Category: Life and Living

Part 44:  The Simple Pleasure of a Simple Day

Posted on by Pete Schloss

 

May 19, 2013. Eirexe to O Coto. 16km

A day may be measured in seconds, minutes, and hours. Arbitrary divisions imposed by our ancestors. It may be measured by the spinning of our Earth before the Star which holds us in its grasp. It is a near endless dance imposed upon us by the celestial heavens. Precise measurements in each case, capable of being quantified and clearly expressed.

A day may also be cherished for the joy that it brought. Incapable of measurement and escaping quantification, except for the breadth of a smile, the gleam in one’s eye, and the warmth given to the Spirit. Today was such a day, a day of awareness preserved in the moments captured through the lens of this pilgrim’s camera.

Rays of the early morning sun broke through the canopy of trees that extended their branches from both sides of a country lane. Two women walked, bonded in friendship, one my wife. We set out from Eirexe for O Coto.

How can one not beam at the unexpected comedy of huge “ants” working in a garden at the side of the road. This was the albergue, A Paso de Formiga (“Pass of the Ants”), located at the tiny village of Portos.

Onward we walked with lingering smiles as we came to the hamlet of Lestedo. The skies opened for us in glory as we looked upon the simple 16th Century church, Santiago de Lestedo. A softer and more contemplative smile seemed appropriate.

Worn farm paths and ancient dry-stack walls declared the claims of generations of farmers to the land. We do not own the land, rather we are but caretakers of this world that will long outlive our kind.

A building moans its sad story with broken windows and moss-covered veneer. It also speaks to keep us on the road to Santiago with a freshly painted arrow.

I am reminded of a poem that my father often recited to me as a child as we drove or walked past some lonely forgotten house. “The House With Nobody In It”, by Joyce Kilmer:

“Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I’ve passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.

I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;
That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.
I know this house isn’t haunted, and I wish it were, I do;
For it wouldn’t be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.

This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass,
And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.
It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied;
But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside.

If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid
I’d put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.
I’d buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be
And I’d find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free.

Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door,
Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.
But there’s nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone
For the lack of something within it that it has never known.

But a house that has done what a house should do, a house that has sheltered life,
That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,
A house that has echoed a baby’s laugh and held up his stumbling feet,
Is the saddest sight, when it’s left alone, that ever your eyes could meet.

So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,
Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,
For I can’t help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.”

Onward. Still we walked in the embrace of nature’s magnificent arbor.

It was a grand morning for all, save perhaps for a couple of creation’s children.

Eerily, just beyond as if to mourn the fate of those two, a fountain.

66km to Santiago. At the marker were three “lost soles”, deserving of a quiet laugh.

Our journey took us from the countryside through the sizable community of Palas do Rei (“Palace of the King”, pop. 4,500). The town, proud of its association with the Camino, exclaims the honor in the stones beneath our feet.

We happened upon a busy market and lingered long enough for a small boy to find fascination in Christine’s “grandmother hair” and her cowboy hat. This was joy incarnate for the two separated by culture, language, and age, briefly brought together for a moment of life.

Again, the day spoke to us in an image of confirmation.

Through Palas do Rei and across the busy N-547, Santiago now 65km by car, we entered the peace of a wetland forest.

Pilgrims, long forgotten but for their efforts, had placed stones to ease the way for future Peregrinos. Walking with dry feet is a “simple pleasure”.

Of course there were horreos. This was Galicia.

At the village of San Xulian (“St. Julian”) we passed the tiny 12th Century Romanesque church of the same name.

By afternoon we had been given a collage of sights, sounds, and smells of the earth. It was a grand three dimensional movie that played upon the cinema of the heart.

Finally, we came to O Coto and a large country house, “Die Zwei Deutsch” (“The Two Germans”) run, not surprisingly, by two Germans.

It was pleasant, clean, and quiet. Too quiet. Pent-up joy needed an outlet, a time to share and cherish the day.

After securing our rooms and taking a quick wash, we again wandered across the busy N-547 to the delightful bar and gardens of Casa de los Somoza. Christine was greeted like a long lost friend by the owner and his “best friend”.

We welcomed another pilgrim to our table and toasted a day well lived.

