Sunrises to Santiago: Searching for Purpose on the Camino de Santiago (24 page)

We
finally make it to Boente and check into what at first looked like a
complete dive of an albergue. A few flies scatter as Amy and I enter,
and we see a Spanish man with a huge salt and pepper beard in the
corner. He is busy working on a computer. He notices us after a few
minutes, and my lack of enthusiasm quickly fades as a huge smile
spreads across his face.

His
name is Hector and he welcomes us to his establishment, asking if we
need a bed. We check in and are shown our room, which is small,
containing only four beds. After a hot shower and nap, we head
downstairs for dinner. Hector and his mother make us feel incredibly
welcome and he gets to work making us a fresh plate of baby squid,
lightly fried with garlic and olive oil. The meal looks a bit
terrifying but the flavor is incredible.

After
an equally amazing dessert, he sits down and a fantastic conversation
ensues. He tells us to wait a minute as he walks into the kitchen,
brings out a large brown ceramic dish and declares it is time for a
Queimada
.

“
Queimada
,”
Hector explains, “is a traditional Galician drink to be shared
among friends. You are my new friends, and I am happy you are here in
Spain spending your evening with me.”

The
drink is a sort of hot punch made from
Orujo
Gallego
,
which is a clear spirit distilled from wine. As he talks with passion
about the Camino de Santiago, which he has walked almost 10 times, he
pours a full bottle of the strong liquor into the pot. He follows
this with a generous amount sugar and begins to stir. His mother, who
must be about 80 years old, looks on with a mischievous grin on her
face.

Hector
stirs in fresh squeezed lemon juice and handful of whole coffee
beans. He then lights it all on fire!
A
deep blue unnatural looking flame licks at the air above. The heat is
like a little campfire, and we all gather round like city folk in the
woods trying to get a picture of a rare animal. He hands the large
ceramic ladle to Amy followed by a large scroll filled with words and
tells her to read.

“
What
is this?” Amy asks unraveling the scroll of paper.

“
It
is a spell!” Hector explains. “It is in our language, Gallego,
but I will translate. The purpose of the spell is to ward off bad
spirits that surround you. We will get rid of the bad and invite in
the good!”

“
Is
this like a witches brew or something?” I ask.

“
Sort
of. It will help you make it to Santiago in good spirits,” Hector
replies. “Read, read!”

Amy
begins, “Mouchos, curuxas, sapos e bruxas. Demos, trasgos e diaños,
espíritos das neboadas veigas. Corvos, píntegas e meigas: feitizos
das menciñeiras.” Her words sound strange as she struggles with
pronunciation. The lights are dimmed, and Hector translates for us
all. Firelight dances on the walls of the room.

“
She
said … Owls, barn owls, toads, and witches. Demons, goblins, and
devils, spirits of the misty vales. Crows, salamanders, and witches,
charms of the folk healer.” Hector is enjoying this immensely and
so am I. “Now, use the spoon to lift some liquid and poor it back
into the pot.”

She
follows his direction and as she pours a stream of blue fire slowly
drips from the ladle back into the pot. A trick that any bartender
would be proud of. Amy continues her spell for a few minutes as we
all stare into the fire.

“
Pecadora
lingua da mala muller casada cun home vello. Averno de Satán e
Belcebú, lume dos cadáveres ardentes, corpos mutilados dos
indecentes, peidos do infernais cus, muxido da mar embravecida.”
She continues on. The translation making us all giggle like
adolescent boys.

“
Sinful
tongue of the bad woman married to an old man. Satan and Beelzebub’s
Inferno, fire of the burning corpses, mutilated bodies of the
indecent ones, farts of the asses of doom, bellow of the enraged
sea.” Hector’s voice is deep and theatrical and he also smiles as
he translates the word
farts
.

Hector
stirs the cauldron as it continues to cook our strange brew. His
m
o
ther
clearly approves.

Amy
makes it to the end of the spell before we can take a drink. “E
cando este beberaxe baixe polas nosas gorxas, quedaremos libres dos
males da nosa alma e de todo embruxamento. Forzas do ar, terra, mar e
lume, a vós fago esta chamada: se é verdade que tendes máis poder
que a humana xente, eiquí e agora, facede que os espíritos dos
amigos que están fóra, participen con nós desta Queimada.”

Hector
passes out small ceramic mugs to us all as he translates the end,
“And when this beverage goes down our throats, we will get free of
the evil of our soul and of any charm. Forces of air, earth, sea, and
fire, to you I make this call: if it’s true that you have more
power than people, here and now, make the spirits of the friends who
are outside, take part with us in this Queimada.”

Hector
then fills all of our mugs, and we settle into a seated circle with
our drinks
.
The
warm sweet flavored brew is delicious. We all sit in thought for a
while and are then joined by three more pilgrims who must have been
napping upstairs. A mother, daughter,
and
aunt from Australia whom I have seen off and on over the past few
days on the trail.

