In a land far, far away enroute to the ruined, Spanish hamlet called Foncebadon (population 10); I had one of the best days of my life so I stole something to commemorate it.
Walking
with my closest “Camino” friend, church bells sang just for us (it seemed) at
the stroke of mid-day while crossing an ancient stone bridge; a bar of dark
chocolate shared in the shadow of a steeple. Trees dripped with cherries. The
famously mystical, wild, white dogs basked under benches. Laundry draped sun
drenched lines. Crisp cervezas were sipped while smells of seafood
paella wafted through windows of the albergue. You get it.
With
a glass of vino tinto in my hand at sunset, we walked from a restaurant down
the hill to our hostel and sat on a log gazing blissfully out at pastures and
snowcapped mountains. Interrupting cowbells, I sighed, “I’m keeping this goblet
as a memory of one of the best days of my life.”
It
was the one-year anniversary of my accident.
The
next morning, roosters woke us early, all twenty-five pilgrims sleeping in one
room. And as we sipped our café con leches watching the sunrise, backpacks already
organized, discussing how far we’d walk that day and where we’d sleep, my
friend gently grabbed my elbow.
“I
woke at 1:00 thinking about the goblet,” he said.
“I
thought about it during the night too,” I replied honestly because I had.
Because I wanted it.
He
placed his hands on my shoulders and I’ll never forget what he said.
“This
village is a special place. We both feel it and we are pilgrims. We don’t take
things. It isn’t necessary. We have every memory and they live in our
hearts. No one can take them away. We must leave this village as we found
it. If we don’t, the feeling will be spoiled forever. You must return the goblet before we go on. I will come with you.” (He’s German and very authoritative.)
I
felt like a naughty child being scolded. And I guess I was but he was also
right. I had thought about it too; my sleep suffered from pangs of guilt knowing
I wasn’t behaving like I should.
So
when the sun finished rising, we walked side-by-side down the hill. I gently rested the
goblet against the back door of the restaurant so someone would see it without
accidentally breaking it.
“Do
you feel better?” he asked.
“I
do.” And I did.
I
felt lighter. I felt pure. I felt connected.
We
walked on.
Into a new day's beauty. Into it’s simplicity. Into new memories.
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Finally getting slowly back in the groove and that means heading back to one of my favorite places! Yeah Write. Some of the best lurking on the web but it's much more fun to participate!
