Sebastian was already gone when I got up and didn’t respond to some calls I made, but I found Shep to keep me company.
At least until we reached the albergue godfathered by Paolo Coelho.
Shep already equipped with the flu began suffering under the weight of his electric guitar and its amplifier and decided to retire early that day.
Still hoping to catch up with Sebastian, I continued.
In Belorado I remembered the nice albergue of Tosantos, tried to find any pilgrim I knew to tell about, didn’t succeed and went on.
The apple-trees before the village, on which I feasted the last time were all empty, the same with the hazelnut-bushes further down the way.
But the ground around those bushes was covered in nuts.
I picked as many as I could find – you can’t tell everybody about your mighty squirrel-kung-fu and then leave a single nut unpicked.
I also offered them to some pilgrims passing by with the wise comment:
“You’re a pilgrim, so you have to have nuts!”
The albergue parroquial de San Franscesco was as charming as it was three years ago, even though both hospitaleros were sick as hell – the flu, too.
I offered them to stay one day more and help a little bit, what they confused but gladly accepted.
Holy-motherfucking-moly! The life of a hospitalero is no holiday.
I cleaned the whole first floor, checked all blankets for the tiniest signs of bed-bugs, helped preparing a simple lunch for the crew and made it at last to smoke one cigarette before the first pilgrims arrived.
Jose-Miguel the elder hospitalero was suffering the most.
Not only that his flu was in its prime, he loved to sign some Taize-chants all day and wasn’t really able to.
I gave him some of my ginger and all of my honey, which had already begun to exit its glass and cover the interior of the trailer.
He hesitated a little bit, but accepted when I told him that it would be very good to recover his throat.
When he added that it would be also good for singing, I responded:
“El jengibre y la miel son buenos para la garganta, pero con dos litros de vino tinto también puedes cantar mejor”
I left the next morning with three Chinese pilgrims, but no contra-bass and bumped into Darius just in time again to help me with the trailer again.
The coupling rod broke for good when I was just about to leave Villafranca Montes de Oca on a very nasty part of the way.
The joined forces of Swedish, Chinese and German hobby-engineers did a very good job, by using the granny-trolley as the new coupling-rod – I had to readjust this construction only once and just a little bit more.
They continued on the camino, while I intended to take a small road, that looked much smoother to me – it was until the next turn to the right.
Back on the camino again some French pilgrims helped me pushing up the HILL.
It was a bit puzzling in the first place, because they didn’t tell me and I just recognized that Rosinante was misbehaving before I took a look over my shoulder and saw the source of the force, that made the bike pull to the right all the time. - Merci beau-coup.
At the Hippy-oasis in between Villafranca and the Monasterio San Juan de Ortega, I met Darius and Marie-Claire for the last time – I think.
We walked on together until I saw Shep having pick-nick with a group of Americans.
He waved me over and I told the others, that we would catch up with them again.
After a few slices of pan, chorizo y queso, the Americans went on, too.
Shep and I did the same, discussing tribe-origins of Europe and my devious humor.
Before Shep nearly trampled a snake, crossing our way, he mentioned, that our companionship reminded him of the stories about the journeys of Odin and Loki.
Funny, because of all the gods of Valhalla, Loki has always been my favorite.
He also told me, that Loki has never been this bad guy everybody thinks he is – I agreed.
When we arrived at the monastery, Shep introduced me to Comhaill – I hope I spelled his name right, Irish names are always a bit difficult to me.
He had lost his credit-card and wasn’t sure where in the woods.
The woods – worst place to loose something, but at least if you can’t find your credit-card in there most likely no-one will.
What I like most about the Irish: They are so used to miserable lifes and still find the power to laugh sing and dance more than all the others.
He went back to search.
In Agés Shep and I met Erik in a bar, who warned us about the grumpy bartender.
Reckless as I am, I went inside, willing to find out for myself.
The Spaniard wasn’t very unfriendly, thanks to me trying to use all my Spanish in our conversation about the regional drinks – wine or beer?
I ordered two beers, got a huge glass of wine for free and went back to my friends, smiling all over my face.
Erik was surprised and a little bit jealous, I think, when I told them about the wine.
Before we left the village Shep picked up some old bread, he found in a basket - “you can use this to keep your tent dry in the night and the next morning it’s soft enough to eat” he said – and I traded a handful of nuts for three euros, though I intended to get some cigarettes instead – still no bad trade.
Before we put up camp along the camino, I agreed to talk Shep’s audience into donating some money for his music, when he’d busk up his budget in Burgos, but I also told, that I wouldn’t do the hat.
The next day on our way to Burgos, I accompanied Shep on a goat-trail, even though I found a nice flat road leading into town.
I kept telling me all the time: “It can’t get worse than it already is.”
But by now I should have known better – the way can always get steeper and rocky.
At the top I made out a huge stone-formation IN THE WAY – nearly impossible to pass with Rosinante and the trailer – but look who sat on top of the rock – Comhaill.
He jumped down, ran to me and together we managed the obstacle quite without sweating.
During the descent our group scattered itself, so I was the first to reach the small, cold Río Arlanzón and took my time to prepare for the Fiesta del Cid.
I rejected to bath in the river – far too cold – so I used my outdoor shower, the sun and some time to clean myself in a more pleasant way.
The water-temperature was more agreeable for shaving, though having only the floating water as a mirror cost me my precious Mohawk.
Shep caught up with me by then and Comhaill we met again while entering the Parque de Fuentes blancas.
My plans for the night were to dive into some dumpsters in the suburbs of Burgos, so we settled in on a crossroads with at least three supermercados around.
I bought some food (bread + chopped pork and cookies + marmalade), ate some and started scouting the area for accessible dumpsters and closing hours.
When I returned the others didn’t want to wait until ten o’clock and I agreed to put up camp in the parcand then come back light-weighted for the goodies.
Comhaill, finest example for Irish optimism, went into town to find an albergue he could sleep in for free, Shep just wanted to get into his tent and retire and I felt very much the same, so I decided to search the dumpsters early in the morning.
Though in the middle of the city’s park we had a very quiet night, except for Comhaill’s arrival.
He tried to wake us up to be able to receive some (un)important messages about available pizza-crusts and garbage-trucks cleaning the city – I didn’t understand any of that and slept very good for the rest of the night.
I got up very early as planned and left the others in search for free food, but found only empty dumpsters.
Shep and Comhaill came just down the street, when I finished my fruitless quest and the later told me again, that he saw several trucks collecting the garbage in the middle of the night, and offered me some pizza-crusts.
At least I found two walnut-trees and Comhaill climbed up one of them to harvest it completely, ignoring a heavy injury from the balcony-stunt, he pulled earlier on his journey.
We found the café “La Babia” in the city-center, “a good spot for busking” I told Shep and after two beers I asked the bartender for the permission to make some music.
No problem if it’s good music, but NO HAT.
Shep started to play his guitar, I started to play some games and got to know some American pilgrims and Spanish locals.
After a while I threw some coins into Shep’s guitar-case to show those who didn’t talk to me where to put their donations
But at some point the music stopped my money was exchanged into a cup of coffee and Shep complained about the bartender didn’t pass the test.
“What test?” I asked “He should have at least gave me the coffee for free” was the answer.
Who the fuck didn’t pass what test – you idiot took my last coins, that were meant to inspire the people to donate, and got a coffee, YOU’RE FUCKIN’ WELCOME!!!
I think that was when I decided to end our joint-venture continue the way on my own again the next day.
There was no point in feeding two nitwits with the little savings I had left.
For you and your humongous band I’d do the hat in every kind of bar again, until then
Greetings from the camino
your former flat-mate
Michael