I ran into Tim, the American guy from Kansas City who I had briefly met in León, in one of the cafés near the hotel. He was having a slice of tortilla and a milky coffee and I asked if I could join him. Tim told me that he used to work for IBM and that he was a bit tired of his job, which is why at the beginning of last year when the company decided to get rid of people, he put his hand up and told his boss, who he got on with very well, that if they needed volunteers to go to the wall, they could count on him. He packed up his things and headed off around Southeast Asia and now, before going back to the States, he has decided to round off his sabbatical year by doing the Camino de Santiago. The same path I’m aiming to take myself, one of life’s little coincidences, but the other way around, starting with the Camino de Santiago and then continuing on to Asia. As he listened to my future plans, Tim seemed a bit envious of the adventure that I’m beginning and that he’s about to finish.
I said goodbye to Tim and as I went to get my things from my room, I bumped into Zach, Ruta and Szilvia who were walking through the town at a gentle pace. Zach told me that Michael finished in el Acebo yesterday, like them, but that they’ve lost Hilly who is becoming more and more affected by the dehydration caused by her gastroenteritis and needs to rest. I arranged to try and catch up with the three of them in Ponferrada. After packing up my things, I headed off towards the capital of el Bierzo. Before leaving Molinaseca, I stopped off in a fruit shop to buy something for the walk. The shopkeeper was outside and his wife was inside serving. He told me that when he gets the chance he escapes from the counter and goes out onto the street to see the female pilgrims and give them an admiring comment or two. Apparently, every once in a while his wife shouts out at him and he goes back in, and that’s how he spends his days, as otherwise they’d be really boring.
Before arriving in Ponferrada there is a small air field for remote-control aeroplanes and helicopters. I’m not making it up either. Like good old remote-control cars, only here it’s gadgets that fly. There were about a dozen geeks spending their Sunday morning with their crazy flying machines. In Ponferrada I met up with Zach and Ruta, the Lithuanian girl, and Szilvia, the Hungarian girl. We briefly visited the castle and one of the more important churches in the city and, after stopping at a pharmacy so that Ruta could buy something to relieve the pain in her battered feet, we continued on our way. A very nice local man, Rogelio, ‘here all his life’, who we almost couldn’t get away from as he wouldn’t stop talking, pointed us in the right direction out of the city. I thought of Günther as I passed by the Energy Museum on the outskirts of Ponferrada. Even though I don’t think this is the same type of energy he’s looking for, I wondered if the Austrian would have dutifully visited the place.
We alternated for the rest of the stage; sometimes the four of us walked together and other times everyone at their own pace, which was obviously different. There are groups that form on the Camino where it would seem that people even have to go to the bathroom hand in hand. There are groups where tensions later form as it’s naturally quite complicated for several adults of both sexes to all agree, especially bearing in mind that they’ve only just met. This is more the case among Spaniards to tell you the truth. The foreigner who comes here is more independent, they do their own thing and won’t get offended if you suddenly tell them you are going ahead or you’re stopping because you feel like it or because you want to be alone. It seems we don’t like sheep that stray from the rest of the flock here in Spain as, God forbid, they might actually do better than us, and then we’re left here in a right state. The little sheep have to all go together and guiding them is a shepherd who they must bow down to when he pokes them with his crook. That’s how flocks work, although fortunately there are more and more sheep who dare to think for themselves and go wherever they please without adhering to the norms, the perceived next step or the politically correct.
We arrived in Cacabelos around mid-afternoon. Günther sent me a message to tell me which hostel he’s staying in with the Germans Bruno and Alexandra and so we headed straight there. We booked a room and agreed to meet at the hostel’s pulpería (restaurant specialising in octopus) in an hour. As I arrived on time, I saw Zach was already there having a glass of orange juice. He seemed serious and I asked him if everything was ok. He told me not really, apparently it’s been a few days since he’s been to the toilet and he’s beginning to get a little worried. Despite the fact I don’t suffer from this problem, even when I’m travelling, I tried to put the American from Kentucky at ease by telling him that it’s normal and I gave him the extreme example of a friend of mine who usually only goes to the rubbish dump once a week. I didn’t catch sight of any sign of relaxation on Zach’s face so I asked him to specify exactly what he meant by “a few days without going”. He shuffled a little uncomfortably in his chair and told me in a roundabout way that he’s only been once, in Burgos, since he left the States almost a month ago and that it wasn’t exactly anything to write home about. He also told me that he’s decided to stop eating and he’s only been drinking fruit juice for the last 24 hours. Thinking of all the things I’ve seen him eat since I met him a week ago now, I replied telling him that I thought it was the right thing to do. I also asked him to give me a minute to ring one of my two sisters who are doctors.
Like my father, two of my sisters are, besides beautiful, excellent doctors. But they see things differently and have different approaches to medicine. One of them comes from the conservative school of thought in the sense of not amputating at the first given chance or prescribing medicine just because. She sways more towards natural medicine and thinks that many ailments are related to the psyche and the fact that not a lot of time is spent with patients, and that we should talk more with them as many of these ailments are somatic manifestations of unresolved internal conflict. In this case in particular, she would say that if there were no other symptoms to make us think we were up against something more serious here, we’d just have to let the American get on with it, not talk about it much and he’d do what he needed to do in his own time. My other sister comes from the fast-acting school of thought and thinks that you have to quit the nonsense and solve the problem you have before you. And if the problem here is that the American guy is not shitting, then we have to find a way of making him or else slice him open and scoop out the shit ourselves. I’m exaggerating of course, but I think this example proves my point that they are two very different personalities.
