I arrived at Zach’s bed at around 8 and found him still fast asleep, so I headed down to the cafeteria for
some breakfast. When I came back he was already awake and up doing some yoga exercises, which he does very conscientiously to see if he can unclog the plughole any sooner. I looked at him nervously and, pulling a face, he gave me the usual: “nothing, man”. He told me that he’d been looking at flights last night as we’d agreed and he’d found one due to leave first thing tomorrow, Sunday, from Vigo headed for Madrid and once there, he could catch a connecting flight with American Airlines which, after another change once in the States, would leave him in Lexington, Kentucky, late tonight. It was a hell of a journey but Zach told me that he was willing to sign the self-discharge form and scarper from the hospital this instant.
It was about half past nine in the morning when Hugo, the doctor on duty came to see him. Zach’s face lit up as he was the only doctor there who was able to hold a conversation in English. Zach met him in the corridor the day he was admitted and they chatted briefly. Hugo said that the X-rays have shown a vast improvement in the last 24 hours and it seems there is some activity getting underway in his intestines. He then proceeded to feel his abdominal area and said that the alien is moving and is now approaching the descending colon. The birth is imminent: “one hour, two?” Hugo suggested, “but in any case, it’ll not be later than this morning, we’re starting to unclog this”. Zach and I looked at each other and smiled as we high fived each other in pure American style: “yeah man, that shit rocks!” he exclaimed in his thick Yankee accent.
After Hugo’s visit and the good news he gave us, Zach and I agreed that it was time to re-think the plan and look at what we were going to do over the next few hours. After a brief exchange of impressions, we agreed that it didn’t make much sense to change the ticket in light of the new circumstances. It was almost better to go into Lugo in our own time so that Zach could at least see the city whose name he’ll more than likely never forget for the rest of his life, and then have a leisurely dinner in some restaurant. Then tomorrow we’ll go our separate ways, which in my case means going back to Sarria to re-start the Camino again and take on the little over 100 kilometres left to get to Santiago.
Zach agreed with the plan. His only doubt was whether or not to go straight to Vigo, which was where his plane was leaving from first thing on Monday, to have a day of relaxing on the beach while staying in a nice spa-resort hotel or if he should take a bus to Santiago to at least see the Cathedral and the Plaza where he should have arrived and, in doing so, catch up with some of the people he was doing the Camino with who have already reached their goal or will tomorrow. If everything had gone to plan, Zach and I would have reached the Plaza del Obradoiro today along with Günther and the Hungarian girl, Szilvia. The Santiago option brought out mixed feelings in the American. On the one hand, it would be a little sad for him to walk the streets and reach the plaza without having completed his objective and, on the other, he doesn’t want to pass up the opportunity to say goodbye to people he walked a lot of kilometres with on the Camino and who he may never see again. After mulling it over for a few seconds, Zach said what the hell, he’s going to go to Santiago, as despite the setback that stopped him achieving his goal, he was a pilgrim too and he wants to congratulate and hug all the people who achieved their final goal after all that effort.
The next two hours passed quite slowly. We played cards and walked around the hospital floor. Every now and then, Zach did Chunk’s “truffle shuffle” and we both laughed. Shortly after midday, he got up to go to the bathroom and, like every time he goes, I crossed my fingers. When he came back, he had the same expression on his face as during the last few days so, in order to avoid putting him under any more pressure, I didn’t say a thing and continued reading the magazine I was already engrossed in. Zach lay down on the bed and coyly uttered: “so it seems like this is starting to work”. I turned around and had to ask, “what did you just say?” as he confirmed that the lottery had indeed begun and that even though he hasn’t won it yet, one of his numbers has made an appearance at least. My face lit up as I said, “bloody hell, give me a hug!”. I never thought I’d be so glad to know that someone, apart from me, had done their business. I don't know if this was the same magic of the Camino that Paulo Coelho talked about, but I’ll never forget that moment for the rest of my life. I was so overcome with emotion that I almost forgot that someone would have to act as volcanologist and get up-close and personal to the crater to translate the size, colour and consistency of the lava that had begun to descend down the sides of the American volcano in order to keep the nurses informed. The shoemaker’s son always goes barefoot, and the guy from Kentucky, birthplace of fried chicken, told me that what he had expelled was a “nugget”, and he wasn’t lying, but I’m never eating another one ever again. I gave the nurses the good news and they asked me to keep them informed every step of the way as the rest of the lottery numbers were called.
