is wearing fashionable black pointed shoes! I can´t help but thinking that there is a rebel in all of us!
I go to sleep with the sound of the Completas, grateful for yet another blessing on my path.
Buen Camino!
Jovita
13 October 2013
I come to the village built around the Monastery and head for the Albergue. It provides basic pilgrims facility. The hospitaleiro is from Ireland and we chat for a while. He plays Simon & Garfunkel songs and I hum along.
The hospitaleiro tells me about the two services to be held tonight. The first one is Vesperas, the sunset evening prayer service, at 19h30 in the church. I enter the beautiful old church, simpler in decoration than most. After the bell rings, the monks file into the church. Some wear black, the novices I assume, and they sit to the right of the altar. The others wear white and sit to the left. The priest has an emerald green toga over his white robe.
The organ starts to play, a first for me in a Catholic church. When I look back, I see that the organ has, not only vertical pipes, but horizontal pipes as well. I think of angels and cherubs blowing on trumpets.
The service is held for pilgrims. I am always in wonder at the reverence, rites and rituals of the Catholic church.
Just before 22h00, we enter the Monastery and are led to a small chapel. Here, the Completas, the monks singing, takes place.
The monks come in all dressed in black. After a short reading, a young monk starts to sings the 'questions' and then the others sing the 'answer'. And I so wish I could tape it, for it is beautiful.
When it is finished, I notice that one young monk is wearing washed out jeans underneath his black robe and another one is wearing fashionable black pointed shoes! I can´t help but thinking that there is a rebel in all of us!
I go to sleep with the sound of the Completas, grateful for yet another blessing on my path.
Buen Camino!
Jovita
13 October 2013
Friday 11 October 2013
A Pilgrim's Home
It is a beautiful day! I climb out the hill. Pale green ferns compete with wild flowers in bright yellows, whites, pinks and blues, and lilac lilies with dark yellow centres, to line the way. The fresh smell of pine hangs in the air. Below I see the river winding towards the valley and the tall trees standing guard at its side. I walk on a carpet of leaves, soft beneath my feet. Butterflies in rainbow colours fly hap-hazard around. I hear the faint noise of the traffic far below before disappearing into the tunnel.
I look at the ancient wall made of loose stones and wonder how much effort it took of man and beast alike to build it.
On a stump, in the shade of a Chestnut tree I sit for a while. I see that the chestnuts are swollen and starting to burst open their prickly protection.
As I climb further up, a farmer is ploughing the field and for a moment I lean on my shepherd's crook, close my eyes and breath the sent of the ground. Childhood memories flood my mind.
I lift my eyes and see the two white strips left by a jet plane cutting across the blue sky and I long to be in it, for I long to be home. But I know that first I need to complete this journey.
On the last stretch, before the top, a young man is coming down. I see that he stops often to pick up papers and other things discarded by inconsiderate pilgrims along the way. As he passes me, he greets me 'Happy life to you' in both Spanish and English.
When I reach the flat top of the hill I see an old building. The roof has caved in. As I approach, I see a wheel cart. It is loaded with fresh fruit, tea, coffee, flavoured milk and fruit juices. A friendly young man greets me. He is from Roumania but has been in Spain for the last 4 years. He tells me that I should help myself and take whatever I need. Another pilgrim arrives and asks him if this is his house. 'No, this is your house' he replies. I see that she struggles with the answer. He asks her if she saw a young man going down the hill and explains that he is cleaning The Way.
I hear him tell his story to 2 Spanish pilgrims - he and a friend walked the Camino some years ago. Having arrived at a village by nightfall, all the Albergues were full and they had nowhere to stay. A stranger took them in, prepared a meal and gave them a place to sleep. 'We were treated like kings' he says. And so, after reaching Santiago, they came to this place be of service to pilgrims.
He moves the cart with the sun so that the food is always in the shade. The two young men live here in a makeshift little house. There is no running water or electricity. Their dream is to buy the old building and turn it into a place for pilgrims.
As I look out over the field, I hear the first accords of a song. I turn to see a Dutch pilgrim playing the guitar. He travels on an old fashioned bicycle with only 3 gears, has no saddle bags. Some of his things are tied to the carrier over the rear wheel, the rest goes in his back pack, together with the guitar (I would see him later that day in the city - as he passes me, he rings the bell and stretches out his arm and waves, and I keep the guitar in my sight until it is lost amidst the city traffic).
When I leave the wheel cart, I thank the young man and to my ´Muchas gracias´ he replies 'A ti, por todo' (to you, for everything). I walk away with a lump in my throat, for I have given nothing but he, he has given me his home and all it contains.
