Media (40)
Cherries, laughter, and an unexpected lesson.
June 15: very early wake-up in Puente la Reina, then stage toward Estella.
After one last little walk around the village we set off: first Catherine and I, then Ginger joined us too. The Camino was flowing well, with that light energy of mornings when you feel the day can surprise you. And it did: along the route we found a beautiful cherry tree, full of red fruit. We rushed in immediately and had a huge feast. I was so excited that I jumped the fence to collect as many as possible: pockets full, hands full, backpacks full. We even gave some to passing pilgrims.
A little farther on, once we reached a village, we sat at the tables of a snack area to keep eating them calmly. We were very happy. Then the turn: I saw a little worm walking on the table. I removed it in disgust. A few seconds later another one appeared, and then the doubt switched on: "What if they are coming from the cherries?" I got a chill. After we had already eaten a lot, I opened one to check: worm. I opened another one: worm. At that point it was clear they were infested. I immediately remembered my mother's sentence from when I was little: if one cherry has a worm, often the whole tree is infested. And to think I had even spent time washing them well at the fountain outside the village.
It was one of those perfect Camino moments: between disgust and disbelief, we doubled over laughing. One moment earlier we felt very rich with pockets full of cherries, one moment later we had an absurd story to tell. On the same day I also met Giselle, an American girl: I do not clearly remember in exactly what circumstance we were introduced, whether through Catherine or through other encounters of the day. From then on, new acquaintances multiplied and the time to write notes got smaller and smaller. The days were becoming full, dense, alive: the Camino pulled you into the present in a total way. I am writing these contents years later, and with the passing of time some details have blurred, but the sensations have remained very strong: lightness, fullness, wonder, and that simple happiness of feeling exactly where you were supposed to be. In that period my tendon had still been hurting for almost a week, even though I could still walk by managing pace and recovery.
June 15 was also Ginger's last day of walking: the day after she had a bus to Logroño, where she would sleep one night before taking a train to Madrid, the city from which she had her return flight to Texas. In the evening she asked Catherine and me to go out for dinner together to say goodbye properly. On that occasion, she offered us dinner and gave me her walking stick, with the promise that I would carry it forward to Los Arcos and then to Santiago.
Departure at dawn from Puente la Reina, walking together with Catherine and Ginger to Estella, with a memorable stop based on cherries... and little worms.
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Day notes