gerardcarey
Veteran Member
- Time of past OR future Camino
- CFx2, CPx1
I’m a disgrace.
Should be ashamed of myself.
But I’m not.
Got a bit pickled in Torres del Rio.
More than a bit.
Good pilgrim company, good dinner, lots of laughter, and a plentiful supply of vino tinto.
That’ll do it.
I had just taken another sip when I noticed the clock behind the bar.
10.30pm. Blimey. The Albergue was due to close at 10. Now I’m in trouble.
Our dinner venue was down by the river. I thought I’d better get back to the albergue quick smart. It was up towards the top of the hill.
I paid my share of the bill, bid adieu to my companions and took off like a Bondi tram.
But the fasterer you hurry the more wobbly you weave.
And I was all puffed out by the time I got to the top of the hill.
The albergue was quiet, dark, and closed. Two tall, thick wooden doors, set into high stone block walls, barred my way.
I beat on the doors. To no avail. Not a mouse was stirring.
Now what am I going to do?
Sit down on the cobbles, have a rest, have a think about things.
I gotta be able to get in there somehow. This is a time to use one’s initiative.
I remembered that there was a courtyard on the inside of the wall. I’d sat in there reading and relaxing that afternoon.
Across the road I see a wheeled skip rubbish bin, with a few household bins alongside.
Now if I pulled that skip over and climbed on top of it, maybe I could clamber onto the top of the wall, then drop over and in, so to speak.
I dragged the skip over and climbed up on top but I couldn’t reach the top of the wall.
I clambered down again and collected one of the smaller bins from across the road.
I’ll put that upside down on top of the skip, then climb up on that. Then I should be able to grasp the top of the wall.
Worked like a charm. Except that as I was hoisting myself up to the top of the wall I back-kicked the small rubbish bin off the skip. It rattled and banged and crashed it’s way down the street.
In the black and still of night it was a noise that would waken the dead.
I lay motionless along the top of the wall, fearfully awaiting my imminent discovery, capture, conviction and incarceration.
No one came.
The heavy silence of the dark returned.
I peered down into the courtyard. Hard to see how far down it was. It looked a long way. I was going to be hurting rilly rilly bad in a lot of places after I landed down there.
“What are you bloody doing up there?” A slow aussie drawl rose up from the courtyard.
My eyes, adjusting now to the darkness, saw a dim figure.
“You a burglar or something?” the figure asked.
“Or something mate,” I said. “Gerard's the name, bit pickled, got locked out, I’m storming the battlements.”
“G’day Gerry,” he replied, “Willy….Howya goin?”
“Not so good Willy,” I said, “got a long drop ahead of me.”
He giggled.
“Never saw anyone fall into one of those,” he said.
“Very funny Willy," I replied, "but what do ya reckon? Is it doable?"
He sized up the distance.
“Not too bad really,” he said. “If you hang by your hands from the top that means there’s about two metres tops down to the ground. A bit high, but not too much I reckon. And anyway, I’ll come in and grab you as you reach ground level. She’ll be right mate.”
“Let’s hope she will,” I muttered in reply.
I swung my legs out over the edge and lowered myself down til I hung by my fingers.
I recalled my parachute training.
Bend your knees to help absorb the impact. Roll thru your back.
“Right Willy,” I said, “here I come.”
I closed my eyes and fell into the abyss.
Don’t remember the landing at all. Only sitting on the ground after. Nothing broken I don’t think, nothing hurting too much.
Willy stood looking down at me, then held out his hand.
“You alright mate?” he asked as he pulled me upright.
I staggered about a bit.
More than a bit.
“Yeah, I think I’m ok,” I replied eventually, “but what happened to you? I thought you were going to come in and grab me and catch me and rescue me and everything.”
A smile spread slowly across his face.
The smile of the just.…the just plastered.
He giggled again.
“Me name's Willy,” he said, “not Silly.”
Regards
Gerard
ps. It is my contention that Spanish Vino Tinto deserves serious consideration as a pilgrim anaesthetic, a medication that should be held in the same high esteem as those other Camino essentials, Compeed and Ibuprofen.
This is due to Vino Tinto’s unique ability to temporarily turn bones into rubber and disconnect nerve endings, as detailed above.
Some might consider having to consume it in anticipation of an accident a disadvantage.
Not me.
Should be ashamed of myself.
