Moreover, thirty kilometres would mean getting as far as Ribadiso da Baixo, the town where Kelly’s Heroes told me yesterday over text message that they’d finish today’s stage, so that’s yet another reason to try and get there. I haven’t seen them in a while so it’d be great to have a natter with the friendly gang of Catalans. During our exchange of messages, they also told me that the group had expanded as they’ve joined some other Catalans and an Italian guy and now they’re all walking together like some sort of hippie commune, taking it easy. I get the impression that Kelly’s Heroes don’t want any of this to end, even though they’ve been walking for over a month and a half now. Some of them are unemployed and going back home means facing up to the harsh reality: a future without any great prospects all because of the situation in Spain.
I don’t know if the Camino has sparked anything inside them to make them put themselves out there and turn the situation on its head rather than waiting around for a job to come knocking at their door. In my own personal opinion, after having spoken to many people this last while, I think it’s a real mistake to do the Camino and expect a miracle or stroke of luck in your life. The true Camino doesn’t end in Santiago, rather it begins straight after. And that’s when the real graft starts, as you won’t get very far if you don’t do your bit. The Camino provides you with the tools and the ideal natural setting, allowing you to get away from the hustle and bustle of daily life, so that you can reflect and identify what needs to change, and it also gives you the motivation you need to take on new challenges, which comes from the personal satisfaction of overcoming this particular one. But very little, if anything, will change if you leave here and just sit back and wait for something to happen. After all I’ve experienced during this pilgrimage, I wouldn’t recommend that anyone do the Camino in order to "find themselves”. You might not like what you find or else just find someone you already knew. If you’re looking to find yourself, you don’t even have to leave your own living room for that. I think the people who really get the most out of this experience are those who come here to challenge a part of themselves that they’re not happy with or want to change. Without the will to change, you could walk to the ends of the earth and the only thing that would change would be the number of blisters plaguing your feet.
Despite the fact I haven’t felt this good both physically and mentally in years, too many to count, as far as I’m concerned I just want to get to Santiago, finish off this trip that I’d been planning to do for so long and embark on new adventures. Travel around Asia, which is what I had planned, and spend some time, exactly how long I don’t know yet, travelling and writing which are the things I enjoy doing most. We’ll take it from there and see if a lifestyle that puts food on the table and pays the bills comes of it. There will be people who think this is all good and well as a hobby but that it’s not realistic to earn a decent living, but I ask why it’s not realistic. Of course it wouldn’t be if I didn’t at least try; if I just expected it to happen without lifting a finger. One thing I’m sure of is that I don’t want to be on the verge of retirement and then look back at my life and regret not having been bold enough to move away from what I had, at the risk of a fall, and try something different. There are people who find stability in a permanent job, in career opportunities or in owning a house even if it takes them their whole working life to pay it off. This, in turn, makes me feel very uneasy, as paradoxical as that may sound in today’s society. There was a time in the past when I made plans, and those plans hardly ever turned out the way I wanted them to, which was very frustrating. We plan a lot of things without realising that there are many factors beyond our control; the main one being our own existence. Losing loved ones in uncontrollable circumstances has shown me that you have to enjoy life, as you don’t know how long it’s going to last. There’s no need to make too many plans because no-one knows for sure if you’ll actually be able to follow through with them. There’s no need to make spur-of-the-moment decisions while getting caught up in the emotion of the moment. However, if for a while you’ve been getting up and doing something which leaves you feeling numb, then it’s time to think about how to change that.
