Tales Along the Camino

The camino is paved with stories. Several towns along the way are named after pilgrims who stopped, dedicated their lives to those following behind, and became Saints. There are the stories of those we walk with daily - and the books that brought them here. We can thank a recent bestseller in Germany for the Deutsch voices that fill our rooms (the first we hear in the afternoon and the first to leave in the morning... tight schedule, those Germans). Paula Coelho is responsible for the chorus "Todo bene!" that rings out everytime the Brazilians enter town with their video cameras and wide smiles.

One of the first questions fellow pilgrims ask when they come up alongside one another is, "Why did you decide to do the camino?" Everyone has a story. I find that my answer changes often depending on how tired I am and how well my fellow walker speaks English. Towards the end of the afternoon, waxing philosophical or claiming a touristy motivation seems weak, so I simply say: purgatory points. Honestly, it´s kind of strange to be doing something so out of the ordinary and at times challenging without any really "good" reason... but it's also surprisingly O.K. You just keep walking.

There is one guy whose whole life is the camino. He just walks back and forth barefoot, looks a bit like Jesus with dreadlocks, and has learned multiple languages from fellow pilgrims. Another older Spanish man has been hiking it in sections. He only carries a tiny backpack, and every morning he walks zipped up in his sleeping bag like a papoose. It cuts down on warm-weather wear I suppose. We had dinner in Logroño with a couple from Germany that started walking together after finishing chemo. They told us about one of the trail's most famous legends:

Hundreds of years ago, a German family was walking, and they stopped at an Inn in Santa Domingo. The Innekeeper´s daughter hit on their son, but being the good pilgrim he was, he refused her advances. She was so insulted that she hid a golden cup in his bag. The next morning, she told her father he had stolen it, and the town brought him back to determine his punishment. They decided he should be hung.

Accounts vary, but some say his parents kept walking (like I said, tight schedule... Germans haven't changed much). Others say they stayed for the hanging. Either way, they went out to the woods where he had a noose around his neck and found that he had survived. When the parents went to tell the priest, who was eating dinner, he exclaimed, "Your son is as dead as the rooster on my plate!" Suddenly, the rooster got up and began dancing on the plate. The son was freed, and camino justice was carried out. In Santa Domingo, they keep a rooster and chicken in the church in memory of the tale.

Last night, we had dinner with another German guy who told us all about the story of the Knights of Templar. Several of the towns and churches we've passed by on the meseta have been named after the knights, but neither Luke nor I knew much about their history. It's fascinating the new stories we hear everyday, the old ones we pass through without even knowing it, and the small steps we are taking to come up with our own. (Agh, too much John Brierly... I´ll try to avoid cheesy concluding sentences in the future).