Is that cow poop on your shorts?

I tucked a sprig of wild mint behind my ear as we walked through menthol scented forests of eucalyptus, their delicate thin white tree trunks stretching to the sky.  Hills taunted our stiff morning legs as my walking companion and I left San Vincente behind.  48 years old and a Highschool math teacher, my tall wiry French companion enjoyed a familiarity with his surroundings that astounded me. I scurried to collect as he used his walking stick to knock ruby red cherries from a farmers tree, and we howled with laughter when a passing Irishman (also a math teacher..) informed us that we were likely poisoning ourselves. The world was fresh and contained our breakfast. I watched amused as my companion touched, tasted, smelled.... Everything. And should we have paused when wiping cow poop off of the fruit we were about to consume...? Perhaps.

"Every thing is a surprise," my companion said as we stood on a cliffs edge, the sea crashing spectacularly a hundred feet below. The guide books said nothing of this spot, but 5km outside of Colombres we took a tiny path next to the ocean, and for those moments, the churning violent waters and jagged rocks belonged only to us.  

Saint James observed us close to the waters edge. "Do you see now why my boat crashed up in Finistere? These waters are wild!" I took a breathe of salt air, prepared to run from the approaching cows and smiled into the wind. 

We were four, walking into the silent town of Peduales, following rumors of an albergue with a communal dinner. Lucy and Manuela, both therapists working with children in France, had one week to wander before returning to work and their good humor spread as we walked through a tiny town exemplifying urban sprawl.  

"He washes and dries our clothes too?! We have arrived at Heaven's gate!!" I cringed as I handed foul smelling socks that could likely walk on their own to the proprietor of Albergue Aves de Paso. As I ate my delicious soup and pasta salad, I contemplated leaving my husband for this paragon of a man who washed my underwear and cooked me dinner. Our group of twenty pilgrims gathered gratefully around the table in a room with dark wooden ceiling beams and stone walls and we ate our flavorful soup while talking in five languages around full mouths. 

I creakily walked up the stairs to my bed after a long chat with an Australian family touring the world. Before tucking myself in to bed, Saint James whispered in my ear, "Jen, you really need to know the name of the man with whom you spent your entire day... Geez!"

"I know, I know! I'll sneak a peak at the registry before leaving tomorrow.. It would be too awkward to ask now!"

*****

"Tomorrow we walk through a town called Playa de Poo."  We all snickered.
"Well, I won't be swimming there!"