gerardcarey
Veteran Member
- Time of past OR future Camino
- CFx2, CPx1
We’d met originally in St Jean at L’Auberge du Pelerin. http://tinyurl.com/plmrssd
A couple of days later we met again in Roncesvalles.
It was in the evening, after pilgrims dinner.
Barbara said she was sleeping in a container!
This I had to see. Dim murky figures were coming and going as she led me on a stumble thru the dark, past those tall stone walls, alongside hedgerows and then thru a farm gate.
Here, isolated in the complete blackness, was a little village of containers, each spilling it’s bright yellow light a short way out into the dark night.
Each container held several bunks. Presumably this was the overflow from the old albergue, which was the overflow from the new albergue.
Roncesvalles was chocker tonight.
“How cool is that,” I said to Barbara, “I’d like to sleep a night in a container.”
We met again for brekky the next morning.
“Would you like a walking companion?” she asked.
“That would be champion,” I replied. As a newbie I hoped to gain some wisdom from this long distance hiker. She had walked from her home in Munich after all.
After obligatory photos at the ‘Santiago 790k’ sign we set off along the Way.
An hour or so later Barbara was off to the side gathering blackberries.
Two middle aged lady pilgrims approached along the path.
“Buen Camino, Good morning!” I called cheerfully as they approached.
I like to use that specific greeting. It delivers the bright pilgrim greeting and lets others know what language you use.
“Buen Camino,” they solemnly replied as they walked past.
Ok, not happy type pilgrims then. Whatever. It takes all kinds.
They walked on. Then followed a rapid fire burst of German from one to the other followed by an equally fast burst in response.
Barbara carefully exited the blackberry bushes and stood silently with her hands full, watching them as they walked up the trail.
I felt strangely uncomfortable.
“Translation please,” I asked, rather abruptly.
“Old man lusting after young woman,” she replied, equally abruptly.
The shock hit me in the stomach, like a cramp. The pain surprised me.
Barbara stood looking at me while the inference angered then embarrassed me.
Then I got embarrassed about being embarrassed.
I turned aside. I couldn't even look at Barbara.
“Hey, Gerard,“ she said softly, “don’t worry about it…You’re a good guy…are you ok?”
“I guess so…but not really,” I replied. “There’s a lot of stupid people in this world. I just got insulted by a couple of them. I‘ll get over it.”
She smiled, held out the blackberries, and gave me the time.
The time to take a few deep breaths, to scoff a few blackberries, to suck on my water bottle, to calm down to the point where I could just about smile and look her in the eye again.
“All right cobber,” I said with false cheerfulness, “let’s hit the road!”
We hoisted our packs and on we wandered.
It was then I remembered my manners.
“I’m sorry Barbara,“ I said, “what about you? Obviously they insulted you also. Are you ok?”
“Me?” she queried, “Insulted? They called me a young woman. I’m 42.
That’s not a insult, that’s a compliment!”
Regds
Gerard
A couple of days later we met again in Roncesvalles.
It was in the evening, after pilgrims dinner.
Barbara said she was sleeping in a container!
This I had to see. Dim murky figures were coming and going as she led me on a stumble thru the dark, past those tall stone walls, alongside hedgerows and then thru a farm gate.
Here, isolated in the complete blackness, was a little village of containers, each spilling it’s bright yellow light a short way out into the dark night.
Each container held several bunks. Presumably this was the overflow from the old albergue, which was the overflow from the new albergue.
Roncesvalles was chocker tonight.
“How cool is that,” I said to Barbara, “I’d like to sleep a night in a container.”
We met again for brekky the next morning.
“Would you like a walking companion?” she asked.
“That would be champion,” I replied. As a newbie I hoped to gain some wisdom from this long distance hiker. She had walked from her home in Munich after all.
After obligatory photos at the ‘Santiago 790k’ sign we set off along the Way.
An hour or so later Barbara was off to the side gathering blackberries.
Two middle aged lady pilgrims approached along the path.
“Buen Camino, Good morning!” I called cheerfully as they approached.
I like to use that specific greeting. It delivers the bright pilgrim greeting and lets others know what language you use.
“Buen Camino,” they solemnly replied as they walked past.
Ok, not happy type pilgrims then. Whatever. It takes all kinds.
They walked on. Then followed a rapid fire burst of German from one to the other followed by an equally fast burst in response.
Barbara carefully exited the blackberry bushes and stood silently with her hands full, watching them as they walked up the trail.
I felt strangely uncomfortable.
“Translation please,” I asked, rather abruptly.
“Old man lusting after young woman,” she replied, equally abruptly.
The shock hit me in the stomach, like a cramp. The pain surprised me.
Barbara stood looking at me while the inference angered then embarrassed me.
Then I got embarrassed about being embarrassed.
I turned aside. I couldn't even look at Barbara.
“Hey, Gerard,“ she said softly, “don’t worry about it…You’re a good guy…are you ok?”
“I guess so…but not really,” I replied. “There’s a lot of stupid people in this world. I just got insulted by a couple of them. I‘ll get over it.”
She smiled, held out the blackberries, and gave me the time.
The time to take a few deep breaths, to scoff a few blackberries, to suck on my water bottle, to calm down to the point where I could just about smile and look her in the eye again.
“All right cobber,” I said with false cheerfulness, “let’s hit the road!”
We hoisted our packs and on we wandered.
It was then I remembered my manners.
“I’m sorry Barbara,“ I said, “what about you? Obviously they insulted you also. Are you ok?”
“Me?” she queried, “Insulted? They called me a young woman. I’m 42.
That’s not a insult, that’s a compliment!”
Regds
Gerard
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