This is the story of what happened that night, which gave me the title for my Camino book.
It’s often said that walking the Camino is a form of therapy, enabling a person to think, to consider, to evaluate and hopefully to develop in some way as the miles crunch away under the feet.
It’s certainly been that way for me, as I’ve given thought to a great many things over the last 20 mornings, bathed in dawn sunshine, extended to the height of a giant in shadow, with only curious cows, sparrows and insects for company, and halted only by the occasional stranded snail or caterpillar.
It’s a gift to be able to examine oneself in this manner - in peace, at one with nature and with no distractions.
But not everyone on the Camino is capable of appreciating the value of this gift.
This afternoon took me to the fabulous Albergue Villares de Órbigo, run by a magisterial Belgian called Christine and although I’d covered less than 20km in the day, this seemed the perfect place for me to stop.
Present already was Eamonn from Northern Ireland who, after the usual pilgrim greetings, then proceeded to put away an entire bottle of Bushmills in an afternoon, with some fairly awkward moments in the conversation developing as a result.
Christine and I did our best to mollify Eamonn as his whiskey-addled mind slowly unravelled, until he felt the call of his bed around 4pm.
Later that afternoon Bob and Rivka arrived – the two lovely Americans I’d been in company with the previous night in Mazarife – along with Aoife from Ireland and Freddie from Germany, and we were all looking forward to a pleasant (non-vegetarian) meal.
Then Eamonn reappeared.
The dinner conversation was somewhat tricky at times, given the circumstances, but there was one outstanding element to it.
Bob was 74 and runs marathons in less than four hours.
Eamonn was currently having difficulty in going up and down the stairs.
But both were alcoholics.
One had recognised his problem 24 years ago and had done something about it, while the other simply would not, with all the loss that entailed.
We all tried, in our own way, to nudge Eamonn towards the apparent evidence of the benefits of one path that he could take, sitting right across the table from him.
But he resisted all our entreaties and instead, he tried to offer Bob a glass of wine, perhaps to drag Bob back down to his own level.
Bob’s grace and quiet dignity offered a stark contrast to Eamonn’s recklessness, and we all knew that our efforts would be futile.
If ever there was a chance for Eamonn to look beyond his present and to see an alternative future, it was presented to him here.
But, as we all do, he’ll go his own way.
Today’s walk took me along a 10km ramrod straight route out of Mazarife, then a few more kilometres before crossing a gorgeous bridge at Hospital de Órbigo and finally curving around a bit here and there until arriving at Villares de Órbigo.
Very little of note occurred.
All the drama came later.
Albergue Report:
Albergue Villares de Órbigo
Beautifully presented, lovely patio area, outstandingly good food, very comfortable in every sense and wonderfully run by Christine – a gem.
Health Report:
All departments: A-OK
Trips, Slips and Falls: 0 (3)
Snails Rescued From Fiery Roadside Death: 4 (perhaps I can be excused for my previous butterfly murder now)
Wrong turns taken: 0 (3)
Number of times “Buen Camino” was said: About 6 – a very quiet day
Song Repeatedly Played By My Brain: Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac