Hospitaliieros

This comes to you from a bar in Granja de Moruella. It has been an easy day.  My Camino companions have just left after an extended lunch. There is a complicated and loud game going on at the next table, seven men, something to do with cards I think. 

It was an easy day, 12k, thanks to a conspiracy of several hospitalieros. I had arrive at Zamora thoroughly metagrobolised by the combined efforts of Ryanair, a convoluted metro crossing of Madrid, and several hours of hanging around Chamartin train station because all earlier trains to Zamora were fully booked. At dusk I arrived. 

The door opened, this hospitaliero was of the old school, welcome, come in, take off your boots. There were some covid modifications: a fever scan, hand sanitising rituals. El credenciel. That is the record of one’s progress along the Camino. The first stamp in this record is Special. 

It was a homecoming for me, home to Casa Camino. I struggled to find words, and not just because the words needed to be Spanish. I explained, this was my second Camino, my first had been ten years ago, to celebrate being able to walk, this one, to give thanks for still being able to walk, and for having had the chance to do many interesting things during these years which have always felt like a gift.  Twenty some years ago I could not walk without sticks, did not know whether I would ever again walk without sticks, or even finish raising my family.  I did all that. There is a lot to be very grateful for.

Complete the peregrino rituals: shower and wash the clothes, put them on the rack. No, said the hospitaliera, they will dry better on the terrace. Ok, on the terrace. I was too tired to go out for supper, so I thought to maybe make myself a cup of tea.  I did.  The hospitaliera brought over some fruit. And then some toast.  And then some yoghurt. A very satisfactory supper.  I mentioned that I was worried about the following day. The albergue in Montamarta 22 kilometres further was closed. I would have to find some other hostel.  No way could I walk the 34 kilometres to the next albergue. The hospitaliera thought for a moment, got on the phone, and a lot of Spanish followed.

The following morning, my laundry had magically migrated indoors, to the rack above the radiator. Toasted and ready to wear.  On departing, the hospitaliera shoved a small piece of paper in my hand with a name, Angela, and a telephone number. “Get to Montamarta, ring Angela”. 

Not understanding what to expect, I did what I was told. One learns to take such subtle hints on the Camino. I rang Angela, and was told to wait by the church.  The sun was shining, in the shelter from the bitter wind it was very pleasant, sitting there and watching the storks constructing their immense nests on the church tower, and the sparrows profiting from the gaps in those structures to establish their own nests. 

Angela and her husband Capo arrived, with their gorgeous dog Diva.  I began to understand that they were offering me a lift to the next albergue.  I thought this extraordinary, but so be it, the correct response was “muchas gracias”.

We stopped to admire the ruins of the castle, I took the picture, we got back into the car and went on.  Only when we arrived and Capo opened the albergue with a key did I twig that these were the hospitalieros of this albergue. 

“Tienes hambre?” Of course I am hungry.  I am a peregrina. To my astonishment Angela immediately started cooking. “Just un pocito, because we will have dinner later”.  So we had a small three course pocito, consisting of a hearty soup with bread, meat and salad and wine and preserved fruit for dessert. 

The dinner to follow was again three courses, soup, pasta and dessert, with wine, and a homemade orange spirit to follow.  It is extraordinary how much conversation you can have with a limited vocabulary given good will. Thank-you green owl.

I went to bed with a sense of being cared for that I hadn’t felt since childhood. We have our time of childhood, with luck, being cared for. We have our time of caring for others, if we are lucky, and shoulder the responsibilities joyfully. The currency is kindness.  It thrives on being spent, exchanged, not hoarded.  God grant that in the years that come, as I have received in these last few days, so may I give.

The effect of the ride in Angela’s car is that today’s walk was 12 kilometres shorter than I had expected. A mere walk in the park.  Arriving early at the albergue I was met by some fleet footed fellow peregrinos who knew quite well I was Much slower than they.

“How did you get here” the one asked, almost accusingly, certain that I had cheated, which of course I had.

I smiled. “On the wings of an Angel” 

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