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Liz, thanks for sharing your special memory and photo...it made my day!I was browsing my pictures and stumbled on this one. Suddenly my eyes teared up, and I really felt like I was sitting with pilgrims at Refugio Gaucelmo sharing our lives and eating....homemade apple pie! I think I may have shared as version of this story before. But as I sit here with happy memory tears, I need to share it again. At the time this pic was taken in 2015 we were serving as hospitaleros at Refugio Gaucelmo in Rabanal del Camino. My husband and our third colleague were slowly recovering from a bad case of food poisoning, so it had been a busy day for me, and exceedingly hot — almost 40 C.
Early in the afternoon a pilgrim warned us to be ready for the “hippies” coming down the way. I’m ashamed to say I fell right into the stereotype and started worrying about pot and sex in the Huerta! Sure enough, about an hour later a group of five or six hippies showed up and set up camp in the garden. That is where the stereotype ended. Shortly after setting up, two of the hippy pilgrims asked if they could cut the grass for us. This was no small task! Even on a good day the Huerta at Gaucelmo is large. And on this day, not only was it sweltering, but the grass was about a foot tall. The hospitaleros before us had been ill with the flu and we had had food poisoning so grass cutting had fallen to the bottom of the lost of chores!
An hour later, with the grass completely cut, the hippies asked if our oven worked (yes!) and where they could get supplies to make pie. I directed them to the various shop options in Rabanal, but hadn’t learned my lesson yet as I also immediately began worrying about the collossal kitchen clean up we would be facing the next morning.
In the mean time, a Lithuanian mom and her 12 year old daughter walked in. The young girl was fascinated by the hippies. The pilgrim we had come to think of as the Chief Hippie, quickly swept the girl into the circle making pie in our kitchen. Needless to say, the pie was huge, tasty and we all enjoyed it for dessert that evening. Oh, and the kitchen was cleaned to within an inch of its life!
it is one of my favorite camino memories. This pic is of our young Lithuanian pilgrim and the chief hippie enjoying the fruits of their labor.
To me this day captured all that is wonderful about the Camino! Friendship and giving accross boundaries of age, language and culture, letting go of stereotypes and judgments and meeting people right where they are, the triumph of hard work, and the utter and complete joy of shared bounty.
Ultreia!
LizB
View attachment 88696
A lovely memory. Having been privileged to walk the Camino twice, often over a cup of tea my mind drifts back to wonderful days on the Camino. Now at 73 I hope and pray that I can once more walk the Camino.I was browsing my pictures and stumbled on this one. Suddenly my eyes teared up, and I really felt like I was sitting with pilgrims at Refugio Gaucelmo sharing our lives and eating....homemade apple pie! I think I may have shared as version of this story before. But as I sit here with happy memory tears, I need to share it again. At the time this pic was taken in 2015 we were serving as hospitaleros at Refugio Gaucelmo in Rabanal del Camino. My husband and our third colleague were slowly recovering from a bad case of food poisoning, so it had been a busy day for me, and exceedingly hot — almost 40 C.
Early in the afternoon a pilgrim warned us to be ready for the “hippies” coming down the way. I’m ashamed to say I fell right into the stereotype and started worrying about pot and sex in the Huerta! Sure enough, about an hour later a group of five or six hippies showed up and set up camp in the garden. That is where the stereotype ended. Shortly after setting up, two of the hippy pilgrims asked if they could cut the grass for us. This was no small task! Even on a good day the Huerta at Gaucelmo is large. And on this day, not only was it sweltering, but the grass was about a foot tall. The hospitaleros before us had been ill with the flu and we had had food poisoning so grass cutting had fallen to the bottom of the lost of chores!
An hour later, with the grass completely cut, the hippies asked if our oven worked (yes!) and where they could get supplies to make pie. I directed them to the various shop options in Rabanal, but hadn’t learned my lesson yet as I also immediately began worrying about the collossal kitchen clean up we would be facing the next morning.
In the mean time, a Lithuanian mom and her 12 year old daughter walked in. The young girl was fascinated by the hippies. The pilgrim we had come to think of as the Chief Hippie, quickly swept the girl into the circle making pie in our kitchen. Needless to say, the pie was huge, tasty and we all enjoyed it for dessert that evening. Oh, and the kitchen was cleaned to within an inch of its life!
it is one of my favorite camino memories. This pic is of our young Lithuanian pilgrim and the chief hippie enjoying the fruits of their labor.
To me this day captured all that is wonderful about the Camino! Friendship and giving accross boundaries of age, language and culture, letting go of stereotypes and judgments and meeting people right where they are, the triumph of hard work, and the utter and complete joy of shared bounty.
Ultreia!
LizB
View attachment 88696
Such a lovely, uplifting and happy story.....just goes to show, we should not all be so judgemental. What a lovely photo as well. Thankyou for sharing with us all.I was browsing my pictures and stumbled on this one. Suddenly my eyes teared up, and I really felt like I was sitting with pilgrims at Refugio Gaucelmo sharing our lives and eating....homemade apple pie! I think I may have shared as version of this story before. But as I sit here with happy memory tears, I need to share it again. At the time this pic was taken in 2015 we were serving as hospitaleros at Refugio Gaucelmo in Rabanal del Camino. My husband and our third colleague were slowly recovering from a bad case of food poisoning, so it had been a busy day for me, and exceedingly hot — almost 40 C.