“
El
Camino de Santiago,
”
Hector
begins. He wants to tell us
a
local
’
s
perspective on the Camino and how it has changed. Amy translates his
Spanish for the threesome of Australian girls. Hector continues with
passion
speaking with his hands for emphasis. I wonder to myself if he does
this every single night with pilgrims.

“
Unfortunately
most establishments see you all as euro or dollar signs as you
walk
,
”
he
emphasizes the international sign for money by pointing his fingers
to the sky and rubbing them together.
“
Most
of the food you have eaten until now is not the best Spanish food.
They make for you what is cheap and profitable and I should know
because I have walked the Camino de Santiago many times!
”

The
thought is sad, but I guess I understand. As with anything that is
growing with popularity, it is hard to keep the authenticity of an
experience. To me, it makes finding the hidden gems all that more
special.

This
particular Spaniard has traveled the world and his philosophy is to
treat travelers as he likes to be treated when he is in a foreign
country. This includes fresh food, making you feel at home, and
sharing a part of your culture. I love this guy. He shares stories
about the Galician culture as he refills our delicious hot drink. We
all cup the drinks with our hands as if huddled around a campfire.

“
Escucha,
”
he says.
Listen
.
His tone turning serious.
“
Despite
all of this. The Camino de Santiago is the greatest journey in the
world. I am the man I am today because of the Camino.
”
All
of us in the room nod enthusiastically thinking about our own
journeys thus far and what we have learned.

“
The
Camino de Santiago is like a pencil.
”
He
holds up a pencil for effect.
“
Each
of us is like a dull pencil when we begin the journey. Just like this
pencil. Sure, it writes! But not as well as it could.
”

My
face is getting warm from the strong drink, but I am completely
engrossed in his analogy.

“
The
Camino de Santiago sharpens you into your greatest and truest form. A
better version of yourself. You are all better versions, more true
versions of yourselves than when you started walking a few short
weeks ago,” he explains.

I
hope he is right. I want him to be right, but I think it will take
some time for me to truly understand how the Camino de Santiago has
changed me. Wood shavings fall to the ground as he begins to sharpen
the pencil. I look down at the shavings on the floor and a wave of
understanding hits me. Why do I see pivots and failures as a bad
thing in my life? My failures have made me into the person I am
today. A person who finds himself in the middle of Spain learning
from a grand adventure. A person who feels out of place on the path
most traveled. I like that person. My physical challenges on the
Camino were just a few chips, shavings, falling to the ground.
Another event that softly whispers hey, remember why you are here.
Remember and grow from it. I am the product of divorced parents, a
black eye birthmark, baseball, travel and many career paths. All
experiences put in my path to make me a little better. That is if I
choose to learn from them. I too often choose to panic.

Hector
grabs a piece of paper and slowly writes, “El Camino de Santiago.”

“
See!”
Hector holds up the paper to show us all the words. “Now this
pencil is a better version of itself. Sharp and focused. The best it
can be.”

He
hands me the pencil before saying goodnight. It is almost 11:30 p.m.

“
Gracias,
Hector,” I say. “This has been a really incredible night.” He
pats me on the shoulder and gives me a look as if to say,
good
luck my friend,
before we all head off to bed.

Trail
Day 28

It
is 6 a.m., and I look at myself in the bathroom mirror. My half
closed, sleepy eyes bolt open when I see my reflection.
“
Oh
sh
it!”
I
blurt out.

Blood
is smeared all over my face. I look at my hands, which are covered in
blood too.
“What
the hell!”
I
mentally scan my body for injuries or pain, and quickly I realize
what has happened. Of all the nights so far on the Camino de
Santiago, last night was by far the worst night
’
s
sleep. The entire night a seemingly endless barrage of mosquitos
landed on any exposed part of my body and sucked my tired blood to
their bastardly hearts
’
content. The constant buzzing around my ears keeping me awake. I must
have killed a few of the suckers that had become slow from bloated,
blood-filled stomachs.

I
inspect myself again in the mirror and start laughing like a crazed
serial killer. This of course makes me laugh harder. I clean myself
up and head back to our room. The two girls from Israel in our room
look tired, too, and they confirm the buzzing kept them up all night.
“Mosquitos?”
I
ask Amy who is just waking up on the top bunk.

“
Yeeeep,”
she
replies in a grumpy tone. As if on cue, another mosquito buzzes by my
ear.
“Let’s
get out of here before we need a blood transfusi
on.”

I
booked a five
star hotel
before we came to Spain, and it is waiting for
us in Santiago de Compostela
.
I cannot wait. We both drag ourselves outside into the forest to
begin the day
’
s
trek. We soon find the trail enveloped by thick groves of eucalyptus
trees and adopt a very slow pace continuing on in silence for hours.
This has very much become the routine. A routine which I know I will
miss when it is all over in a few short days.