gerardcarey
Veteran Member
- Time of past OR future Camino
- CFx2, CPx1
We were in a casa rural at dinner time. Several pilgrims, seated around a communal table. We had just finished introducing ourselves when the first course of our dinner arrived.
On my left was Peter, and to his left his wife, Andrea.
She seemed to be paying particular attention to his welfare.
“You ok dear?” she asked, “anything you need?”.
“I'm fine. Stop fussing,” he replied grumpily, slightly louder than was necessary.
They were Americans, from Chicago.
“I like that,” Peter said with a smile.
I look at him nonplussed. “Like what?”
“Being called mate,” he replied. “You said 'Pass the salt please mate'. I've never been called mate before. It's different. I like it.”
“An acquired habit,” I explained. “ I picked it up years ago as a young bloke on my first visit to Australia. One word, conveying that even though I barely know you, I immediately accept you as someone worthy of my friendship....and all that entails. Until you prove different that is.”
“That's it,” he said.
“Male or female,” I continued, “doesn't matter. To me it's always seemed the absolute best way to initially connect with somebody.”
He was a big bloke, Peter, rotund rather than tall.
That horrible term 'Morbidly Obese' springs to mind.
May have been right in his case.
“What are you doing here on the Camino anyway?” I enquired.
“Following the docs instructions,” he replied. “Less work more exercise. Andrea thought doing a short stretch on the Camino would be good for me, in that I start getting some exercise in a different and interesting place.”
He then decided to include the rest of the diners in the conversation.
He glanced around the table, raised himself to his full seated height, and made an announcement, loudly to the assembled company, with a forced laugh and smile. “Yes, I'm a Urologist. I'm the guy that spends his days dishing out Viagra to the considerable portion of the population that these days seems to need some help in that direction.”
Peter was of course defining his self worth by his occupation. We see that at home a fair bit don't we? Men who define their worth by their belongings, wealth or occupation. Not by their qualities as husbands/fathers/citizens.
I realised that he was the first such person I had met on the Camino. Usually you have to drag it out of pilgrims.....what they do for a crust.
It's is not a matter of great importance.
Pilgrims are more likely on first meeting to smile and shake your hand warmly, ask after your health, invite you to join them for dinner.
Instant friendship.
More precisely perhaps, mateship.
Next morning I'm a bit lazy. I have a nice long hot shower. Get nice and warm before having breakfast and then heading out along the Way.
I'm plodding along, and, in the distance, resting on a wooden fence at a corner, I spot Peter and Andrea.
I think to enter into some friendly banter.
I institute a wide sweeping overtaking manoeuvre as I approach. I accompany this by delivering a horse-racing call that most would recognise. A rear runner pulling out from the fence, and, with a flashing run, passing all other horses in the run to the finishing post.
Went down like a lead balloon.
I don't remember ever receiving a look of such anger.
Me, put my big foot in it again haven't I.
I realise that Peter, after an hour's walking, is exhausted, and considers my performance to be in the worst possible taste.
Gotta face the music don't you?
I stopped, then retraced my steps.
“How are you going there mate?” I enquired, “alright?”
“You hobo,” he replied angrily, “I'm none the better for your asking. I'm doing the best I can and I can do without idiots like you having fun at my expense.”
“Now hang on a minute there,” I replied. “While I apologise for upsetting you, I can assure you I wasn't having fun at your expense. Have a look at yourself. You're obviously unfit, and in my opinion it was courageous of you to even consider undertaking a walk like this.
We come across a few heroes along the Way. People who have to face and overcome all kinds of unforeseen difficulties. You knowingly brought yours with you. You are a person I will long remember. Now stop giving me a hard time..........mate.”
His turn to be nonplussed.
Not knowing what else to say, or even if I'd said the right thing, I nod, and, with an awkward smile and a wave to Andrea, continue on my way.
As I proceed into the distance I hear behind me the muffled sounds of an animated discussion.
It's that afternoon and I'm in a cafe, sitting next to an open window when I see them approaching down the narrow cobbled street.
I quickly drop my gaze and studiously investigate the froth on my cafe con leche.
There is a noise at the window.
I glance up furtively and there is Peter, leaning in the window.