To quote Benjamin Franklin, “Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy!”  To which I will add:
Peace Everyone, and Buen Camino. Pete

Part 43:  The Pied Piper of Portomarin

Posted on by Pete Schloss

 

May 18, 2013. Portomarin to Eirexe

In 1958 a six year old boy sat cross-leg on the carpeted floor of his home, transfixed before a small-screen black and white console television. Haunting music played, composed by Norwegian Edvard Grieg (1843-1907), “In the Hall of the Mountain King” (from Peer Gynt Suite #1 Op. 46). The dashing American actor, Van Johnson (1916-2008) starred, dressed in medieval huntsman attire much in the fashion of Robin Hood of Locksley. Magic flute to his lips, his hypnotic melody drew thousands of rats from their hidden lairs. Down the avenues of the village of Hamelin they ran, out upon the town’s wharf where the rodents mindlessly cast themselves into the harbor waters and oblivion.

You might wonder what this has to do with our departure on May 18th from Portomarin, bound 17km for Eirexe. That  six year old boy was me. The image and music of that movie, so powerfully retained in my memory, was shaken into the present by the images I beheld that morning as we left Portomarin.

Peregrinos are not rats, and thankfully there was a bridge across the Belesar Reservoir, so no pilgrims were lost to its waters.

Each of us awoke that morning, responding to a call. It was not the call of a mysterious flautist, but rather it was the call of Santiago, 93km in the distance.

Our path that morning took us through lush woodlands.

We strolled down ancient stone walled lanes,

and past the occasional “horreo”, elevated grain storage structures designed to discourage thieving rodents. There was no Pied Piper otherwise available for duty. This one stone horreo, likely hundreds of years old, is located in the tiny village of Toxibo. It is in a state of excellent preservation. Note the decorative (and functional) rosette along with the cross and finial at opposite ends.

We passed through a few more minuscule settlements, Ventas de Naron being notable as the site of a historic and bloody 9th Century battle between the Christians and Moors. The Christians prevailed. Around the same time that the battle was fought, the bones of Santiago were said to have been discovered and the Camino was thus born.

Further down the road a surprise “pop-up” hailstorm made for some lively moments.

Nearing our destination for the day we came upon the remarkable 17th Century stone cross, “Cruceiro de Lameiros”. On one side is displayed the crucifixion of Christ and at the base a skull and crossbones.

On the opposite side the “Virgen de los Dolores” (Virgin of Sorrows) is carved and at the base on that side nails, a hammer, tongs, and a ladder are depicted, all symbols of Christ’s removal from the cross.

Another stone cross, this one atop a stone wall, marks the location of an ancient pilgrim cemetery.

Christine, Kris Ashton, and I chose Pension Eirexe for our lodging that night. This well appointed private facility had a room for 4, featuring two bunkbeds and a private bathroom with shower. The room was reserved for use by pilgrims. We decided to preserve some privacy by sharing the cost of securing the empty 4th bed.

A nice dinner, some wine, welcome companionship and hot showers closed out the day for each of us. I climbed up into one of the top bunks where I lay awake staring at the ceiling.

At 12:29 a.m. I wrote the following:

“Sleep is elusive tonight. The Camino is life compressed. Deep friendships that are forged upon the path may last but a day. I share The Way with countless pilgrims. Mostly we are unaffected by one another, barely aware of those like-minded souls who are seen within the horizon of a moment. Beyond that horizon of place and time are those born to the Camino a day, a lifetime,  or centuries before my first steps toward Santiago.

I am only a few days from the completion of this Journey. Past tense, which has been unconsciously creeping into conversations among Peregrinos, now becomes noticed. This is my 35th day on the Camino. The Camino carries each of us. Each step has become intensely personal, moving each pilgrim along with a few grains of sand. Grains of sand which have been moved countless times and which will again be moved by the millions of Pilgrims who follow. Over the course of a thousand years the accumulated result is a track worn deep enough that the trail creases the land, in places it is a trench that conceals those who walk within it.

A Peregrino friend, who has now returned to her home in the Netherlands, encouraged me to occasionally stop and look back to see where I have been. She explained that where you have been often looks different when viewed from where you now are. It is that way tonight. The excited optimism of earlier days is now colored by my reflections in the rear view mirror of this Journey. This is day 35 on my Camino, and year 61 of my life.

1:40 am. The Camino is life compressed.”

