Lorenzo, the Italian Vagabond
The great Camino in Spain was finished. This walkabout of 900km had changed me in ways I have yet to uncover. I was holed up in Muxia, a fishing hamlet on the western coast of the Iberian Peninsula, soaking in the sun and writing out a short history of my journey. The memories flooded back as I pondered the conversations, the times alone, and the encounters with the mundane. The pilgrimage seemed to take a lifetime to complete and yet here i was a month away from having started. “Is a pilgrimage a journey of rebirth?” I mused on this question as I prepared to leave Spain for the northern climes of Europe, but Spain didn’t want to let me go so easily.
The itinerary was simple. Take a train, pick up a bag, overnight, then head out on a flight from a different town. I bought the tickets. All was ready to go, but then the bus drivers of Galicia decided it was high time to hold a strike. The 6am bus didn’t go but an adventurous bus driver pulled up at 645 for another town. I jumped on board to take my chances. We were stopped outside the city of Santiago by angry bus drivers. I took a taxi to the train station for the last 10km. Later i learned that the police escorted the bus further on.
My brilliant plan came to a crashing halt when i was informed that all trains were full and that I would not be able to get to the other town to use my ticket. I ended up losing out on 150 Euros worth of train / plane tickets.
While I am scheming, a young Italian man with a heavy set brow and a beard that would make any Hipster jealous approached and asked for a Euro for the train. I decided to give him one and even though he tried he didn’t have enough money for the train. We chatted a bit and he asked if I wanted to go for lunch. I wondered where we would go as he lead me down the streets of Santiago de Compostela. “Had I not just given him a Euro?”
We ended up at the Catholic Charity and we both enjoyed a lovely lunch from the workers at the soup kitchen. Here I was down on my luck and hanging out with the rest of the down-and-outers of Santiago. We were both full after this meal of 0.80 Eu and decided to walk to the library so i could finish planning my trip. En route we bumped into another Italian, one Lorenzo. He was also a homeless, vagrant sort. This dreaded fellow had lived in Santiago for well over a year not having worked much and enjoying a different sort of lifestyle. He gave me tips of where to find good sleeping spots for free. I took note and gave my regards to him and his girlfriend.
I headed back to the soup kitchen for dinner. A part of me felt guilty for this, as though i was taking away from those in need; however, the italians convinced me otherwise. There is always enough food to go around they tell me. Besides I was down on my luck. I went to the soup kitchen alone and had more time to observe. I saw a mentally ill man who is yelling out in the cafeteria area. A cook comes up to him and just puts her hand on his shoulder and comforts him. Another man walked in late and rushed to eat his meal. A helper, whose smile was large enough to comfort the loneliest of hearts, turned to him and said, “hi man, it’s ok. Take your time. Enjoy!” I put my fork down and just absorbed the beauty of the scenes unfolding.
There are those moments when one can feel deeply connected to the divine. They appear in simplest of ways and are so easy to miss. As I walked away from the dinner with the weak and broken I felt so grateful for the love and connection I witnessed around me. Everything happened in slow motion in those moments. The smile of a girl passing in the street. The wonder of a child chasing a pigeon from a statue. The presence of those moments cannot be described but only experienced.
As darkness fell over the day I went in search of my park to rest my body for the night. In my distraction I stepped in a pile of dog poop. I waited around hoping the Spanish folks would stop walking around so i could set up a stealth campsite. No such luck with the late night loving Spanish. I decided it was high time to catch some sleep and so at midnight i nestled into my sleeping bag at midnight. I was just about to fall asleep when I heard a noise and two seconds later I was wide awake. The sprinkler system (robust/powerful) turned on and I was up and throwing my earthly possessions as far away as I could.
I stood there beside a little bridge dripping and wondering what to do, when to my amazement Lorenzo, my italian vagabond, showed up. He told me i could come up to his camp and spend the night there but to be careful. His camp neighbour was unpredictable. I decided to take the the chance and followed him and his girlfriend. Along the way we stopped at the recycling bin and picked up a nice piece of cardboard. I carried it to their camp on the hill overlooking the cathedral and old town Santiago.
As we strolled up his neighbour came out of the tent in some tight green underwear. He grilled us with questions and seemed on edge. He calmed down after he realized i would be gone in the morning. I laid down my bedding and smiled as i looked up at the stars. This was my first night sleeping on a flattened cardboard box. Lorenzo and his girlfriend chatted for a while. I fell asleep by 1am and was awakened by their chatting at 5am or so. I wondered what he all had to say. He told me he was working on book.
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| Campsite |
We parted ways and when i asked for a photo he told me that he doesn’t let folks take pictures of him. I was happy to be on my way but I was also touched by the kindness of Lorenzo. He did seek to help me out and asked for nothing in return. He made me think more about the subject of generosity and what it means to give expecting nothing in return.
On the train I thought about the idea of taking. It seemed that him and the other Italian relied heavily on the generosity of others. Could they not work for pay to help contribute? Did they have a mental illness i couldn’t pick out? Was it lack of opportunity they experienced in life or were they shirking responsibility?
I arrived in Irun twelve hours later and happened to find myself walking down the road with marching bands 120 persons strong. Flutes, snare drums, larger bass drums. The basque spirit was strong and because it was a whole week of festivities i spent another day enjoying the Spring Equinox Festival. Lots of fireworks being shot around at kids and even some youth climbed the waxed pole at a chance to snatch the money bags at the top.
A fine marching band.
Fireworks
A fascinating two days in Spain!
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