I left my accommodations at daybreak, leaving my friends to finish their breakfast and sort out their gear. There were five of them traveling as a pack, and groups move slower than individuals, at least this one. The serenades of the morning birds welcomed the sun as I followed my path, dry and dusty before me. I knew I had a relatively easy day of about 14 miles and enjoyed the time alone.
My usual routine was to begin right after breakfast (sometimes a piece of toast, sometimes fruit, bread, and cheese) and set out by myself. It’s not that I am necessarily a loner, but the mornings were special to me; they were quiet, and I could pray and listen. I was also assured that I would inevitably encounter my friends at some point, since we were all moving in the same direction, heading to the same place. This fact always brought me comfort. It wasn’t until the last day or so that I was ever concerned that this may be the last time I would see friends. Our paths would constantly intersect, and at the most unexpected times, almost as if it were being directed from above.
This morning, I walked the straight dusty path through acres of fields. The irrigation streams run through viaducts parallel to my path. In the distance, a farmer was plowing his field, and the sound of cuckoo birds was ever present. Yes, they are real, and yes, they are a sure sign of spring in this part of Spain as they migrate north. On particularly difficult stretches or during adverse weather conditions, I took their familiar call as mocking me for being cuckoo. This morning, I took it as a gentle reminder of how different my world was in this moment from ordinary, some days feeling like I was walking through a storybook.
I crossed a famous 13th century bridge, one of the longest in Spain, where a knight had defeated over 600 others in jousting duels on the grounds adjacent to it. I walked with no fear of any challenges, but an air of mystery from the history I was walking through. The bridge led to a village, but it was still too early to stop for second breakfast. I went through several more villages, and the path wended its way up increasingly steep hills. Cattle were grazing, their cow bells dinging, unbothered by the steady stream of strangers walking past them.
Several hours elapsed, and the heat of the day increased. I continued climbing, no longer through fields but dusty forests of mighty oaks. I noticed wild lavender on the side of the path, plucked some, and rubbed it on my hands for the familiar smell. My feet were getting heavier, and I needed to focus on the potato-sized stones embedded in the hard dirt path. Once I cleared the most recent hill, I saw in the distance a gathering of people. Perhaps a food truck. It was still too far away. As I got closer, I heard the sounds of what I would consider merriment. I felt like the elder brother in the Prodigal Son parable.
As I approached, I noticed several permanent structures, a collection of small buildings with awnings blocking the sun, and loads of people milling about. I found this to be curious, so I slowed down to get a better look. Under the cover of the structure was a large round table laden with all kinds of food, set up as if it were a Sunday brunch buffet. In the center of the table was a small, discreet sign which read, “Auto Servicio, Enjoy!”
This was a donativo. A special place on the Camino, provided exclusively for traveling pilgrims. Make a donation, if you can. Fifteen years earlier, a man, David (presumably a former pilgrim), “helped” establish this “Garden of the Soul.” He gives all credit to God for his creation and wanted this little sanctuary to be a complete surprise for travelers. In addition to the food, there are large comfy chairs, hammocks, and even beds for sleep-deprived pilgrims.
As a former business owner, I was skeptical of the sustainability of this type of generosity. For all that was being offered, not just at the table in the photo, but on the other tables, on the coffee cart, and everything displayed, it was hundreds of Euros worth of goods, all for a hopeful donation. I read about these in my research before actually experiencing them, and the benefactors say they receive far more than the cost of the food. It seems the pilgrims are so touched by the generosity that they respond with even more generosity. This also covers those who are unable to donate for what they take. This is a judgment-free zone.
I dropped my heavy backpack near a stump, left my poles with my pack, and decided to dig in. A fresh loaf of sourdough bread and a slab of Manchego cheese were calling my name. I responded… twice. Next was watermelon and a tangerine. I was only vaguely aware of other people around until I satisfied my vast hunger. I sat on my stump next to a Scandinavian man, deep into relaxation. He looked as if he planned to stay there. I trotted back for a wee biscuit (or bickey in Australian).
Pilgrims continued stopping to enjoy a rest, but still others streamed past without even a glance toward the bounty that was offered to them. This shocked me. I mean, I was really dumbfounded by this. I thought out loud, “Aren’t they even the least bit curious about all this?” The man relaxing next to me responded, “Surprising, isn’t it?”
This made me think metaphorically. How often, in life, am I that person who is so intent on my objective that I fail to see the goodness that has been provided? I saw myself in those determined pilgrims marching past this oasis, solely focused on their goal. I know that, throughout my life, before I learned to live in the moment, that was me more often than not. We are often bothered by what we see in others because we subconsciously know they are us. Not to be presumptuous, but that previous line may bear repeating.
For a brief moment, maybe 30 seconds, I was sad for myself. I have walked by so many gifts that God has given me without even a glance. I didn’t wallow in my self-pity or invite this thought to stick around for a while. I did what I knew to be the right next thing. I stood up from my stump, asked the man next to me if he wanted anything, and I went back to the table for two more biscuits. Life is sweet, I thought, and so are these bickeys.
My pack seemed lighter when I put it back on, and my steps to Astorga seemed a little easier. Life is good. I said a prayer of thanksgiving for my generous benefactor, placed some money in the basket, and finished the day’s walk with yet another lesson.