Peace Everyone, and Buen Camino. Pete

           

 

Part 42:  Portomarin, Keeping Its Head Above Water

Posted on by Pete Schloss

 

May 17, 2013. Barbadelo to Portomarin

The rain of May 16th continued into the 17th, thankfully with less energy. 18km separated us from our destination for the day, Portomarin. This was our 35th day on the Camino. We had whittled down 820km to just over 100km, one day and one step at a time. Our arrival day in Santiago looked to be May 22nd, only 5 more days.

First about our goal for the day, Portomarin:

With fewer than 2,000 inhabitants the town is certainly not a tourist destination. Yet, it has held a prominent place with pilgrims as an important waypoint since the inception of the Camino. It was founded in ancient times at the site of a 2nd Century Roman bridge that crossed the 340 km long Mino River. The “old” Portomarin featured the imposing 12th Century Romanesque church of San Nicolas, also called the church of San Xoan de Portomarin due to its association with the Knights of St. John. There were also the 10th Century Capela de San Pedro (Chapel of St. Peter), and the 52 “Spanish Steps” that were once part of the original Roman bridge that crossed the river to the village. These images are from the 1950’s.

In the 1950’s  Spain’s Francisco Franco sought to build a hydro-electric generating facility by erecting a dam 40km downstream from Portomarin. In 1963 the Belesar Reservoir project was established, threatening to submerge the entire community of Portomarin beneath the reservoir’s rising waters.

The townspeople responded by moving the two churches, the “Spanish Steps”, the main elements of the town square, and other selected historical buildings from their original locations to the bluffs overlooking the river valley. Stone by stone these buildings were disassembled, the stones numbered and transported up the hill where they were painstakingly re-assembled as part of the “new” Portomarin.

The waters of the reservoir are subject to significant changes of depth due to drought and drawdown of the impoundment for the generation of electricity. At times the level is so low as to reveal the old bridge and remnants of  the “old town”, a virtual Atlantis that can be explored with wonder.

Back to our day on the Camino:

There was some regret that we had to leave the very pleasant confines of Casa Barbadelo. More an economy resort than albergue, we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and a departure that was later than allowed by most albergues. In spite of the light rain, our spirits were high.

Before leaving the tiny village we stopped to stroll through the 12th Century Romanesque church of Santiago de Barbadelo and its adjoining cemetery. This national historical monument was once the site of two monasteries that date to the 10th Century. Only traces of the monasteries remain.

While some humans may find the dampness of Galicia annoying, the flora and fauna flourish in the frequent rains. The change of climate is the result of the prevailing winds that have crossed the Atlantic Ocean. These breezes have absorbed moisture for thousands of miles only to release their damp burden in the lush green mountains of Galicia.

About an hour out of Barbadelo we came upon an interesting fountain surrounded by a wrought iron fence which was decorated with sculptures of scallop shells.

What drew my eye was an odd cartoonish creation that seemed to be a caricature of a Peregrino. I had seen this same “mascot” on other occasions. This one discharged water from its “mouth” into the large basin, being the worse for wear as algae beneath the spout gave the impression of green vomit.

This Camino ”mascot”, known affectionately by some and derisively by others as “Pelegrin” was created in 1993 as a modern commercial promotion of the Camino during that Holy Year. Designer Luis Carballo sought to use simple cubist shapes to make an image that he hoped would become long associated with the Pilgrimage.

This was much in keeping with similar cartoon “mascots” of the time, most notably “Curro of Expo 92 in Seville,

and Cobi, mascot of the 1992 Barcelona Olympics.

Pelegrin’s image could be found on t-shirts, caps, and a wide assortment of Camino souvenirs. Trying to further capitalize on this short-lived success, other “mascots” followed. There was Alberte Permuy’s “Xubi”, an odd multi-colored integration of a walking staff and gourd, conventional symbols of St. James and the Camino.

“Pingrino” was created in 2010 by Javier Iglesias as a cute penguin outfitted in Peregrino regalia.

Of course, how could Camino promoters possibly fail to bring COVID-19 into a memorable design.

I am left to wonder why the Camino, already rich with well-known images of Santiago, yellow arrows, and scallop shells, just to name a few, needed a cartoon mascot. Creations based upon other poplar images, not to mention human ones, already abound.

