It had been a long, slow slog that day, up hills and down. My walking companion and I were tired and cold and delighted to arrive at the ancient albergue in the little pueblo. We waited outside for opening time. When the hospitalero arrived, by car, we queued up and filed indoors to be checked in. From where I was in the line, I could observe the goings on. The hospitalero stamped credentials and checked pilgrims in without ever exhibiting any sign of warmth or welcome - I thought this a bit of a let down after our hard day on the trail. As I waited my turn to be checked in, I had time to reflect on the situation……. The hospitalero had obviously arrived to perform the function of checking us in, and that he was doing. Beyond that, I had no way of knowing what might be going on in his life or what trials and tribulations he and/or his family might be dealing with, and I reminded myself that Spain was in deep financial trouble; he could have been dealing with any kind of difficulty. All I ‘wanted’ at that point (it wasn’t exactly a ‘need') was a hot shower and a bed to sleep in. Did I have a right to expect anything more from this inhospitable hospitalero? I decided I did not. I accepted this experience as a very gentle lesson in humility.
[Incidentally, my stay at this ancient albergue remains one of my more special Camino memories.]
…………………………..
This lesson in humility stood me in good stead several days later at the Gaucelmo albergue in Rabanal. I was again in the queue waiting to be checked in when I noticed a sign on the wall which said something to the effect that in some circumstances they do not accept pilgrims who have not carried their pack that day. When my turn came to be checked in, I felt compelled to admit that although I had carried my pack for three weeks, I had just a few days before, due to tendinitis, resorted to having it transferred by car, so ‘no,’ I had not carried my pack that day. They balked …. big time! … and were at pains to explain to me that they had to abide by the restrictions imposed on them by the village’s powers that be. Once again I felt compelled …. this time, to ask if they would like me to go elsewhere, and was told, “Yes, perhaps that would be best.”
In front of all those other pilgrims ….. I was mortified!
[To Gaucelmo's everlasting credit, after this occurred one of their hospitaleros walked me down the hill to another albergue (where, mercifully, I found my pack waiting for me) and, later that afternoon when I went back up to Guacelmo for their well-known afternoon tea (I had recovered by then) I received the warmest welcome, and more profuse apologies for their having had to abide by the rules.]
However, I still think fondly of this Camino experience as the day I was ‘ejected and rejected.'
. The same day the garbage truck driver helped me, I met a woman from Australia that afternoon while resting. She was doing her walk and recovering emotionally from a dissolved marriage.... The next day I struggled and cried much of the day and at some point realized that someone walking ahead of me was drawing hearts on the path every now and then and it made me smile and forget my tears until I walked up on her drawing yet another heart. It was the woman I met the afternoon prior. She said, "There isn't enough love in the world, so I'm leaving a little here and there." My tears returned, this time, tears of gratitude.
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