I pray that their dream of buying the old building will come true and that they will put forth a home for each pilgrim, every day, on The Way. And somehow, I know it will be so.
Buen Camino!
Jovita
11 October 2013
I look at the ancient wall made of loose stones and wonder how much effort it took of man and beast alike to build it.
On a stump, in the shade of a Chestnut tree I sit for a while. I see that the chestnuts are swollen and starting to burst open their prickly protection.
As I climb further up, a farmer is ploughing the field and for a moment I lean on my shepherd's crook, close my eyes and breath the sent of the ground. Childhood memories flood my mind.
I lift my eyes and see the two white strips left by a jet plane cutting across the blue sky and I long to be in it, for I long to be home. But I know that first I need to complete this journey.
On the last stretch, before the top, a young man is coming down. I see that he stops often to pick up papers and other things discarded by inconsiderate pilgrims along the way. As he passes me, he greets me 'Happy life to you' in both Spanish and English.
When I reach the flat top of the hill I see an old building. The roof has caved in. As I approach, I see a wheel cart. It is loaded with fresh fruit, tea, coffee, flavoured milk and fruit juices. A friendly young man greets me. He is from Roumania but has been in Spain for the last 4 years. He tells me that I should help myself and take whatever I need. Another pilgrim arrives and asks him if this is his house. 'No, this is your house' he replies. I see that she struggles with the answer. He asks her if she saw a young man going down the hill and explains that he is cleaning The Way.
I hear him tell his story to 2 Spanish pilgrims - he and a friend walked the Camino some years ago. Having arrived at a village by nightfall, all the Albergues were full and they had nowhere to stay. A stranger took them in, prepared a meal and gave them a place to sleep. 'We were treated like kings' he says. And so, after reaching Santiago, they came to this place be of service to pilgrims.
He moves the cart with the sun so that the food is always in the shade. The two young men live here in a makeshift little house. There is no running water or electricity. Their dream is to buy the old building and turn it into a place for pilgrims.
As I look out over the field, I hear the first accords of a song. I turn to see a Dutch pilgrim playing the guitar. He travels on an old fashioned bicycle with only 3 gears, has no saddle bags. Some of his things are tied to the carrier over the rear wheel, the rest goes in his back pack, together with the guitar (I would see him later that day in the city - as he passes me, he rings the bell and stretches out his arm and waves, and I keep the guitar in my sight until it is lost amidst the city traffic).
When I leave the wheel cart, I thank the young man and to my ´Muchas gracias´ he replies 'A ti, por todo' (to you, for everything). I walk away with a lump in my throat, for I have given nothing but he, he has given me his home and all it contains.
I pray that their dream of buying the old building will come true and that they will put forth a home for each pilgrim, every day, on The Way. And somehow, I know it will be so.
Buen Camino!
Jovita
11 October 2013
Saturday 5 October 2013
The Wrong Road
I am always surprised how life and things in general have a way of working out.
The route I took had at a certain point two option. I had already decided that I wanted to take option one but somehow I missed the signs. When I realised that I was actually walking option two, it was to late to turn back. My feet have been swollen for the last couple of days and walking is uncomfortable and sometimes painful. I was rather annoyed with myself.
When I finally reach a little village, I did not have it in me to carry on. I entered a coffee shop to have a rest. There I found a couple, whom I had met earlier on and who had also missed the turn-off to option one. They had called a taxi to take them to the 'original' final destination for the day and wanted to know if I would be interested in sharing the taxi. I declined.
I ask the owner of the coffee shop about albergues in the village. There were two - a private one, and a parochial one, which was almost at the end of the village.
As I was walking to the parochial albergue I started having second thoughts. The buildings in the vicinity had seen better days and as I approached the albergue the building did not inspire to much confidence. Perhaps my day had not been the best.
When I crossed the threshold through the heavy wooden door, the hospitaleiro from New York greeted me warmly. I ask if he has a bed for me. 'We most certainly do' was the answer, as if he was waiting just for me. The building is old, but beautiful in the inside. I looked at the floor, intricate flower patterns made with brown and red river stones, as if a carpet. The other hospitaleiro, a jovial, big German man, carries my back pack upstairs and shows me a bed. All the beds have crisp, clean, white sheeting on.
I pack out all my things, damp by the last days of rain. My back pack is also wet and I leave it to dry. After I sort myself out, I report for kitchen duty to help with the communal dinner. Tasks are delegated and we are all organised by the hospitaleiro in true German style.
Before the bell is rung to announce that we should take our places at the table, we all go outside to marvel at a full double rainbow. Perhaps the promise of better weather?
