Mony Dojeiji
Pilgrim. Rome to Jerusalem.
- Time of past OR future Camino
- 2001
All who have gone on pilgrimage will surely have some tale to tell about a dog they met along the way. We had several such experiences, but Concha, the stray dog we picked up in Turkey during our 5000-kilometer pilgrimage from Rome to Jerusalem touched our hearts forever.
We hope you enjoy our latest short story "Concha, the Pilgrim Dog". It is long, so I will start it here, and you can finish it on http://www.walkingforpeace.com/the-walk ... -walk.html.
Buen camino!
Mony
=========================
The greatest reward of walking in early morning darkness is witnessing the spectacular sunrises; and the orange rays that slowly illuminated our path that July morning did not disappoint. We had left Baçeköy at 5:00AM, now our standard starting time, and hoped to arrive at Kocaçeşme before 10:00AM to avoid a Turkish heat that by that time became insufferable.
I stepped over a discarded magazine, noting the image of a shell, and smiled at that quintessential pilgrim symbol. Not that anyone in Turkey would know that we were pilgrims. We had just entered the country a few days earlier and had yet to translate the signs on our backpacks – stating we were walking for peace – into Turkish. Walking on the open road, facing traffic and wielding staffs, I was convinced that people saw us more as oddities than as pilgrims.
There were few indications of life that morning, and even fewer open bars or stores. We had only eaten some cookies for breakfast and were beginning to feel hungry, so when we saw a Shell gas station with its lights on, we took it as a fortuitous sign and hurried towards it. An elderly gentleman sat in a plastic lawn chair near the entrance, and warily greeted us. We returned his greeting with the first Turkish words we had just learned: merhaba, gunaydin meaning “hello” and “good morning”. His manner eased, and he waved us into the store.
At his feet lay a small brown dog that looked like a hound. She was bald, except for a few patches of scattered dark hair. Her back was covered with scabs and open wounds, the dry blood still visible. She didn’t look at all healthy, so I took the long way around her, while she shrank further under the chair the closer we got.
We gratefully accepted the offer of hot tea, synonymous with Turkish hospitality, and sat at a nearby table to enjoy our hot drink. Mindful of the rising temperatures, we kept our rest brief, bought an extra package of cookies and three small water bottles, and headed back to the road saying tashekkur, “thank you”, to the gentleman.
We had gone no more than a few hundred meters, when I heard small steps behind us. We stopped and turned to see the sickly dog bounding up to us. Her head was bowed, almost scraping the ground, her tail between her legs, and she appeared poised to run at any moment. Sniffing the ground, she veered off towards some bushes. I watched with disgust and pity as she ate from a mound of excrement there.
Alberto pulled a cookie out of the package, and held it out, trying to entice her away from her latest meal. She peered at him guardedly, her eyes filled with fear and mistrust. With her head still bowed, and her eyes never leaving Alberto’s, she reached her mouth close enough to snap the cookie from Alberto’s hand and hungrily devoured it. He offered her another. She ate it, along with the rest of the package, now wagging her tail and prancing around us. I could tell that she wanted us to touch her, to show her some sign of affection, but neither of us dared do so. With the cookies finished, we gently shooed her away, directing her back to the gas station. She simply stood there, continuing to wag her tail.
“We can’t let her follow us to the open road,” I said. “It’s too dangerous, for all of us.”
(Continued on http://www.walkingforpeace.com/the-walk ... -walk.html)
We hope you enjoy our latest short story "Concha, the Pilgrim Dog". It is long, so I will start it here, and you can finish it on http://www.walkingforpeace.com/the-walk ... -walk.html.
Buen camino!
Mony
=========================
The greatest reward of walking in early morning darkness is witnessing the spectacular sunrises; and the orange rays that slowly illuminated our path that July morning did not disappoint. We had left Baçeköy at 5:00AM, now our standard starting time, and hoped to arrive at Kocaçeşme before 10:00AM to avoid a Turkish heat that by that time became insufferable.
I stepped over a discarded magazine, noting the image of a shell, and smiled at that quintessential pilgrim symbol. Not that anyone in Turkey would know that we were pilgrims. We had just entered the country a few days earlier and had yet to translate the signs on our backpacks – stating we were walking for peace – into Turkish. Walking on the open road, facing traffic and wielding staffs, I was convinced that people saw us more as oddities than as pilgrims.
There were few indications of life that morning, and even fewer open bars or stores. We had only eaten some cookies for breakfast and were beginning to feel hungry, so when we saw a Shell gas station with its lights on, we took it as a fortuitous sign and hurried towards it. An elderly gentleman sat in a plastic lawn chair near the entrance, and warily greeted us. We returned his greeting with the first Turkish words we had just learned: merhaba, gunaydin meaning “hello” and “good morning”. His manner eased, and he waved us into the store.
At his feet lay a small brown dog that looked like a hound. She was bald, except for a few patches of scattered dark hair. Her back was covered with scabs and open wounds, the dry blood still visible. She didn’t look at all healthy, so I took the long way around her, while she shrank further under the chair the closer we got.
We gratefully accepted the offer of hot tea, synonymous with Turkish hospitality, and sat at a nearby table to enjoy our hot drink. Mindful of the rising temperatures, we kept our rest brief, bought an extra package of cookies and three small water bottles, and headed back to the road saying tashekkur, “thank you”, to the gentleman.
We had gone no more than a few hundred meters, when I heard small steps behind us. We stopped and turned to see the sickly dog bounding up to us. Her head was bowed, almost scraping the ground, her tail between her legs, and she appeared poised to run at any moment. Sniffing the ground, she veered off towards some bushes. I watched with disgust and pity as she ate from a mound of excrement there.
Alberto pulled a cookie out of the package, and held it out, trying to entice her away from her latest meal. She peered at him guardedly, her eyes filled with fear and mistrust. With her head still bowed, and her eyes never leaving Alberto’s, she reached her mouth close enough to snap the cookie from Alberto’s hand and hungrily devoured it. He offered her another. She ate it, along with the rest of the package, now wagging her tail and prancing around us. I could tell that she wanted us to touch her, to show her some sign of affection, but neither of us dared do so. With the cookies finished, we gently shooed her away, directing her back to the gas station. She simply stood there, continuing to wag her tail.
“We can’t let her follow us to the open road,” I said. “It’s too dangerous, for all of us.”
(Continued on http://www.walkingforpeace.com/the-walk ... -walk.html)
