Two weeks tomorrow since I set off from good old Blighty to confront the big bad world of a long distance pilgrimage; time to reflect, perhaps?
So far, let´s see what automatically pops to mind. A philosophising Frenchman, check. A gang of sheep veering towards me like angry bulls trying to pierce a matador, check. Cold showers, a cyclist almost falling down the face of a mountain, a Norwegian pensioner sunbathing topless in a communal garden with schoolkids playing football next to her, and enough slices of chorizo to feed the entire Spanish army, not to mention other countless events I either can´t recall, or have intentionally forgotten for the aid of my sanity. CHECK, SI.
Yet yesterday was the first time I was even slightly touched by anything, and it was at the most unexpected moment with a deeply simple gesture. An old Spanish chap, hunchbacked over a cane, was hobbling around the hostel garden with a bag of cherries he´d just picked from his own tree. He didn´t want any money, or sexual favours; rather, it was a charitable gesture with absolutely nothing in store for him. The cynical side of my personality expects he popped to the Aldi round the corner and bought the fruit at a discount because it was going off, though that´s just pessimism speaking.
Though perhaps the highlight of yesterday evening was an evidently terrified Korean kid hiding under a garden table. What sort of rogue beast could render him so weak, you may ask... It was the smallest dog I´ve ever seen in my life; now obviously, as I´m not exactly a fan of pooches myself, I´m hardly in a position to criticise. But still, this thing made a butterfly look like a great white shark. I presume his timidity is due to the fact he´s more accustomed to seeing canines served on a plate, medium rare, with apples in their mouths.
Running out of time so will update further soon, till then, adios and other generic Spanish farewells I don´t know how to say.
Ciao x
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