The dinner is a festive affair. Lots of laughter. I meet an Israeli and we talk about new languages, such as Afrikaans and modern Hebrew. I am fascinated about the way modern Hebrew developed and continues to develop and adapt to the ever changing world.
After the dishes are done, we have, for those who wish, a small ceremony in the chapel. We sing a Pilgrim's song in Spanish to the tune of La Bamba! For a day that had not been so great, it certainly finished on a high note and my spirits are restored.
In the morning, as I am about to leave, the hospitaleiro looks at the registration book and says, matter of fact, 'You were the last pilgrim to arrive'.
I cannot help but to think of Robert Frost´s poem The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference
And so it is, this time by fate rather than choice, that I took the road less travelled, and that made all the difference!
Buen Camino!
Jovita
5 October 2013
Tuesday 1 October 2013
The Kiss
Grey clouds keep rolling in as I walk down the main road of the village. A man is coming out of his vegetable patch and I greet him. I ask if it will rain the next day. He says that he doesn't know for the weather pattern is not the same anymore.
As we walk together talking about all sorts, he reaches into his basket and offers me a fat cucumber, ripened by the sun. As I thank him, he laughs with deep satisfaction. And when we part ways, a pilgrim's heart, with the sound of warm laughter and a ripe cucumber, sings a song of gratitude.
The following day, I finish at St. Nicolas, the Pilgrims Hospital of days gone by. It is now run by an Italian order from Perugia. It is still a hospital and there is no charge. Only a donation if the pilgrim so wishes. There is no electricity and the simple building is lit by candles. It dates from the tenth century, if not earlier. It is rectangular, with a high window on each side. To the left, there is a simple altar. To the right, a few bunk beds. In the middle, a long table.
The hospital can only take 12 pilgrims. I am the tenth pilgrim to arrive. The last two pilgrims are a young university couple from Russia - Alexander and Valentina. Their names have an aristocratic ring to it and I think of the Czars from Russia and the novel, Doctor Zivago.
The meal is prepared by the hospitaleiros. A simple dish of pasta, a salad, and fruit for desert. I offer my cucumber, a small gesture of gratitude and of sharing to the hospitaleiro. When he learns that I come from South Africa he tells me that his father was a prisoner of war in Bloemfontein. The table has been set and Senor Miguel´s wine is served in typical Italian bottles.
Before the meal, the pilgrims are called to the altar where we sit in a semi-circle. The following words are spoken to each pilgrim, by name: Jovita, in the name of Jesus Christ, we welcome you to St. Nicolas´ Hospital. May the rest comfort you and repair your forces so that you may continue your pilgrimage to Santiago. I answer: Amen. And while these words are being spoken, me feet are being washed, then dried. And kissed.
At the end, we say the Our Father, the Lord's prayer, in our own language. I say it in my heart, for my voice is unsteady. Warm tears roll down my cheek. My heart is humbled.
Buen Camino!
Jovita
1 October 2013
As we walk together talking about all sorts, he reaches into his basket and offers me a fat cucumber, ripened by the sun. As I thank him, he laughs with deep satisfaction. And when we part ways, a pilgrim's heart, with the sound of warm laughter and a ripe cucumber, sings a song of gratitude.
The following day, I finish at St. Nicolas, the Pilgrims Hospital of days gone by. It is now run by an Italian order from Perugia. It is still a hospital and there is no charge. Only a donation if the pilgrim so wishes. There is no electricity and the simple building is lit by candles. It dates from the tenth century, if not earlier. It is rectangular, with a high window on each side. To the left, there is a simple altar. To the right, a few bunk beds. In the middle, a long table.
The hospital can only take 12 pilgrims. I am the tenth pilgrim to arrive. The last two pilgrims are a young university couple from Russia - Alexander and Valentina. Their names have an aristocratic ring to it and I think of the Czars from Russia and the novel, Doctor Zivago.
The meal is prepared by the hospitaleiros. A simple dish of pasta, a salad, and fruit for desert. I offer my cucumber, a small gesture of gratitude and of sharing to the hospitaleiro. When he learns that I come from South Africa he tells me that his father was a prisoner of war in Bloemfontein. The table has been set and Senor Miguel´s wine is served in typical Italian bottles.
Before the meal, the pilgrims are called to the altar where we sit in a semi-circle. The following words are spoken to each pilgrim, by name: Jovita, in the name of Jesus Christ, we welcome you to St. Nicolas´ Hospital. May the rest comfort you and repair your forces so that you may continue your pilgrimage to Santiago. I answer: Amen. And while these words are being spoken, me feet are being washed, then dried. And kissed.
