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
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