He is extending his hand. He wants it shaken.
“Mate!'” he says with a smile, “Buen Camino!”
Regards
Gerard
On my left was Peter, and to his left his wife, Andrea.
She seemed to be paying particular attention to his welfare.
“You ok dear?” she asked, “anything you need?”.
“I'm fine. Stop fussing,” he replied grumpily, slightly louder than was necessary.
They were Americans, from Chicago.
“I like that,” Peter said with a smile.
I look at him nonplussed. “Like what?”
“Being called mate,” he replied. “You said 'Pass the salt please mate'. I've never been called mate before. It's different. I like it.”
“An acquired habit,” I explained. “ I picked it up years ago as a young bloke on my first visit to Australia. One word, conveying that even though I barely know you, I immediately accept you as someone worthy of my friendship....and all that entails. Until you prove different that is.”
“That's it,” he said.
“Male or female,” I continued, “doesn't matter. To me it's always seemed the absolute best way to initially connect with somebody.”
He was a big bloke, Peter, rotund rather than tall.
That horrible term 'Morbidly Obese' springs to mind.
May have been right in his case.
“What are you doing here on the Camino anyway?” I enquired.
“Following the docs instructions,” he replied. “Less work more exercise. Andrea thought doing a short stretch on the Camino would be good for me, in that I start getting some exercise in a different and interesting place.”
He then decided to include the rest of the diners in the conversation.
He glanced around the table, raised himself to his full seated height, and made an announcement, loudly to the assembled company, with a forced laugh and smile. “Yes, I'm a Urologist. I'm the guy that spends his days dishing out Viagra to the considerable portion of the population that these days seems to need some help in that direction.”
Peter was of course defining his self worth by his occupation. We see that at home a fair bit don't we? Men who define their worth by their belongings, wealth or occupation. Not by their qualities as husbands/fathers/citizens.
I realised that he was the first such person I had met on the Camino. Usually you have to drag it out of pilgrims.....what they do for a crust.
It's is not a matter of great importance.
Pilgrims are more likely on first meeting to smile and shake your hand warmly, ask after your health, invite you to join them for dinner.
Instant friendship.
More precisely perhaps, mateship.
Next morning I'm a bit lazy. I have a nice long hot shower. Get nice and warm before having breakfast and then heading out along the Way.
I'm plodding along, and, in the distance, resting on a wooden fence at a corner, I spot Peter and Andrea.
I think to enter into some friendly banter.
I institute a wide sweeping overtaking manoeuvre as I approach. I accompany this by delivering a horse-racing call that most would recognise. A rear runner pulling out from the fence, and, with a flashing run, passing all other horses in the run to the finishing post.
Went down like a lead balloon.
I don't remember ever receiving a look of such anger.
Me, put my big foot in it again haven't I.
I realise that Peter, after an hour's walking, is exhausted, and considers my performance to be in the worst possible taste.
Gotta face the music don't you?
I stopped, then retraced my steps.
“How are you going there mate?” I enquired, “alright?”
“You hobo,” he replied angrily, “I'm none the better for your asking. I'm doing the best I can and I can do without idiots like you having fun at my expense.”
“Now hang on a minute there,” I replied. “While I apologise for upsetting you, I can assure you I wasn't having fun at your expense. Have a look at yourself. You're obviously unfit, and in my opinion it was courageous of you to even consider undertaking a walk like this.
We come across a few heroes along the Way. People who have to face and overcome all kinds of unforeseen difficulties. You knowingly brought yours with you. You are a person I will long remember. Now stop giving me a hard time..........mate.”
His turn to be nonplussed.
Not knowing what else to say, or even if I'd said the right thing, I nod, and, with an awkward smile and a wave to Andrea, continue on my way.
As I proceed into the distance I hear behind me the muffled sounds of an animated discussion.
It's that afternoon and I'm in a cafe, sitting next to an open window when I see them approaching down the narrow cobbled street.
I quickly drop my gaze and studiously investigate the froth on my cafe con leche.
There is a noise at the window.
I glance up furtively and there is Peter, leaning in the window.
He is extending his hand. He wants it shaken.
“Mate!'” he says with a smile, “Buen Camino!”
Regards
Gerard
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