Spicy Spaniards

“It must be the eyes,” Paul commented while shaking his head. “They look with those big brown eyes and the women just melt!” 

Along with our small group, there were approximately 40 other pilgrims walking our same stage each day. At first, we saw the other pilgrims as competition for beds, but eventually, many simply became friends. There was the Spanish father, Agustin, with flamboyantly curly hair and his beautiful 15 year old daughter whose shorts never quite reached below her bottom. There was the young smiling couple who in Paul’s words, must have had hand blisters from the constant hand holding. There was Emma the Brit walking with Spanish Marina, Polish Monica, and a horrible case of severe shin splints. There was Mihail the Bulgarian who had so far lost 20lbs while walking the camino. And then there were the Spanish men... Praise and glory be to God! There was the endlessly happy guitar player Esteve, There was the adorably emotional cop, Miguel (and anyone who know me, knows exactly how I feel about the incredibly fit and attractive Spanish police force...) There was Guillermo who despite our foul Spanish and his incomplete English, ALWAYS managed to communicate, there was Esteban who spoke rapid fire Spanish and when asked to slow down would actually speak faster and there were others that we camino ladies sighed over. 

Karin lit up whenever these lovely boys were around and Zuzana, a tall redhead from the Czech Republic, deserted us completely when they looked her way. Paul sighed and nodded knowingly. “Ah we are not young attractive single men, are we..?” 

Since I had a husband walking with me, my response to the Spaniard boys was, of course limited, but I will admit to a mild case whiplash whenever they walked by.  Ameya did not notice, nor complain as he was walking ahead with two beautifully fit Danish women. 

Walking with a husband certainly changes one’s Camino. I had spent the first half of my Camino on the North route, washing my clothes in sinks and sleeping in 5 euro rooms with countless other stinky pilgrims. I ate simply, enjoying albergue kitchens and I woke early, heading out the door by 7am. Upon the arrival of my husband, things changed, our average start time was between 8 and 9am, we stayed in private rooms, Ameya was always searching for washing machines and if one was not to be found, I would generally be washing his clothes in the sink as he had a late afternoon snore. He did not lighten my pack as promised, by carrying my camera or first aid kit or Don Quixote.  (which I was stamping alongside my pilgrim’s passport.)  And there were many mornings when he would wait for other pilgrims to walk ahead before sheepishly asking me to tie his shoes. But, to be honest, I quite liked the private rooms which were not that much more expensive, and I did not suffer as a result of using washing machines. However, ogling Spanish men is not advised when your husband is nearby. 

Eventually Ameya had to try an albergue, but my intent was not to start him off with an albergue complete with dirty floors, creaky beds, and one bathroom for all pilgrims. We had decided to follow our Catalonian savior, Judith, who had called ahead to reserve us beds in Lugo. After thirty pleasant pastoral kilometers, after multiple beers in the first bar in Lugo, complete with our Spanish friends, after walking up the hill to the city center, down the hill on the other side and nearly across the river, we arrived at our unkept albergue where we each took turns at 5 minute showers before all heading back up the hill to the city center for a large group dinner. 

Dinners in Spain are always long and complicated, but when picking a place for 15+, well...it could take days. Ameya, realizing that his hunger would only be fed when a restaurant was chosen, looked at the first menu in the town square and told Judith, “this is it.” As they decisively sat down at a long outdoor table, we followed without question. We had come out of the wilderness, the rugged wild mountains, and had eaten the same exact menu every night, which despite walking past field after field of prosperous vegetables, our menu lacked anything green. So, upon arrival in Lugo, I was thrilled to sit in front of a large plate of grilled vegetables flavored simply with balsamic vinegar, it almost made up for the filthy albergue. 

We talked long into the night, stretching dinner comfortably toward the third hour. Jan and Esteve, who were staying at a different (though possibly cleaner) place, joined our table after discovering that their albergue locked the door at 10pm. “It will be easy to climb through the window,” Jan said convincingly.  

That night, we poured ourselves into our beds, Paul, Dimitri (who would be catching a train early the next morning,) Ameya and myself in close proximity. Ameya fell asleep immediately as Karin quietly slipped into her bed after staying out for an extra drink. 

“There isn’t a chance that he could sleep on his side, is there?” Karin asked the darkened room. I sighed heavily, the sound blending with that of the jarring snores coming from Ameya’s bunk below. 

“Nope.”