#caminostories

[tadandmel]

Another sunrise, and I’ve yet to share the sea swallowing sunset of our arrival in Finisterre. I suspect other stories will wind their way out in their own time - although as the flow of our feet has slowed, the words have increased their pace.

We were up before the sun again, this time for the first transport other than our feet in 6 weeks. We sat on the wrong side of the bus for the view, but the right side to look out at just the moment a friend passed by on the sidewalk, of course - these connections, these threads, these moments, there have been so many, such beautiful examples of how connected we are.

It was surreal to travel in two hours a distance that took us 3 days to walk. Incredible to see other perspectives of the landscape that shifted so slowly under our feet. The gentleman behind me said “For such an ugly day, the view is spectacular, eh?” And I wondered, what is an ugly day? And now, we’re waiting to board a plane, which will take yet another two hours to cross a distance that would take at least another 45 days on foot. #TandMCamino #caminostories (at Faro de Finisterre)

[tadandmel]

From a stone steeple in a small town we walked by but not through, the bells stretched over the hills... Oh, it must be Sunday. Domingo. The wind stirred the pines behind me, and I stood in the closest place to church my heart knows, my feet on the dirt, the first view of the ocean to my left, alone except for my partner ahead on the way - feeling the many before who have walked this way, who have felt this peace, who have stood right here listening to the bells or the breeze, or both, full of wonder. #TandMCamino #caminostories (at Concello de Dumbría)

[michaelgeorgephoto]

Jack & Thomas

When Jack strolled into dinner in Saint-Georges seminary I could tell by his beard and dark skin that he had been walking for a long, long time. Three months actually. All the way from his home in Holland. Outside the window his dog was barking and kept jumping up to get a glimpse inside. "His name is Thomas. Named because he always doubts that I will be coming back for him."

After dinner Jack showed me that he and Thomas were staying in the Seminary's garden. They were the only ones camping that night so he had the entire mountain-side view to himself. Before the Camino Jack was used to approaching farmer's homes and asking strangers to sleep in their yard. Often he would be invited inside and despite never planning anything he had survived just fine for the past 90 days.

"Thomas had a hard time the first month, but since then he has been just fine."

I think you can easily tell when a dog is happy. Thomas is ecstatic almost all of the time. He is rarely on a leash and often rolls in the grass before jumping up, wagging his tail, and nuzzling with anyone who decides to walk his way. I don't think I have seen an animal with such a lively personality in all my life.

Over the next few days I ran into Jack & Thomas over and over. Often I would see them from afar and as soon as I got close enough for Thomas to smell me he would come bounding my way.

Jack used to sell wine in Spain before he moved to Holland and worked as a gardener and an organ player. He left his jobs to walk for three quarters of a year and has no idea what he will be doing once he returns.

Whenever I asked him about that uncertainty, or what he does when it starts to rain (he has no tent) Jack would just smile and say "I don't see problems, only solutions."

Less than an hour later it started to rain and I thought about Jack and his clothes which were hanging to dry in the garden. A few hours later the clouds had passed and as the sun was shining I ran into him on the street wearing a freshly washed shirt. I guess he was right.