Over the course of the next hour, another couple of balls made their way out of the lottery drum and I went over to the nurses’ table like one of the San Ildefonso children and, grinning from ear to ear, sang the numbers. “Great, keep up the good work” they said. The doctor was informed and he gave permission for Zach to be given food again. He hadn’t eaten for a couple of days and despite not feeling the hunger too much, he was grateful. He didn’t eat much, a broth and some salad, as he’s aware that what’s coming out at the moment is nothing in comparison with what has still to come, so he wants to be careful and not add any more fuel to the fire. When Zach had finished eating, I went down to the visitors’ cafeteria to do the same.
On my return, Zach told me that seven nuggets had come out of the kitchen, a big enough portion to be able to discharge him according to Dr. Hugo. We were overjoyed to hear the news and Zach, not knowing how to thank everyone for how well they’ve cared for him, dedicated a few heartfelt words to the doctor. He said there was nothing to thank him for and that Zach should continue to follow a fibre-rich diet until the situation improves and if any type of setback occurs, such as intense abdominal pain or vomiting, we were to go straight back to hospital. He also recommended that he get a full check-up once back in the United States to determine why he kept us on edge for so many days. Zach reiterated how grateful he was and began to pack up his things, tidy up around him and get dressed. We went to collect the discharge note after and Zach asked if they could give him a copy of his X-rays to show his future grandchildren, which unfortunately wasn’t possible. And so, without further ado, we left Lugo Hospital after almost four days.
Zach and I took the bus down to the wall and then walked about two hundred metres to Hotel España, where we booked two single rooms. He has things to do and needs to concentrate harder than for any end-of-year exams, so that’s why we didn’t share a double room. I asked Zach if he would mind if I had a siesta to which he replied that it was no problem but he’s not tired so he’s going to go out for a walk around the city.
We met in the hotel reception hall an hour and a half later and wandered around outside for a while. Zach wanted to buy his nephews a Spanish football shirt so we went off in search of a sports shop. It didn’t take us long to find one which had the usual choices of shirts from Real Madrid and Barcelona, who’d have victory guaranteed if they joined forces one day, the Spanish national football team and, for a change, the Galician teams Deportivo and Celta. There were only different sizes available in the Real Madrid and Spanish national football team shirts, so Zach went for those two in the end.
After hitting the shops, we went for a walk around the wall and on the way, I stopped off to buy a souvenir thimble for my mother’s collection. I always try to bring her one from every place I visit and she’s got quite a few now, it has to be said. As we were walking around the Wall, Zach suggested we go for dinner in a nice restaurant. He’s not going to eat much as he’s still not one hundred percent but he wants to buy me dinner to show his appreciation for staying with him all this time. And he also told me that the hotel room for tonight was already paid for. The American had already offered me money every night I went back down to stay in Lugo, but I couldn’t accept it. On this occasion, I told him I’d happily accept his gestures and suggested we go for a beer before dinner to toast him getting out of hospital.
We did indeed make a toast in the end, but with a fruit juice in Zach’s case as he thinks it’s still early days to be drinking alcohol. I told him I didn’t know what his hangovers were like but that if mine were anything to go by, maybe it’d be best for him to get absolutely hammered tonight given his condition. Zach admitted that maybe I was right but that even so, he’d rather keep a low profile until he gets back to the States. There were a few locals watching the football in the bar. The crucial final stage of the league championship had begun and it wasn’t looking good for my beloved Real Zaragoza who were taking their chances against the Galician teams and Mallorca to avoid being relegated.