Early in the afternoon a pilgrim warned us to be ready for the “hippies” coming down the way. I’m ashamed to say I fell right into the stereotype and started worrying about pot and sex in the Huerta! Sure enough, about an hour later a group of five or six hippies showed up and set up camp in the garden. That is where the stereotype ended. Shortly after setting up, two of the hippy pilgrims asked if they could cut the grass for us. This was no small task! Even on a good day the Huerta at Gaucelmo is large. And on this day, not only was it sweltering, but the grass was about a foot tall. The hospitaleros before us had been ill with the flu and we had had food poisoning so grass cutting had fallen to the bottom of the lost of chores!
An hour later, with the grass completely cut, the hippies asked if our oven worked (yes!) and where they could get supplies to make pie. I directed them to the various shop options in Rabanal, but hadn’t learned my lesson yet as I also immediately began worrying about the collossal kitchen clean up we would be facing the next morning.
In the mean time, a Lithuanian mom and her 12 year old daughter walked in. The young girl was fascinated by the hippies. The pilgrim we had come to think of as the Chief Hippie, quickly swept the girl into the circle making pie in our kitchen. Needless to say, the pie was huge, tasty and we all enjoyed it for dessert that evening. Oh, and the kitchen was cleaned to within an inch of its life!
it is one of my favorite camino memories. This pic is of our young Lithuanian pilgrim and the chief hippie enjoying the fruits of their labor.
To me this day captured all that is wonderful about the Camino! Friendship and giving accross boundaries of age, language and culture, letting go of stereotypes and judgments and meeting people right where they are, the triumph of hard work, and the utter and complete joy of shared bounty.
Ultreia!
LizB
View attachment 88696
Thankyou for this story of "The Surgeon", A really timely lesson for so many of us who are so quick to judge and those of us who express such annoyance about "The Snorers" and The Nighttime Fidgetters" - we dont know their stories and we have not walked in their shoes, nor they in ours.@ebrandt , thank you for your wonderful story, and for starting this wonderful thread!
My story is about fellow I met first in Roncesvalles — he had the bunk above me in the old winter albergue. I was exhausted, but still couldn't sleep well because of his restlessness. Up and down and up and down, creak rattle squeak...through the night. He was not quiet when he went to go out, but it almost seemed like he was angry. Was he resentful that I had the bottom bunk and acting it out? At least that was the story I was telling myself, and I was certainly getting more than a little annoyed myself.
After a very early start, I made my way to a private albergue in Zubiri — quite pleased that by dinnertime, the room had only three of us, all women. Guaranteed, a good night's sleep!
But my little happy bubble burst when I got back to find that the last remaining place in the room— the bunk above mine— had the same pilgrim as the night before! He had arrived almost after dark, and looked exhausted.
That night much to my relief there was no noisy climbing up and down. All good, in fact. But the ideas formed the night before were definitely getting in the way of any desire to connect. So while I noticed that he had a peculiar clumsy gait, I was less than eager to strike up a conversation to learn anything more about him. But by the I ran into him again in Puente la Reina, somebody had told me his story — and boy, did those judgements about him take a beating.
He was a surgeon dealing with burnout, and the first night of his Camino in Roncesvalles was about sheer nerves. He had never walked long-distance before and had no idea if he could do it — so he was trying to calm his nerves by going out and smoking one cigarette after another. That peculiar gait? It turned out he was partially paralyzed from childhood polio and had to work hard to walk, even without a pack — which he was carrying, rather than transporting it ahead.
He told me that by then, he was feeling guilty because sometimes he had to take a taxi for the last 5 km of the day out of shear exhaustion. He thought he was not being a real pilgrim. Listening (and remembering the selfish judgment that I'd had before learning about him) was a big lesson in hubris.
I don't know if he ever made it to Santiago. I like to think he did, triuphantly. The guy was a huge inspiration.
Well, I learned that same life lesson about stereotypes on the Camino too. I was volunteering in the Pilgrims’ Office, back in the day when it was on Rua Vilar and there was a courtyard directly outside where a line snaked around. One Sunday morning, we could hear the loud noises in the courtyard that only a crowd of young people can create, and there were more than a few eyes rolling in anticipation of this unruly bunch marching in to get their compostelas. Then as they started to come in, we saw they all had on the same t-shirt, with a photograph of an adolescent boy and the phrase “Te queremos Juanjo.” It was a group of about 30 young people, and four adults — Juanjo’s parents and two other relatives. Turns out that it was the one year anniversay of Juanjo’s death, and his friends had organized themselves to do the camino in his honor. The eyes that had formerly been rolling were soon all shedding tears as the young people explained, one by one, the meaning of this camino for them.
And just to add that this experience also was a great reminder that we should think twice before we dismiss those Sarria-starters as not “real” pilgrims.
Completely agree with you!Well, I learned that same life lesson about stereotypes on the Camino too. I was volunteering in the Pilgrims’ Office, back in the day when it was on Rua Vilar and there was a courtyard directly outside where a line snaked around. One Sunday morning, we could hear the loud noises in the courtyard that only a crowd of young people can create, and there were more than a few eyes rolling in anticipation of this unruly bunch marching in to get their compostelas. Then as they started to come in, we saw they all had on the same t-shirt, with a photograph of an adolescent boy and the phrase “Te queremos Juanjo.” It was a group of about 30 young people, and four adults — Juanjo’s parents and two other relatives. Turns out that it was the one year anniversay of Juanjo’s death, and his friends had organized themselves to do the camino in his honor. The eyes that had formerly been rolling were soon all shedding tears as the young people explained, one by one, the meaning of this camino for them.
And just to add that this experience also was a great reminder that we should think twice before we dismiss those Sarria-starters as not “real” pilgrims.
And just to add that this experience also was a great reminder that we should think twice before we dismiss those Sarria-starters as not “real” pilgrims.
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