But I’m not.
Got a bit pickled in Torres del Rio.
More than a bit.
Good pilgrim company, good dinner, lots of laughter, and a plentiful supply of vino tinto.
That’ll do it.
I had just taken another sip when I noticed the clock behind the bar.
10.30pm. Blimey. The Albergue was due to close at 10. Now I’m in trouble.
Our dinner venue was down by the river. I thought I’d better get back to the albergue quick smart. It was up towards the top of the hill.
I paid my share of the bill, bid adieu to my companions and took off like a Bondi tram.
But the fasterer you hurry the more wobbly you weave.
And I was all puffed out by the time I got to the top of the hill.
The albergue was quiet, dark, and closed. Two tall, thick wooden doors, set into high stone block walls, barred my way.
I beat on the doors. To no avail. Not a mouse was stirring.
Now what am I going to do?
Sit down on the cobbles, have a rest, have a think about things.
I gotta be able to get in there somehow. This is a time to use one’s initiative.
I remembered that there was a courtyard on the inside of the wall. I’d sat in there reading and relaxing that afternoon.
Across the road I see a wheeled skip rubbish bin, with a few household bins alongside.
Now if I pulled that skip over and climbed on top of it, maybe I could clamber onto the top of the wall, then drop over and in, so to speak.
I dragged the skip over and climbed up on top but I couldn’t reach the top of the wall.
I clambered down again and collected one of the smaller bins from across the road.
I’ll put that upside down on top of the skip, then climb up on that. Then I should be able to grasp the top of the wall.
Worked like a charm. Except that as I was hoisting myself up to the top of the wall I back-kicked the small rubbish bin off the skip. It rattled and banged and crashed it’s way down the street.
In the black and still of night it was a noise that would waken the dead.
I lay motionless along the top of the wall, fearfully awaiting my imminent discovery, capture, conviction and incarceration.
No one came.
The heavy silence of the dark returned.
I peered down into the courtyard. Hard to see how far down it was. It looked a long way. I was going to be hurting rilly rilly bad in a lot of places after I landed down there.
“What are you bloody doing up there?” A slow aussie drawl rose up from the courtyard.
My eyes, adjusting now to the darkness, saw a dim figure.
“You a burglar or something?” the figure asked.
“Or something mate,” I said. “Gerard's the name, bit pickled, got locked out, I’m storming the battlements.”
“G’day Gerry,” he replied, “Willy….Howya goin?”
“Not so good Willy,” I said, “got a long drop ahead of me.”
He giggled.
“Never saw anyone fall into one of those,” he said.
“Very funny Willy," I replied, "but what do ya reckon? Is it doable?"
He sized up the distance.
“Not too bad really,” he said. “If you hang by your hands from the top that means there’s about two metres tops down to the ground. A bit high, but not too much I reckon. And anyway, I’ll come in and grab you as you reach ground level. She’ll be right mate.”
“Let’s hope she will,” I muttered in reply.
I swung my legs out over the edge and lowered myself down til I hung by my fingers.
I recalled my parachute training.
Bend your knees to help absorb the impact. Roll thru your back.
“Right Willy,” I said, “here I come.”
I closed my eyes and fell into the abyss.
Don’t remember the landing at all. Only sitting on the ground after. Nothing broken I don’t think, nothing hurting too much.
Willy stood looking down at me, then held out his hand.
“You alright mate?” he asked as he pulled me upright.
I staggered about a bit.
More than a bit.
“Yeah, I think I’m ok,” I replied eventually, “but what happened to you? I thought you were going to come in and grab me and catch me and rescue me and everything.”
A smile spread slowly across his face.
The smile of the just.…the just plastered.
He giggled again.
“Me name's Willy,” he said, “not Silly.”
Regards
Gerard
ps. It is my contention that Spanish Vino Tinto deserves serious consideration as a pilgrim anaesthetic, a medication that should be held in the same high esteem as those other Camino essentials, Compeed and Ibuprofen.
This is due to Vino Tinto’s unique ability to temporarily turn bones into rubber and disconnect nerve endings, as detailed above.
Some might consider having to consume it in anticipation of an accident a disadvantage.
Not me.
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We met a peregrino in Ansião at the south leg of the caminho Portuges who while we were sitting in the restaurant of hostal O Bras he ordered a kind of a bottle together with his meal.
