As you leave Hospital de Órbigo and head towards Astorga, the Camino gives you a couple of alternative routes: a straight path that runs parallel to the national road or a detour which is a little longer and runs through old villages, wastelands, a woodland or two and extensive crop fields. It didn’t take me long to decide on the second option.
Between Santibáñez and Santo Toribio, on a promenade you reach after descending down some quite difficult stony ground, I met David, a Catalan from Barcelona who runs a street stall that he calls the “Casa de los Dioses” or House of the Gods. And let me tell you, if the real House of the Gods is like this one then I’m going to continue behaving badly on Earth. There’s nothing in the surrounding area apart from David’s street stall, an abandoned warehouse and a rickety old bed that he set up to rest in, and the scenery on this stretch of the Camino isn’t even all that great. I stood and chatted with him for a while and he told me that one day he decided to leave behind a wife, two kids and a good job in Barcelona to start walking, as he was sick of his unfulfilling life. From what I understand, the reason he went off on one was also partly to do with drugs, which he apparently binged on to be able to keep up with his pace of life and keep that fake smile ready for the neighbours. He has done the Camino several times and travelled around all of Spain. One day, as he was passing by this area, he felt that an inner force was telling him to stay here where we are now and start serving others by founding the House of the Gods and being its butler.
I’m not going to deny that I was a bit taken aback by David’s explanations. I looked around me and, seeing that dry plain, I thought something really bad must have happened in his previous life for the Gods to be telling him to set up a stall here and not on Copacabana beach. The Catalan seems like a clever guy but there are things that he’s telling me that I just don’t buy. Everything he’s offering in his mobile stall is free and he makes sure he emphasizes this to all the pilgrims that ask, but strangely enough he makes some snide comments to those that walk by without stopping or who take something without paying: “have a nice life”; “go on with your Camino, I don’t want to hold you up”, and as he makes these comments he also rings a little bell. It’s karma yes, but with conditions. Just like his plan to buy the abandoned warehouse but with other people’s money. A cool 20,000 euros to be precise. And the best part is he tells you this after saying that you have to free yourself from material things and from all the chains that tie you to this consumer society in order to be happy. I didn’t want to argue with David but I naturally thought if it’s help to buy that dilapidated old warehouse he wants, I’d rather set up the beach bar in Copacabana myself, and quickly at that, as I don’t want the Gods playing the same dirty trick on me and telling me to stay in this hole.
There was a blonde guy with dreadlocks who looked like quite stoned. David told me that he’s a Danish guy who decided to stay here to reflect for a while, as apparently he’s a bit confused and needs time in this "peaceful backwater". With a bit of tongue in cheek, I asked him what happens if he becomes all invigorated and then he can’t get rid of him for love nor money but he told me that it’s not up to him to decide if he can stay or not or for how long. He’s only the butler of the House of the Gods. I didn’t want to say anything but I was thinking that if I were God he wouldn’t last too long as butler, looking the way he does; and let’s not even go there about the Danish guy being in my house, he looks like he’s just rolled out of a cave. Despite the cheery vibes David gives off, I think the mere mention of the Danish guy unsettles him a little and I get the distinct impression that as soon as all the pilgrims here leave, he’s going to run him out of town and send him back to Christiania, Copenhagen.
I have to admit that I thought David was a nice guy after spending a bit of time with him. I have a soft spot for cheeky so and sos with a bit of charm. I find it hard to believe that a supernatural being asked him to be here and I personally think that he’s here because he bloody well feels like it. Here he’s at peace, physically and mentally better and far from his fears, those same ones that he says many pilgrims carry with them. “The more weight you have in your rucksack, the more fears you carry with you; he who has no fears, travels light”. All the while he enjoys conversations with pilgrims from all other the world who make him feel important, not to mention how well fed he is from the donations the majority of people give him. There’s a plentiful supply of fresh fruit, soya milk, nuts and a wide variety of organic products. You don’t need to be a genius to realise that if you do a bit of marketing, with this donation business on the Camino de Santiago you can earn more money than you would by putting a price on things, not to mention what you can get if your customers are foreign, which is generally the case at this time of year.