As we glanced at the matches every now and again, Zach asked me to talk about my friend Alberto and why I was doing the Camino. Until that moment I hadn’t told anyone the real reasons but I thought that after what Zach and I had been through these last few days, there was no sense in keeping big secrets.
Alberto was one of my best friends in my teens and early adulthood. Someone who was always willing to help and listen to his friends’ problems. He suffered dearly with other people’s problems and also his own, which led to an ill turn during his teens resulting in depression. He found the recovery tough and the whole process affected his academic performance. He had always been a bright student. He wanted to study medicine and the average to get in was very high which meant the last year before University was very important for him. He had promised himself that, come what may, if he managed to get out of that hole, he’d do the Camino de Santiago on foot from Aragón to show his appreciation. And that’s what he did, even getting into the Faculty of Medicine in a year when the average had shot up and many others whose first choice was to study to be a doctor, as was my case, had to settle for something else.
Alberto suggested that I do the Camino with him and another couple of good friends, Joaquín and Miguelo. The latter is an old friend of this diary after he accompanied me on a few stages to Castile. Pasi, as all of Alberto’s friends affectionately called him, said it would be a fantastic experience which would set us on the right foot for the new chapter we were about to begin. Regrettably, I couldn’t go with him. At that time I didn’t have the money or the permission to leave home for a month so as much as I was devastated, I had to say no, some other time. That trip was left pending.
The Camino was quite an experience for Alberto and he spoke about it at every available opportunity. That month of covering Spanish geography and overcoming hardships (20 years ago the Camino wasn’t as popular and there weren’t as many pilgrim comforts as there are now) undoubtedly helped him to grow inside, focus on the important things in life and put everything else into perspective. Slowly but surely, he managed to leave behind the sadness that had overcome him for a while and regained his zest for life and desire to help others which is what made him a special and different person. He completed the six year degree with outstanding marks and thoroughly prepared for the MIR to be able to get into his chosen speciality of psychiatry in the best hospital in Spain in that field. It was his dream to help others and especially those who had fallen into the depths of that terrible illness that traps you and pulls you further and further down into a dark hole which sucks the will to live right out of you. And he did it. He got one of the best marks in Spain that year and secured the placement he wanted.
While he was preparing for the MIR exam at an academy in Madrid, Pasi met a girl from the Canary Islands and fell in love. I still remember him phoning me all excited to tell me about it. He had suffered a lot due to an unrequited love during his teens, the type that is so hard to accept at a certain age, and had become quite wary when it came to relationships. But this time it was for real, this girl was worth it. At long last, life was looking up for him; he had gotten into the speciality he had always dreamed of and he had a girlfriend who he loved. After all the hardship he’d endured and how he fought to go on during that time when he wasn’t well, I couldn’t have been happier for him. That summer, before starting work in Madrid, Pasi decided to go with his parents to Vigo, where his mother hails from, to have a few days’ rest in the place he was so emotionally attached to. On the way, they were going to stop off in Santiago and Alberto was going to again hug the Apostle to show his appreciation, just as he did a few years before after having got into the Faculty of Medicine.
At that time, my life was on a different path. Stuck with a degree I didn’t enjoy and sinking deeper and deeper every semester, it’s not that my future was bleak, it’s just that I didn’t want it to come as I knew it’d be upsetting. It reached the stage where I knew I had to make a decision about my life or else drown in that mud. So without excuses, I decided to flee from the embourgeoisement that was indoctrinating me and from that real or imaginary prison where I was, and go and study abroad, sort myself out there and find a way forward. I enrolled on the Erasmus programme and got a place to study at the University of Stockholm. It wasn’t a bad destination to start with. The problem was how I was going to finance the adventure. My father didn’t support the project. He thought, and rightly so, that if I couldn’t pass in Spain, there was no way I would pass in a language I didn’t speak. Besides, I grew up in a big family where we never wanted for anything, but there wasn’t exactly a lot left over for whims either and, in my father’s eyes, this project was, understandably, the height of stupidity given the string of flunks I was taking home every semester.