On our way to Portomarin we crossed the “magic” 100km countdown to Santiago. This would have been an excellent place for a celebration, but after a picture we soldiered on.

Beginning at Sarria, the path of the Camino acquired a significant influx of new Peregrinos. Many of these pilgrims new to the journey were easy to identify. Among the “tells” were items not often seen over the preceding 700 kilometers: blue jeans, tennis shoes, makeup, and clean clothes, just to name a few.

Tour buses also became prominent. On occasion we would observe these buses stop in a town, disgorge a score of passengers who then would charge into churches, restaurants, cafés, or government buildings in search of a stamp for their credencial. Once obtained they would stampede back to the bus which then headed down the road for their next scavenger hunt destination and “stamp”. As the black diesel smoke cleared I was left to wonder if any of those “busagrinos” would seek a Compostela in Santiago. Not my problem, not my concern.

As we neared Portomarin the Belesar Reservoir first came into view, followed by the town on the opposite side from us.

The reservoir was near capacity. Images seen of the bridge at low water in the years that followed were eye-opening.

Notice the old bridge at the base of the new one. 

The long walk on the bridge above the water led to the “Spanish Steps”, a tough climb at the end of a long day.

We walked through the center of town, taking in the restored business district and fortress like church of San Nicholas. The church was not open. The interior image is courtesy of the internet.

Our accommodations for the night were at El Caminante Pension, a private Albergue that featured “Pelegrin” on its marque.

It had an excellent restaurant and bar. It was our good fortune to be joined at table by other Camino friends for a dinner selected from the special Pilgrim’s Menu.

Typically, “pilgrim’s menus” provided a salad course, main course with protein and vegetable, and a dessert for around 10€ per person. Also included for the price was a choice of either bottled water or wine. Over the weeks that we walked I can’t recall anyone opting for water, nor do I recall the flow of wine ever ending before it was time to leave the table.

Best of all, our room provided exceptional evening and nighttime views of the village.

With only 92km separating us from Santiago de Compostela, a shadow of sadness began to cast upon my thoughts. Why must all good things come to an end?

Peace Everyone, and of course Buen Camino! Pete

Part 41:  The Alchemist

Posted on by Pete Schloss

 

May 16, 2013. Albergue El Beso Ecologico to Barbadelo

May 15th had opened to heavy frost, fog, and freezing temperatures.  So what’s the problem with a little rain falling on the morning of the 16th? Nothing, provided it is just a “little rain”. It was not. We opened the door of Albergue to a torrential downpour. Stephanie, Kris, Christine and I put our heads together and made a plan.

We were 132km from Santiago with Sarria 17km ahead. Sarria, a town of 15,000, is the most popular starting point on the French Route of the Camino. 2019 was a record year with over 350,000 Peregrinos obtaining certificates of completion (Compostela) in Santiago. Of the 60,000 pilgrims who started 830km away in St. Jean Pied-de-Port (France), 35,000 completed the journey. A whopping 96,124 who started in Sarria in 2019 received Compostelas.  

Sarria is 115km from Santiago, it is a major transportation center, and has dozens of lodging options for the throngs of pilgrims who choose to overnight or begin their Camino there. It is also beyond the 100km minimum radius journey to Santiago necessary to earn a Compostela. It was NOT the place we wished to spend the night.

A little over 4km beyond Sarria is the tiny village of Barbadelo. At 110 km from Santiago Christine could transport there, taking Kris’ backpack with her, secure lodgings for us, and still qualify for the Compostela by walking the remainder of the way to Santiago. With four lodging options and located so close to Sarria, we concluded that there was a high likelihood Christine would find us beds there. Furthermore, her recent bout with pneumonia was a strong incentive for her not to walk 21km in the driving rain. Our hosts at El Beso called a cab for Christine and the rest of us were off on foot.

A little more than a kilometer down the mud sodden path we came upon a rest area shared by a roadway. There was an unusual fountain with a large decorative scallop shell worthy of  pictures in spite of the risk the rain posed to my camera.

Rain militated against my usual quantity of pictures. However, what I lacked in quantity I made up in quality, preserving enough images to shore up memories of a beautiful (wet!) countryside.

The closer we drew to Santiago the deeper the trodden paths became. At times it felt like we were walking in World War I trenches. Rain enhanced the impression.