I’m not going to judge whether this character should be given a certain amount of credit or not for being, as he says, brave enough to break certain ties and free himself. I’m also not so sure his children will applaud his decision any time soon, but that’s none of my business. However, he has some sort of plan for his future that he’s not letting on. He makes out like he distanced himself from the world to be happy by following his “calling”, but I just don’t get the impression he’s the same type of person as Tario, for example, the poet from Bilbao that I met in Carrión de los Condes. After speaking with him for a while about all this, David opened up and told me that he’s playing a role in this big circus full of actors, as we all are, and this is his role at the moment but he doesn’t know how long it’ll last. And he’s not wrong. I’m in this situation too to be honest, I’m choosing my role in life and, if possible, I’d like to play the lead. As nice as David seems, I think I’ve already heard his story before and I don’t really fancy being part of it.
There’s a lookout point about a hundred metres away from the “House of the Gods” where you can make out Astorga. I met the Lithuanian girl Ruta there and we walked down to the town in Leon together. Some locals told us not to go near the tourist area in the plaza del Ayuntamiento (Town Hall square) and recommended a good and reasonably priced tapas and raciones bar in one of the side streets off the plaza. After having lunch, Ruta and I went our separate ways as she wanted to wait for the Cathedral to open to have a look inside and I wanted to continue. I sent a message to the Amercians Zach, Hilly and Michael and the Hungarian girl Szilvia, telling them that we should all meet up in el Ganso, a little village with only four houses where my Camino guidebook says there is a quirky bar called the Cowboy, run by an ex-legionnaire who is a real character. I didn’t think twice about choosing this place to end today’s stage as, if he was anything like the Elvis of the Camino who we met in Reliegos, and I suspected he might be, then we were in for a treat.
The last stretch wasn’t anything too hard in terms of the difficulty of the terrain, but it felt really long to me due to the number of kilometres we’d already covered and the prevailing heat. The heat really has been quite good to me and, with the exception of a few occasions, the temperatures on the Camino have been quite moderate. I don’t even want to imagine what some stages are like during July and August, especially in the plateau of Castile. Forty degrees and nowhere to run for shade. An absolute killer.
As I entered Santa Catalina de Somoza, four kilometres from my destination, I met an old man with a walking stick who asked me if I was spending the night in the town. I told him I wasn’t and he said that was a pity as the second hostel along the main street is his son’s and it’s really nice. The old man also let on that he’s at the entrance of the town as everyone goes straight to the first hostel by default and his son has no customers. Apparently this simple marketing ploy has already gotten him reported by the first hostel and landed him a fine of one thousand euros. I told him that that doesn’t make any sense, the street belongs to everyone and it’s not a crime for him to be there suggesting that pilgrims go to this or that hostel. The old man said I was right and that he was really reported for throwing a stone at someone’s head and the judge fell for it. “Can you really see me throwing a stone at someone’s head?” – said the old man with a smirk.
Just then a little man about 60 years old arrived. He’s bald with a big nose and seems a little all over the place. He asked to borrow the old man’s bicycle so that he could go home for a moment and the old man asked if he’d learnt how to ride a bike yet and told him to do whatever he wants but he has to be back in fifteen minutes as he needs to go home too. The little man, whose feet didn’t touch the ground as he was in the seat, set off looking like he was in for a fall in the first hundred metres but he soon found his rhythm and we watched him disappear off into the streets of the town. The old man told me that the little man is a relation of his. We’re in the Maragatería, the region between León and Galicia, which is made up of small towns and endogamous societies where the people haven’t left much, so it doesn’t surprise me that they’re family. I’m sure all those who live in the town are related in one way or another. The old man also told me, as cool as you like, that the little man is quite dim and that he was put in a psychiatric hospital for a while because he said he saw the Virgin Mary. I asked the old man would it not have been better if they took advantage of the situation and turned the town into a place of worship rather than locking him up in the mental hospital. He thought my suggestion was quite funny but told me no, the little man is “very dim, very dim” and nobody would have believed him…
I arrived in el Ganso about half seven in the evening. I looked for the hostel where I’d booked a bed for myself and for Zach, Hilly, Michael, Szilvia and Ruta. Luckily, the owner put us all together in a type of attic space where we wouldn’t have to share with anyone else, which means we might actually be able to sleep without continuously waking up due to other people’s snores. After a shower, I headed for the Cowboy Bar to have a beer and wait for the rest to arrive. The bar was empty and the waiter, who I immediately identified as the ex-legionnaire that my guidebook mentioned, didn’t seem to be in very good form. He served me without paying much attention, gave me one-word answers and started to watch TV. What a let-down. This guy didn’t have a pick on the Elvis of the Camino so I decided to go and drink my beer out on the terrace.