I could see Zach was a bit alarmed by the situation so I thought that a kind of "zen" medical advice would be better so I decided to call the naturist doctor. As luck would have it, she didn’t pick up her phone so I decided to call my other sister. I gave her all the details and, as predicted, her answer was that we’d have to use the heavy artillery: “enema casen” were her exact words. So as not to freak the American out after my first call, I asked my sister would it not be better to continue with the laxatives, which Zach had told me he had started taking yesterday, along with the juices and plums, and then after that go down the road of the dreaded enema if nothing happened in a reasonable period of time. Her answer was quite blunt: “if he’s gone that long already, laxatives will have the same effect as a pineapple-flavoured sweet; enema casen Javier, listen to me”. After hanging up I went back to the bar and Zach asked me with a bit of a forced smile if he was going to die. I told him he wasn’t and that, in any case, it’d be the cleaning lady who’d be dying after we manage to remove everything that’s lying inside him. Following my sister’s instructions, we went to the pharmacy and got the product, convinced that it would all just be a little fright. As we went back to the pulpería where we had arranged to meet the rest, Zach told me that he was going up to his room and asked me to make up an excuse and some sort of pain but not to give away too many details about the issue, which is a little embarrassing for the American. Totally understandable. I told him not to worry and that I would momentarily keep his secret but that I’m writing a journal on my trip and that it would all come out there. “Well, let’s hope that the story has a happy ending and that we can laugh about it by the time we read your journal”, he replied.
Dinner was quite good. It basically consisted of delicious helpings of octopus, shoulder of pork and mixed salad, all washed down with Bierzo wine, the perfect accompaniment to forget about the severity of the last few stages and to enjoy good company. Besides Günther, the Germans Bruno and Alex, the Lithuanian girl Ruta and the Hungarian girl Szilvia, another German called Matthias, who his compatriots had met on today’s stage, joined us. He’s tall, thin and blonde. Even if they hadn’t told us he was German, I think we would have guessed alright. Whenever the wine takes effect and makes us all a little braver, confession time arrives as people are curious to find out what has brought each of us here. I always repeat the same old story without going into too much detail, as I consider it very personal. And I always put the question back at people and ask what brought them here as I feel that people who ask this question are willing to share their own reasons. Bruno was holding back tears as he told us that his wife left him for another man ten years ago and soon after he had a massive heart attack which almost finished him off. He looks great and it’s incredible that he’s enduring all these kilometres that we’ve racked up despite that serious health problem. When it was Matthias’ turn, he told me that if I came outside to smoke a cigarette with him, he would tell me his reasons. I answered that I don’t smoke but that I’ll gladly accompany him.
Outside, surrounded by a bit of mystery, Matthias confessed that he’s addicted to drugs and that he came to do the Camino de Santiago as a type of therapy and also to find the strength he needed to quit. He apologised for taking me away from the dinner. He told me he doesn’t want to go telling everyone but at the same time he needed to tell someone and, for some strange reason, he thought I’d be the best person to listen to him. I like the German guy, he’s someone who is fighting to overcome something and, what’s more, he’s smoking Ducados. I always have big respect for smokers of this strong Spanish cigarettes. He also told me that within a period of two years he lost both his parents to cancer and that he’s alone. He’s an only child and he can’t even say he has great friends who aren’t party pals or ones from shady dealings who just suit themselves. Another reason he decided to do the Camino de Santiago is because he thought that here he would find the faith to believe that one day he would see his parents again, as he’s finding it hard to go on thinking the opposite. A few days back when Matthias arrived in León, he got so fed up that he upped and caught a train to Madrid. All he wanted to do was jack it all in, go back to Germany and smoke weed until he was so high that he didn’t even know his own name. When he arrived in Madrid, he started to feel bad about having left the Camino. Something inside told him that he couldn’t give up. He thought that if he quit and didn’t reach Santiago, he’d never be capable of quitting drugs or of finishing anything really worthwhile in his entire life.
I don’t know why I then told Matthias the following, maybe the conversation was getting existential and that pushed me to do it but I asked the German guy if he had considered the possibility that his parents are sending him the strength he needs to continue from wherever they are. I carried on by saying that the unease he felt inside after throwing in the towel was nothing more than the words of his parents who are no longer here but if they were, they’d be encouraging him to continue, to reach Santiago and to quit the drugs. Matthias stood there staring at me and asked me very seriously if I really think that’s possible. I told him no, I don’t know for sure if that’s possible just as I don’t know for sure if he’ll see his parents again. But I think it’s all about creating moments and if thinking this makes him feel better and able to deal with the fact his parents are no longer physically with him and means he can soldier on, then why not convince ourselves of it, why not believe now without waiting to fall off a horse or for a blinding beam of light to show us the truth. Why not believe that his parents are sending him the strength he needs to get to Santiago from some place where he’ll be one day too. Matthias was silent for a few seconds and then said yes, with a hint of a smile, why not believe it. I was a bit surprised at my words to Matthias to tell you the truth and I couldn’t help but think that it might also be the case for me that someone close who I lost suddenly, precisely as they were on their way to Santiago, is guiding me there. Yes, why not think that if it makes me feel good. Even if it isn’t very rational, even if there’s no way of proving it’s true…
As we went back into the dining room, Günther made the typical joke of mimicking the tune to the Full Monty striptease as if the German and I had been out holding hands in the street. It’s clear that the Bierzo wine is doing a good job. Without a moment’s hesitation, I made out like I was going to take my t-shirt off, showing those present a glimpse of my paunch. Matthias told me not to be shy and to continue with the show, so I whispered “Room 315” in his ear which was met with a huge roar of laughter from the German. As I said yesterday, the humour in Germany must be something else if these guys are having such a good time with me…
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