Italy! Food and Festivity!

It starts to drizzle. The pain underneath my left foot surges. My brother checks his backpack–no food. I hear my father let out a pained yell of frustration as he runs up the mountainside and tries to find a clear path for us to follow. My aunt groans as she collapses onto the grass next to the gravel road. Can things get any worse? Why on earth have we spent years of hard earned savings on a ‘family holiday’ walking the Camino in Spain?

It’s dusk, we’re lost, I have a big blister on my foot, my brother ate all the food and my aunt claims she’s having a small heart attack (she doesn’t exercise often so it’s no surprise). The perfect setting for a family fight. As we round the corner a dim light coming from an old stone barn beckons us forward. We've finally arrived at our destination for the evening.

The eruption begins.

My mother sets down her backpack and growls at my father for refusing to follow the map. My father angrily turns on my brother for not packing enough water. My aunt clutches her chest and lets out a moan. We make a lot of noise. I turn bright red with embarrassment and even though our fellow pilgrims (who emerge, curious, from the eating hall) might not be able to speak much English–an argument is communicated in a universal language understood by all. This is one of the worst nights of my life on ‘El Camino De Santiago’, otherwise known as the road of pain and suffering. Suddenly a short, plump woman interrupts us and tells us in Spanish to hurry up and come inside as the food is getting cold. We are greeted with a bowl of steaming paella–the Mediterranean flavors and fresh seafood silence us as we find seats next to an open fire. Everything is going to be all right.

After a good nights rest we wake up to ringing bells and yesterday’s nightmare is forgotten. I walk outside onto the balcony and am stunned by the beauty before me. We arrived too late the night before to see the spectacular vision of rolling green hills, fruit orchards in the distance, stone cottages and grazing cows scattered along the hilltops. Spain!

We set out walking and a few concerned fellow pilgrims tentatively approach us and ask if everything is OK after the night before. We reassure them that it has all been forgotten–it’s a new day! Besides, we are South Africans with Mediterranean blood (the pilgrims nod with sudden understanding and continue on their way.)

I will never forget that day. In retrospect, every day walking El Camino was not to be forgotten.