At the end, we say the Our Father, the Lord's prayer, in our own language. I say it in my heart, for my voice is unsteady. Warm tears roll down my cheek. My heart is humbled.
Buen Camino!
Jovita
1 October 2013
The Winemaker
It rains on the plains of Spain as I set out in the dark. I have not yet made up my mind to where I will walk today. I decide to see what the day will bring.
The route takes me along a water canal, nowadays only used for irrigation. I listen to the rhythmic cadence of my footsteps on the dirt road. The only other sound is that of the wind through the leaves and reeds, growing next to the canal.
As the day wears on I marvel at small things nature brings upon my path. But this is a story for another time.
I stop at St. Nicolas for the night. Here the caretaker shows us around and explains how to use the hot water and warns us to use water sparingly.
After I shower, I go outside to wash my clothes on the round, worn stone. The caretaker comes to me with a little bit of wine in a glass and asks me to taste it. When he brings me some more, he tells me that I must drink it quickly - the hospitaleiros do not like him giving wine to the pilgrims. I find it a little amusing.
After a while he invites me to visit his cellar in the nearby pueblo, the village. I walk with him as he pushes his bicycle up the path. He points to a little vineyard and tells that it is his. He has also just harvested his patch of wheat.
We arrive and he opens a heavy wooden door to the cellar, which forms part of his house. It is dark and he goes down the stairs to switch on the light. It is cool and the walls are crumbling. The cellar is over 300 years old.
I feel somewhat uneasy as I notice that he has a knife. My flight mode is in full red alert. I remember that the whistle I always carry on me is somewhere amongst my things in the albergue.
He starts cutting little pieces of chourizo and hands it to me. Homemade. Delicious.
He shows me the press he uses to press the grapes. There are three barrels containing just over 300 litres of wine. He tends to the vineyard himself and makes the wine without any help. The wine is exclusively for St. Nicolas.
When we finish, he gestures that we should go up and I climb the uneven stairs. As we step into the daylight I am somewhat relieved. I thank him for his kind hospitality and friendliness. He holds my shoulders and asks that I keep him in my prayers. As I promise that I will, I see water welling up in his eyes.
As I make my way out of the village, I give thanks for my safety, and ask forgiveness for my mistrust. And when I walk through the fields of golden grass towards St. Nicolas I pray that blessings and grace be showered upon the Winemaker of the Pueblo de Itero de Castilo, Provincia de Burgos, Junta de Castilla y Leon, Espana - Senor Miguel.
Buen Camino!
Jovita
1 October 2013
The route takes me along a water canal, nowadays only used for irrigation. I listen to the rhythmic cadence of my footsteps on the dirt road. The only other sound is that of the wind through the leaves and reeds, growing next to the canal.
As the day wears on I marvel at small things nature brings upon my path. But this is a story for another time.
I stop at St. Nicolas for the night. Here the caretaker shows us around and explains how to use the hot water and warns us to use water sparingly.
After I shower, I go outside to wash my clothes on the round, worn stone. The caretaker comes to me with a little bit of wine in a glass and asks me to taste it. When he brings me some more, he tells me that I must drink it quickly - the hospitaleiros do not like him giving wine to the pilgrims. I find it a little amusing.
After a while he invites me to visit his cellar in the nearby pueblo, the village. I walk with him as he pushes his bicycle up the path. He points to a little vineyard and tells that it is his. He has also just harvested his patch of wheat.
We arrive and he opens a heavy wooden door to the cellar, which forms part of his house. It is dark and he goes down the stairs to switch on the light. It is cool and the walls are crumbling. The cellar is over 300 years old.
I feel somewhat uneasy as I notice that he has a knife. My flight mode is in full red alert. I remember that the whistle I always carry on me is somewhere amongst my things in the albergue.
He starts cutting little pieces of chourizo and hands it to me. Homemade. Delicious.
He shows me the press he uses to press the grapes. There are three barrels containing just over 300 litres of wine. He tends to the vineyard himself and makes the wine without any help. The wine is exclusively for St. Nicolas.
When we finish, he gestures that we should go up and I climb the uneven stairs. As we step into the daylight I am somewhat relieved. I thank him for his kind hospitality and friendliness. He holds my shoulders and asks that I keep him in my prayers. As I promise that I will, I see water welling up in his eyes.
As I make my way out of the village, I give thanks for my safety, and ask forgiveness for my mistrust. And when I walk through the fields of golden grass towards St. Nicolas I pray that blessings and grace be showered upon the Winemaker of the Pueblo de Itero de Castilo, Provincia de Burgos, Junta de Castilla y Leon, Espana - Senor Miguel.
Buen Camino!
Jovita
1 October 2013
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