We had read that about a quarter-mile off the Camino, near the hamlet of Fontearcuda, was a peculiar sort of place run by an equally peculiar man. Kris and I decided to satisfy our curiosity and take the detour. Stephanie continued on solo.

“Alquimia Mineral” (Mineral Alchemy) was a well-worn cottage complex located deep in a tangle of woods. The proprietor, Antonio Bello, was as unusual as his house. The place was a mixture of art gallery, studio, museum, workshop, and spiritual retreat.

Antonio was its proud proprietor. He presented himself as part mystic, alchemist,  artist, philosopher, and as an entirely gentle soul.

 

He was 68 years old and had spent the last 30 years at his “House of the Alchemist”. A few years earlier the Camino had passed directly in front of the entrance of his compound, an inviting stop for Peregrinos on their way to Santiago. However, a subsequent modification to the route meant fewer but more dedicated visitors for him. We counted ourselves fortunate to be counted among them.

At the end of a well spent hour Kris Ashton and I continued through the countryside, on through Sarria, and on to Barbadelo.

In my haste, and again with deference to the elements, I took no pictures as we quickly made our wet and unpleasant way through Sarria.

Christine had four lodging options to explore in Barbadelo (pop. 176). Her first choice was a private Albergue, Casa Barbadelo. Fortunately, they not only had room, but a private room for 4, with bath. The cost was 20€ per person. Believing there would be 4 of us, Christine reserved the entire room. However, we never encountered Stephanie the rest of that day.

Casa Barbadelo had opened in 2011 and was more like a resort than a typical Albergue. A swimming pool was even under construction. The three of us enjoyed the well-appointed bar and restaurant. Best of all, Kris and I were able to change out of our soaked clothes and into dry ones.

The three of us found that we enjoyed each other’s company so much that without a word spoken it was just assumed that we would continue on to Santiago together.

Eight years later and the strength and depth of that friendship remains unabated. Kris and her husband, Dennis, were frequent visitors to our home in Kansas City, and we to their home in Colorado.

In the years that followed Kris’ 2013 Camino (her first), she became a “Peregrino’s Peregrino”. She has walked 10 Caminos, 7 which she organized and led for groups from Colorado. She has also acted as a volunteer Hospitalero. Kris joined us in piloting a canal boat in England and Wales (2019) and spent time staying with us hiking in Colorado just days before I sat down to type this post.

Tragically, Dennis fell to his death in a 2018 hiking accident while he and Kris were in Scotland.

There are many gifts of the Camino. Perhaps the greatest among them are the enduring friendships.
Peace Everyone. And of course, Buen Camino! Pete

PS. Antonio Bello, “The Alchemist”, suffered a heart attack a few years after our 2013 visit. His son, Armiche, moved in to help his disabled father, and also learn the art of “alchemy” from the master. In the few years that followed, father and son sought out minerals of various kinds, colors, and composition. As Antonio had done for decades, Armiche pounded and pulverized the minerals, creating paints and applications, transforming the raw materials into beautiful artistic creations. Armiche, the “New Alchemist”, is also sought out for his talents in the areas of guided meditation and alternative medicine. Antonio passed away in January of 2019.

 

Part 40:  The 900 Year Old Tree and an 800 Year Old Albergue

Posted on by Pete Schloss

 

May 15, 2013. Alto do Poio to Albergue El Beso Ecologico

How different can two days be! On May 14th we had gloried above the clouds at O Cebreiro, walked under clear blue skies, and relaxed with beers in hand outside our hostel.

At 7 a.m. on May 15th we walked out the door of Hostal Santa Maria do Poio and into an arctic freezer! It was bone chilling cold. Christine had prudently bundled at the urging of our host, but I let optimism sway me and continued wearing shorts.

Looking back on my pictures I see that I had gloves on, but Christine did not. Chivalry had apparently given way that morning to the demands of shivering.

This would be a relatively short day of 15km. Thankfully, it was all downhill to Triacastela, a pleasant descent of 2,150 feet into warmer daytime temperatures.

There was little of special interest those first 13km on to Triacastela except a pleasant country path, the small chapel of San Pedro at Biduedo, and a few cows that we had to make way for, all shared with my wife. In other words, those kilometers were full of what was special.

