Lost and Found on the Camino de Santiago: Part 11

Anna looked at me and shook her head. Damn! I felt foolish for worrying more about my hat than about Alberto. I moved my pack next to him and pulled out my first aid kit. Sandra cleaned the blister carefully, swabbing alcohol around the bulge with the tip of her pinky. I lit a match to sterilize the tip of a needle, threaded it and dipped needle and thread in alcohol. Alberto groaned. Sandra discovered another small blister on his left foot. With the blackened point of the needle, she pierced one blister and then the other, pressing them lightly to release the serum, then she picked up the iodine and squirted it liberally on the two lesions. Alberto closed his eyes, clenched his teeth and curled his toes as his calves tightened. 

A Spanish pilgrim stopped to check on us. “¿Todo bien?” she asked while taking a seat next to us, observing Sandra putting the final touches on her patient. The woman leaned toward me and offered some chocolate and fresh water. 

“Gracias,” I said, taking a small piece of chocolate.

She looked at my disheveled, sweaty hair. 

“I think this is yours.”

My hat! 

“¡Gracias! ¡Gracias!” I exclaimed, receiving it from her hands. 

Anna was right.

“You’re Mexican, right?” she responded, laughing. 

I nodded and answered, “Yes, how do you know?”

“It’s your accent.”

“Yes, but they are from Brazil.” 

“Oh, even better,” she said. “Brazilians and Mexicans make great couples—such passion for life.” 

“What?” 

“You are falling in love,” she said. 

I dropped my guidebook and my eyes widened, as I looked directly at the old woman’s green eyes. 

“But it’s obvious. I can tell. Anyone can. Only you two are blind to it,” she continued. She looked at Alberto and then at us and got up, returning to walk. “He will be fine and you will too. Listen to your heart,” she called as she walked away. “Buen Camino, peregrinos.” 

“Buen Camino,” Anna said. 

Are my feelings that apparent? I thought about doing the entire walk with Anna, holding hands along the path, kissing her again and perhaps spending a day as a tourist with her at some point. It could be the romantic and passionate start of a new relationship. Could I at last be free of Italy? 

Alberto struggled to his feet and then limped around us for ten minutes before he slowly started taking normal steps.

“Alberto is stopping at Estella, and he won’t continue with us,” Anna said. 

“What?” 

“He’s not walking to Santiago. He doesn’t have the time. He’ll walk to Burgos, return to Madrid and then to Brazil from there. He’ll finish his walk next year.” 

I was surprised and saddened that our little group was breaking up. We followed Sandra and Alberto as we made our way to Estella. There was no sign of the Spanish pilgrim up the road. 

                                                                      *

Estella la Bella—called beautiful by travelers and pilgrims since the fifteenth century—was like a living museum.  She was lovely, but unpretentious—the confidence of age. The Camino gave rise to this town and had once again revived her. Founded in 1090 by Sancho Ramírez, the ruler of Navarra and Aragón, it was meant to serve pilgrims and incorporate foreign (most of them French) artisans and merchants. The stones of the stairway to the Church of St. Michael were worn as if they had been smoothed over by a large hand. Pilgrims wandered about her streets and in and out of shops, making their way to San Pedro de la Rua, the former palace of the kings of Navarra, or to the Church of San Miguel or the Santo Domingo convent. All were worthy of more exploration, but Alberto had to check into the refuge and we preferred to spend a little more time with him. 

We walked to a small grocery store and shopped for our last meal together. I picked up some bread and chocolate. Alberto bought some ham and tuna. Sandra and Anna got some water and a kilo of cherries. We slowly proceeded to the small fountain in St. Martin’s Plaza where we sat and ate quietly, but quickly. We asked another pilgrim to take our picture. We hugged and Alberto walked away because he didn’t want to see us leave. We said, “Buen Camino.” He waved with his back toward us and disappeared around a corner. Alberto will be back, and he will walk with different people, but I wonder if it will be the same? 

“Let’s go.” Anna tapped my shoulder. 

It was 1:00 pm and we had nine kilometers to go to Villamayor de Monjardin. I helped Anna on with her pack. 

“There goes the Mexican who is falling in love with the Brazilian girl,” boomed a familiar voice behind us. “Don’t let her go.” 

We turned back. Sandra laughed. Anna and I were silent again, though both of my companions noticed my displeasure. 

“Don’t deny it,” the Spanish pilgrim said. 

Anna asked me, “Does that bother you, Miguel?” 

“No, but…” my voice trailed off. 

“But?” she asked, looking at me for a better answer. 

I didn’t respond, but instead loaded my backpack and checked my shoes, looking for God knows what, trying to ignore Anna’s smile. Sandra was already waiting for us by the road. We had little time to think about leaving Alberto or one woman’s observation. The sun and burning asphalt made sure of that as did the weight of our packs. We crawled from Estella to the outskirts of Ayegui, the next town on the Camino, where the Irache wine fountain waited, though Alcohol was the last thing I wanted. It was set up by a local winery to help motivate pilgrims. I stood in front of it eyeing the ornate shield with two spigots—one for wine, the other for water. A statue of Santiago stands above the fountain. A notice told pilgrims to pay for any wine we took from the spot. Sandra didn’t bother reading, so she filled her bottle and again took the lead to Azqueta where she wanted to make a stop for a walking stick from Pablito, a legend known for his hospitality and staffs he made himself by hand. It felt like she was dragging us there through an inferno.  

The town seemed deserted. There were no cars, no people, not even a stray dog or cat, but we soon found Pablito. When he caught a glimpse of Anna, his eyes widened; he did not have to say a word to show what he was thinking. He leaned back in his chair, then got up to hug Sandra first; he shook my hand and hugged Anna—a little too tight and for far too long. She pulled away. 

“How are you?” he asked. “Where are you from?” 

“Brazil? Really! That is a beautiful country.” 

She pulled further away, and backed into me. Who does he think he is? I stared the man down. Sandra did not seem to notice as she looked around at his house. How can you be so obtuse? Pablito sat down and shifted back into the seat and stayed still, trying to diminish my anger. 

After an awkward silence, he made an offer. “Want some water?” 

Only Sandra nodded, saying “Sí,” completely oblivious to what had transpired. He left to the kitchen and returned with glasses for all of us, nodding his head. Sandra took one, and drank the water. Anna didn’t, and neither did I. 

“I’m not thirsty,” Anna said. 

He disappeared into the kitchen. Sandra eyed us, said something to Anna and then turned toward me as if to say, “You’re being rude.” Pablito came back and handed her a staff. It was made from a straight tree branch and was about two meters long. Anna  refused the offer, saying she didn’t want to carry anything else. Sandra was happy. It had been her idea to come here, after all. Luis had said these could be lifesavers, so I took one. We left just minutes later. 

Anna ran to the fountain by the road and wet her hair, arms and face. I followed and did the same, plunging my hat into the water. We soaked our legs too. Again, ever impatient, Sandra waited a distance away. 

“What’s going on?” Anna said. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Why did you get so jealous?”

“What?” 

“Yeah, with Pablito. I mean, I didn’t like him doing that, but you really got mad. I could tell.”

“Oh, I don’t like men trying to take advantage of women.”

“Me neither, but there was something more.” 

“Uh…,” I said, keeping my eyes on the water. 

“Yes… there was. Like what the woman said earlier. Uh, don’t you know how to speak?”

In that instant, Anna turned away and walked toward Sandra, placing her hat back on her head. Big drops of water dotted her light blue shirt. Sandra waved toward me. I wet my legs once more and followed behind them.