During those difficult years, Pasi always encouraged me not to give in and to apply for the Erasmus grant as he thought that leaving home and spreading my wings abroad was likely the answer to all my problems. Regarding the economic issue, he told me not to worry, he was going to start work in a month and, if necessary, he would tighten his belt while living in Madrid and send me part of his salary every month so that I could live in Sweden. I could pay him back the money when I started work and I wasn’t to worry about that anyway, the most important thing at that time was to go to Sweden and fight for what I wanted to be and do with my life. We were in the games arcade beside my parents’ house playing a few games on the football machine where we usually challenged each other to settle our differences, as he sided with Lazio and I went with Roma. Ever since we went on a school trip during our last year of school before University, both of us had held the Eternal City very dear in our hearts. But Pasi was a Lazio sympathiser and I was a Romanist and Roma again defeated Lazio, as was almost always the case. It was to be our last game together.
The next day I went up to the Aragonese Pyrenees, to Canfranc, where a friend of mine, Iñaki, was the site manager on the construction site of some apartments. I needed money to pay for my flight to Stockholm, the first month in the student halls of residence where I had secured accommodation and a little more to help me get off the ground until I was settled at University. Iñaki told me that I’d have to work hard, which wasn’t a problem for me. They paid well and I needed the cash. The first day Iñaki had me boring holes in the ground with the drill which resulted in another workman on the site telling me to cool it, as we should all take it easy in this life. On the second day, after seeing that I was good with the drill, Iñaki put a demon-like machine in my hands to bore holes in the wall for electrical sockets and water intakes which, if it gets pissed off, can put a hole in you too. While I was hard at work, Iñaki signalled over at me to stop the machine as we couldn’t talk over the noise it was making. I unplugged it and he said I had to phone my friend Luis urgently. Luis knew I was working up in the Pyrenees so I thought it was very strange that he had to tell me something so urgently that couldn’t wait until that night. Besides, I noticed something on Iñaki’s face as he passed the message on to me which gave me a bad feeling. I went into the room used as Iñaki’s office on that construction site of apartments in Canfranc and dialled Luis’ number only for him to tell me the sort of news no-one ever wants to hear.
Pasi never made it to Santiago. He lost his life in an ill-fated road accident, depriving him of his promising future, so full of hopes and dreams. His departure left a massive void in my life, just as I’m sure it did for many others who were lucky enough to have known him. The little faith I might have had at that moment was gone in an instant. Despite being raised in a Catholic family and school, I found it hard to believe in a God who could allow so much injustice in the world if he did indeed exist and was in any way watching over us. After all my friend had fought for, after all the people he had helped and now, just as life was starting to go his way… That was the last straw for me and it plunged me into agnosticism.
A month later I went to Stockholm to start a new life. In spite of his generous financial offering of help, I didn’t have Pasi anymore so I had to figure something else out to get by economically. Nevertheless, his words of inspiration and his encouragement to continue fighting when things aren’t going your way have always stuck with me, as has the strength he had to face new challenges and overcome adversity and to not lose hope that there is always light at the end of the tunnel. That’s why every time I have to make an important decision in my life, I remember him and how close he always was to me when it really mattered. And that’s why now, facing this new challenge that life has thrown my way, it seemed like the right time to set out on the exact same Camino that he travelled all those years ago and which helped him so very much. The right time to tread the very same path as his boots did on that trip I couldn’t go on but that I had been meaning to do for so long.
Zach said that Alberto must have been a great person and a great friend and I told him that he was indeed, but that I’m equally as glad to have met him and to have lived through these unfortunate circumstances together because, in some way, being there side by side in that hospital, I felt very close to my old friend, even though I met Zach barely ten years ago. I told him that if he’s capable of following the example and helping someone who needs it once back in his own country, without expecting anything in return, it’ll mean that Alberto’s spirit, in other words what he represented for his friends and those who were lucky enough to have known him, will travel with him and remain alive amongst all of us. Zach told me that he’d have loved to have met Pasi and be his friend and that he’ll take this story back to the United States with him. I thanked him and told him that, if only for that, this Camino has been worth it…
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