I also avoided giving my contact information because I wanted to live in the moment. However, I do regret it now.
On the Camino, I met lots of people who I shared lots of good times with. But strangely, the ones that I remember most are the ones that I never conversed with because we spoke different languages. I encountered them separately at the beginning of the Camino and all along the Way. There were four of them. We were all of an age: sixty; traveling alone and recently retired. There was Rolf from Germany, Pierre from France, Manuel from Spain and a Middle Eastern man, whose name I never caught. They were the backbone of my Camino who gave it structure and a kind of security. I am a nerd. So early on, we all recognized each other as fellow nerds. We were also all manly men, not given to demonstration. When I first encountered them, we nodded; the time after, we smiled; next time we said “ Buen Camino”; the time after we shook hands and slapped each other on the shoulder; next was a time having a quiet supper with Pierre, drinking wine with Manuel along the trail and helping Rolf find a bank machine. Never really spent time with the Middle Eastern man, but he always seemed show up at crucial times. Like the time where there was just me in the bright sunshine, the startling blue of the Castilian sky, layers upon layers of clouds, mountains, green fields gently waving in the soft breeze, red earth, purple hills, vistas of red, lilac, yellow flowers, when I felt God’s creation speaking directly to my soul, he came by, laid his arm on my shoulders, smiled and carried on.
When I reached Santiago who did I run into, but Rolf, Pierre and Manuel. They hugged me, and to my surprise, I saw a tear glistening in their eyes. I was kind of disappointed not to run into the Middle Eastern man.
I attended mass at the Cathedral, said my prayers and raised my eyes. Then I saw him, my Middle Eastern buddy in the center of the altar, smiling his enigmatic smile.
I went up and gave him a great big hug.