By noon we were well along the ancient woodland path that had been deeply worn down below the adjacent land, this the result of centuries of passage by countless pilgrims and livestock

Just before Triacastela  we came upon a huge, gnarled Chestnut tree. The “Chestnut Tree of Ramil” is legendary.

Scientists have estimated its age at nearly 900 years. When Aymeric Picaud, author of the Codex Calixtinus, walked the Camino in the 12th Century this tree would have cast its shade upon him. The circumference of its base is nearly 30 feet. A small signboard gave notice to pilgrims that this was a living thing to be marveled at.

My children and grandchildren know that I am fond of embracing the huge Oak trees of our neighborhood, I am a literal “tree-hugger”. There is something spiritual in feeling life that moves rhythmically through the seasons; solid, slow, and very old. If trees were conscious of us we would be but passing wisps of smoke, except when we take them down for our own purposes.

There is an excellent children’s book, “The Giving Tree” by Shel Silverstein, that may be read as a metaphor with a very adult lesson. “…and she (the tree) loved a little boy very, very much, even more than she loved herself.” Spiritual? Perhaps. Controversial? Some reviewers assert that the relationship between the boy and the tree is abusive rather than loving. Draw  your own conclusions.

It is a book best read to a child by an adult who loves that child. The challenge arises in moving the final words to one’s lips, past a lump in one’s throat.

Triacastela (pop. 665) gets its name from the three castles that once stood here at the time the town was sacked by Norman invaders around the year 968. It is mentioned in the Codex Calixtinus and has remained an important waypoint on the Camino. A significant amount of material used in the construction of the Santiago Cathedral was sourced here.

As we entered the town we saw four pilgrims ahead in the distance. Seeing us, two turned and rapidly jogged back toward us, the other two stopping on the road. It was our Camino friends,  Kris Ashton and the German pilgrim Stephanie Setz. With tears of joy, Christine and Kris embraced. Ahead were our Canadian pilgrim friends Les and Mary Virtue. The six of us joined for a rest and refreshments, the women posing for a picture.

Kris told us of an unusual albergue that she had heard of. It was about 2km ahead and was the day’s intended destination for her and Stephanie. They urged us to join them. Les and Mary would continue on their own way. With a steep climb ahead and no other lodging options for another 8km the decision to join Kris and Stephanie was gratefully made.

In 2011 two Peregrinos, Jessica from Italy, and Marijn from the Netherlands, met on the Camino and fell in love. They fell in love with each other and with the Camino, deciding to make a life with each other on “The Way”.

They began a search for a suitable place to open their own albergue. Their funds were limited but it seemed that their energy was boundless. In 2012 they found a wreck of an ancient farmhouse that had not been occupied for 40 years. Parts of the house were said to be 800 years old and looked it.

Their vision was to open a unique albergue that focused on delivering an “ecological experience” to pilgrims. Thus El Beso Ecologico (“The Ecological Kiss”) was born.

The couple, acting as hospitaleros, provided clean but sparse accommodations. A common room, heated by an ancient iron stove provided a place to gather and relax.

Jessica prepared a strictly vegan communal dinner and breakfast.

The unheated sleeping dormitory adjoined the communal room and drew minimal heat from the iron stove. Two toilets and a shower served the needs of up to 10 pilgrims. There were but 4 of us staying that night.

The couple proudly showed us their ongoing restoration project and what lay ahead. They provided the labor, supplemented occasionally by pilgrim volunteers. They also shared that they were expecting a child.  

In writing this post I became curious about how the couple had done over the last 8 years. The internet provided answers and images. El Beso continued operations until suspended by COVID in 2020. During the closing the couple undertook to expand the facilities.

Their Facebook page gives insight into their efforts to improve upon their 10 year vision… and they are proud parents of an 8 year old boy. However a recent Facebook post shows that El Beso is now for sale, “The albergue is for sale. After many years of enjoying and living on this beautiful spot on the Camino we decided to move on…”

This was not a stay for everyone. It was perhaps our coldest night sleeping during the entire journey. However, Jessica’s vegan culinary skills were exceptional, as was the company.

These were two of the most gracious, welcoming, and heartwarming hosts that we met on the Camino. We were treated more like friends and family than mere boarders passing through. I hope that in “moving on” they find that life rewards them with “El Beso” (The Kiss) of health and happiness.

Peace Everyone. And of course, Buen Camino! Pete