Ten minutes later a pilgrim arrived and as he saw me outside on my own, he waved over and came and sat beside me. I thought I noticed that his left hand is a little contracted and that he walks a bit funny. He ate a piece of empanada gallega washed down with a Coke, and he asked me where I had started my pilgrimage from. I said from Canfranc Station and returned the question. "From my front door", he replied. My next question was practically immediate and he told me he is from Alcobenda in Madrid. As far as I know, Madrid is not on any of the main routes of the Camino de Santiago, and despite the fact that a real pilgrimage, if we respect the tradition, should be done from one’s own front door, as this guy Óscar is doing, I couldn’t help but enquire further about the reasons he decided to start from there and not from Roncesvalles, like most of the rest of the mere mortals around us. I was stunned by his answer: “twelve years ago I promised myself that if I could ever walk again, I’d do the Camino de Santiago right from my front door”.
Twelve years ago Óscar was a successful businessman. He had four hairdressers in Madrid which were doing brilliantly, a partner he loved and he used to travel all over every day trying to expand the business. At 27 years of age he had everything that many people his age would want in order to be happy. However, one day as he was talking to one of his clients, who fortunately was a doctor and realised what was happening, he suffered a stroke, caused by a congenital defect left undetected by doctors, even though two months before he had already gone to a specialist as he couldn’t breathe while climbing some stairs and he knew something wasn’t right. They operated on his heart and head three times in total, he was in a coma for several months and he spent over a year in a wheelchair until he could stand again. He forgot the names of things and had to learn how to talk and remember the past. Even keeping his eyes focused on the person he was talking to was a battle at the beginning. In his own words, a virus got into his brain and, as if he were a computer, everything had to be reset and programmed again right from the very beginning.
The doctors told Óscar that he would never walk again, he’d spend the rest of his life stuck in a wheelchair and that he’d need help from third parties. His eyes glazed over a little as he told me it was him that had to console his mother, who was grief-stricken and couldn’t stop crying, telling her that what the doctors said remains to be seen and that he wasn’t willing to give up the fight. His girlfriend couldn’t assimilate all that happened and one day, Óscar told her it was over as he needed someone who would 100% support him and he didn’t think she could. He never saw or heard from her again. Óscar doesn’t blame her or bear any grudges. As he started his rehabilitation, one of the doctors who treated him told him that he now formed part of a new category of people. At that time he didn’t really understand what that doctor meant. Now he does. Óscar is a person without problems, as he says. His main concern in life is being happy by making those around him happy. Life for him is a gift and he’s really angry that this had to happen for him to realise what is really important in life and to form part of that other category of people that the doctor spoke about. Óscar is convinced that if he wasn’t as stressed as he was when this happened and had a different attitude to things, then none of this would have happened.
Óscar told me that he has a lot of faith in God and that he promised himself that if one day he could walk again and manage by himself without the help of others, he would do the Camino de Santiago right from his front door. He hasn’t got far to go now. He says he hasn’t totally recovered all mobility though and when he gets back to Madrid, he’s going to make every effort to regain the use of his left hand, the last thing on the list. Having said that, he’s in no rush. The key to his recovery can be summed up in three words, according to him: “time, hard work and determination” and he’s going to continue fighting using this method that has given him such good results already. Óscar was smoking a purito as he was telling me all of this. I said I’m sure the doctors would advise him not to smoke and it would probably also seem like utter madness to them that he’s taking on this heavy slog of a walk, and he flashed me a smile and turned my attention to the purito he was smoking before exclaiming: “it’s a cigar I’m smoking!” “As you’ll understand, after they told me I wouldn’t walk again, I tend to take what they say with a big fucking pinch of salt” – the brave Madrilenian concluded. I can’t thank him enough for the conversation and I don’t know how to express in words just how important it was for me to meet him here today and listen to his experience first-hand.
Óscar left to go and rest pretty much just as Zach, Hilly and Michael arrived in town, absolutely shattered after an exhausting day for them. I thanked them for the effort they made to meet up with us and all have dinner together by treating them to a few bottles of wine and some Spanish Omelette and empanada that I had bought. After eating, they all headed back to their rooms, exhausted as they were, and I stayed up talking with Zach as we polished off the rest of the wine. Meeting Óscar and hearing his story turned out to be quite emotional for me and I needed to share it with someone. I think Zach was grateful given that he’d already told me that it was in fact a minor, fortunately for him, health problem likely caused by stress that brought him here…
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