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 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