I also think it’s important to know yourself well, and I’ve certainly been putting up with myself for some time now. I don’t know exactly where I want to be. Actually, I’m quite suspicious of people who have it all figured out in life. They’re usually people who get completely lost and don’t know where to turn next if their plans are disrupted even the slightest bit, which makes them unpredictable and, generally, unreliable. The one thing I do know is where I don’t want to be. It unnerves me to think that my life could have the same routine year in year out until I retire. There might come a time when I have to be sensible and accept that dreams are great and all that but we all have bills to pay and I may very well have to go back to the life I left behind. But until that moment, why not give it a shot; why not fight for what I want. If Óscar had thrown in the towel and accepted the doctors’ verdict when they told him he’d never be able to walk again after the stroke left him confined to a wheelchair, I’d never have met him. “Time, hard work and determination”, he repeated to himself every single day until he was finally able to stand up and walk again. I also plan to repeat this to myself diligently, especially when I’m feeling a little low. Thank you Óscar; you have no idea how much it’s helped me to meet you and see with my own eyes your shining example of overcoming adversity…
I thought about stopping off for lunch in Melide and trying the famous pulpo a feira, otherwise known as Galician-style octopus, which the town is renowned for. However, a short while before reaching Furelos, the town before, the hunger pangs set in and I couldn’t help stopping at a makeshift marquee just off to the right of the Camino, where some locals were selling portions of octopus, small parasols for protection from the intense midday sun and cold beer. How could I not stop? In the end, despite the fact it was nicely presented, the octopus wasn’t as tender as what I’d expected and I knew I’d probably regret it as soon as I got to Melide. After eating, I was getting ready to start walking again when a friendly group of Polish pilgrims asked me to take their photo. In the group were pupils in their last year of school who were celebrating getting into University and a couple of young Franciscan Friars wearing the habits of the order. I reached Melide half an hour later and as I was walking into the town, a waiter from the first pulpería I came across tried to usher me in to have a portion. I apologised and admitted that I’d already had a pretty big portion a few kilometres back, but the waiter tried to convince me that I’d made a mistake and that I should try a bit of his so that I’d realise for myself. I put the bit that he offered me in my mouth and by God was he right. This one fell apart as soon as it hit my palate. I reluctantly acknowledged the err of my ways and admitted that he was right, but I also said that committing the sin of greed didn’t seem like the most appropriate thing to do now that I’m so close to Santiago. Well, I wouldn’t even have walked a hundred metres when I said to myself, what the hell, when are you ever going to enjoy the octopus in Melide ever again and, on that note, I headed back to the bar to gobble up my second portion of the day.
After stuffing myself full of octopus, I decided to rest for a while, stretch my legs and wait for the sun to go down a bit, as it was still quite strong at that point. Afterwards I took myself off for a stroll around the main streets and monuments of Melide. Another Camino route, el Primitivo, which begins in Oviedo, also goes through this town and you notice more pilgrim traffic than on days gone by, even though the Camino Primitivo isn’t nearly as popular as the Camino Francés. This is where Günther met up with his wife last week after a month-long spell. It’s such a shame I missed that moment. Given how hard the Austrian squeezes you when he gives you a hug, I wonder if his wife will have survived. It was about five in the afternoon when I decided to get going on the Camino again and tackle the last fifteen kilometres to the end of the stage.
I don’t really know why I chose Asia as my next destination after the Camino de Santiago. From time to time I take these notions which don’t usually have any rational explanation but, given that following them has always turned out well to date, I usually take them into consideration. I got to know Europe, America and the Arabic world quite well from my years working in banking and my own personal travels, but I’ve only ever been on one trip to the Far East in the past and I remember I had an absolute ball and didn’t want it to end. I suppose that’ll have something to do with it. Not to mention my childhood, the travels of Marco Polo, the Tintin comics I was given as a child and the atlases where I read about thousand-year old civilizations and yellow men with slanted eyes which awoke my curiosity. And, if I delve into my subconscious, maybe also a soft spot for Oriental women and those smiles of theirs that melt a man’s heart. Well, mine anyway.
I have to again take it back to my childhood, my second year of nursery school to be precise; the year I fell in love with the smile of a girl who wasn’t Chinese but looked like she was. Boys and girls were separated during class time but we saw each other in the playground and I remember that I wanted to be with her at break times. I followed her every move from a distance, overcome with shyness which stopped me from holding her hand, like horrible E. did, watching her as she played as if I was some sort of vulgar prowler. All I needed was the trench coat and then to give her a fright when the bell rang to go back to class. One day, our teacher, who I’m convinced was a dyke with the benefit of hindsight, saw me wandering aimlessly around the outskirts and said, “hey, you! What are you doing watching what the girls are doing, are you some sort of fruit? Go and play football with the boys.” They were other times. We’re talking about just over thirty years ago when education was very different.
