Behind the Albergue Door: Inspiration Agony Adventure on the Camino de Santiago

but on a far greater scale. More people, more interaction, a longer time frame working toward a more definite and concrete goal. It reminded me of how I always imagined it would have been to be part of the pioneer rush to the Old West, but instead of hunting buffalo for food, wearing tattered overalls and dreading small pox we hunted tri-daily doses of chewy salami, wore filthy Northface gear and dreaded picking up the annoying dry cough that Dutch guy kept on with all night. The scarcity of pillowcases was probably the same, though.
    The bottom line, however, is that we made a lot of good friends and spent far more time with them than we had expected to, and when the Camino ended and we all left in different directions it felt abrupt, shocking and sad all at the same time. Kind of like when I found my first grey belly hair. Of course, the list of people who influenced our Camino was hardly limited to people we hiked with and came to consider friends. For better or worse, every day was filled with interactions that alternately enriched, frustrated or brightened our days and nights. Every bartender, every passing pilgrim, every unshaven old man lurking in the bushes with his fly undone had an effect on what we ultimately took away from the whole experience.
    Random Encounters
    The bartender in Pamplona who turned out to be a kindred spirit. He walked me through the different pronunciations for the different sizes of beer, then we commiserated over our shared dislike for Cristiano Ronaldo.
    The tiny bald shopkeeper in Calzada de los Hermanillos, probably around sixty years old, who seemed so excited to have us in his shop at first, then got really shy when two old local women came in and started heckling him. Later that day he worked up the courage to ask a female friend of ours, to join him for a photo. Despite the fact she was a woman of fairly average height, her arm seemed to completely envelope his tiny frame, and with his shiny little head b arely reaching the side of her boob he looked almost like a little hobbit. A really happy hobbit.
    The hippy squatting in a deserted building on the way to Astorga (apparently semi-permanently so keep an eye out, you can’t miss him) offering a number of goods and services for free (well, if you were to put a little something in the donation jar he wouldn’t say no, I guess). Biscuits, fresh fruit, or a short wait while he whips up some rice and vegetables, or take a load off in his hammock, how about some massages, or maybe you’re in the mood for some really uncomfortable hugs and kisses? Just say the word. Or fail to back up quickly enough.
    The German girl whose very first words to us were “ I’m going to pee right over here so try not to turn around.” Obviously, we ended up becoming good friends.
    The French-Canadian we shared a room with in Ponferrada who had started his hike near Paris way back in August and was “just ready to be done”. A nice man who, unfortunately, did not smell so good. As I was preparing a load of laundry Laynni tactfully, and cleverly, offered him the chance to throw a few things in. Nope, no need, he’s good.
    The Russian guy who kept playing his Russian music really loudly in the dorm, only turning it down briefly so that he could make his move on Madeline by commenting how rough her feet looked and offering to do a little work on them for her.
    The gruff lunch woman near O Cebreiro who was all business, but not so good at seeing things any more. When I paid her in something other than exact change she became quite annoyed and made me come around behind the counter to make my own change. When I later ordered another sandwich to go she brought it to me, then tossed a box of tin foil on the table dismissively. Just when I had decided I had probably irritated her enough for one day she saw us looking through our guidebook and tottered over to ask if I would translate the description of her restaurant for her. When I did she patted me on the head rather roughly and made a couple “tsk”-ing noises like I was a misbehaving puppy who had just peed on the carpet. On our way out a little while later I noticed a photo in the window of a beaming woman presenting her with a large gift - she was squinting back, looking angry and suspicious. It made me feel a little better.
    The Friendship Dynamic
    Having all these vastly different types of relationships with such an assortment of different people made for plenty of variety, if nothing else.