Whatever it was that teacher was trying to tell me, I got the message loud and clear and even though it wasn’t exactly my desire to play with the skipping rope that had brought me over to the group of girls, I got back to my usual violent activities which I’d left somewhat neglected due to that inexplicable first love. I led a stone-throwing war against the class next to us who we didn’t get on with one bit; I gave myself the airs of a top-ranking bullfighter as we played a game which consisted of turning the closet into a makeshift bull pen where we would lock up some of the others and then fight and mercilessly prong them with banderillas and, one day, I grabbed hold of horrible E. and made him swallow soil and a maggot from the playground. E.’s family were good friends with the family of the little Chinese girl who wasn’t Chinese and I couldn’t bear seeing how close they were or watching them walk around holding hands during break time. I paid for all of these actions with several clouts from the teacher. I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t with her. It didn’t matter if I was well-behaved and sucked up or if I acted the macho man and got into all sorts of scuffs with everyone. As a good friend once told me referring to a girlfriend he had: you just couldn’t win with that teacher, the only thing you knew for certain was that no matter what you did, you were going to screw it up. That wasn’t the only broken heart I’ve suffered because of my attraction to what, for me, is the mysterious culture of Asia. There were others over the years but that was the first one. I wonder if there isn’t a bit of underlying masochism in my hidden desire to steer my path in the direction of the Far East…
With around five kilometres to go until reaching the town where I had arranged to meet Kelly’s Heroes, I bumped into the pair of Franciscan Friars and their pupils who were again looking for someone to take a photo. The boys commented on the coincidence that I was yet again the lucky one and one of the Friars also pointed it out as he handed me the camera. I confessed to him with a smile that it’s no coincidence and that God had sent me here to follow them all the way to Santiago and take as many photos of them as they please. The kids revelled in my joke but the Franciscan Friar didn’t seem so taken by it, and must have thought it nothing less than sacrilegious. After taking their snapshot, I said goodbye got stuck into the last few kilometres to Ribadiso da Baixo.
It would have been about eight in the evening when I arrived in the town. As I was crossing the bridge that lies over a little river at the entrance, I immediately caught sight of Kelly’s Heroes, sprawled out on the banks soaking their feet in the water. They introduced me to the new members and asked me to stay and have dinner with them. Arzúa, the town where I was planning on spending the night, was only three kilometres away so I said I would. We caught up on the latest adventures over dinner and they were completely astounded when I told them about Zach, my American friend, and the four days we spent in Lugo Hospital. They went on to tell me that they’ve really slowed down the pace and after Santiago, they’ll go as far as Finisterre and one is even thinking about going back to Catalonia on foot by doing the Camino del Norte in reverse direction. No, Kelly’s Heroes definitely don’t want this to end. I get the impression that the fact that she group has grown bigger has caused a bit of a rift between the original members of the Heroes. I think one of them has a bit of a thing going with one of the new girls and obviously now he’s on a bit of a different wavelength to the rest. I hope their good vibes aren’t being threatened now due to these circumstances. It’s as if Oddball has seen countless black cats or something since leaving Montserrat, as he had a temperature which forced him to head off to bed early. After staying and chatting with the others for a while, I left them there at around half past nine and set off for my final destination which I reached at nightfall.
People stared at me in amazement as I arrived in Arzúa, looking like a fugitive no doubt, nevertheless a content one with a mile-wide smile on my face. How could I possibly begin to tell them that those last kilometres I walked as it was getting dark, completely alone on the Camino, are the ones I’m enjoying the most, or that after a lot of effort and over a month on the road, I’m only forty kilometres away from Santiago and, if all goes according to plan, that’s only one day until I reach my long-awaited goal…
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