Revenge on the Camino Dos (eBook)

1

Agent Ward Crimmons leaned over in the chair and looked at the skin on the sides of his big and little toes. The blisters, no longer puffy with fluid, were starting to dry out. He had lost two days of walking because of his foolish oversight. After leaving Castrojeriz, he had enjoyed a pleasant walk in the Meseta to Frómista. The next morning, he saw dark clouds in the distance but believed rain was uncommon in this part of Spain during late summer. He followed the yellow arrows marking the Camino trail out of Frómista to his next destination of Carrión de Los Condes anticipating an overcast sky but dry conditions. He was wrong. By midmorning, he was walking in torrential rain. His poncho kept most of his body dry, but his feet got soaked. Other pilgrims had told him it seemed like walking on water during rainstorms in Spain. They were right. They had also advised him to change his socks after walking in the rain for a while. He should have taken that to heart.

The damage to his feet had already been done by the time he arrived in Carrión. He had booked a room at a restored old monastery. When he removed his shoes that afternoon, he discovered several large blisters on both feet. He needed to give them a rest before heading out again. So, he extended his reservation. Fortunately, the place he had chosen to stay was magnificent and offered laundry service. Dinners in the old restaurant with ceiling beams hued from Spanish oak hundreds of years before were simply magnificent, although the price of meals was far outside budgets of most pilgrims. His feet felt much better after the rest. He now worried that he had put on a few pounds eating heaping portions of roasted lamb at two consecutive dinners.

The stay gave him plenty of time to catch up with his two daughters in the States. Everything was okay with his older daughter Alison in Colorado, but Kerry, his younger daughter in Texas, advised him that she had filed for divorce from her husband. He felt bad about that. His three grandchildren had started a new school year. Both Alison’s children were now in high school, her daughter starting her junior year and her son his freshman year. Kerry’s son had entered the seventh grade. All were excellent students and athletes. Ward was amazed at how fast the years had passed. It seemed like yesterday that he was cradling them in his arms as babies.

Ward was now into his third week of walking the Camino. His next destination was the small village of Ledigos, about twelve miles away with a population counted in dozens. The path out of Carrión de los Condes was perfect, a nice wide asphalt farm road initially lined with trees. He heard many roosters crowing and a multitude of birds chirping as he walked out of the monastery. The sun was beginning to rise in a clear sky with scattered clouds in various shades of pink. He felt invigorated after the two days of rest, and by midmorning he had walked halfway to Ledigos. He noticed a makeshift café off into the trees to the right of the trail and walked over to get a snack. A young lady was inside making hot sandwiches to order. A stack of premade bocadillos sat at the side of the counter. He looked around and saw pilgrims munching on hamburgers and decided to order one himself. He had not had one since arriving in Spain. He found a vacant table under a tree and waited for his name to be called. He did not recognize any of the other pilgrims. His extended stay at the monastery had put him behind those pilgrims he had met after leaving Burgos. He smiled at some of the others as he waited for his order. He was surprised at how good the hamburger tasted.

An hour later, he was on his way again. It wasn’t long before trees that lined the trail disappeared, and he was walking on a path crossing open terrain as the sun was directly overhead. The last hour of walking showed him how hot the Meseta could become. He thought the temperature had topped a hundred. Thankfully, about two o’clock, he saw the tiny village of Ledigos in the distance where he had booked a room online in an albergue quite different than the monastery he left. It surprised him that there were three other albergues in the village. Together, they must provide the bulk of livelihood for the few dozen villagers, at least for those who were not farmers. On any given night outside winter months, the number of pilgrims overnighting far outnumbered residents. There was little else in the village, besides small houses, and a church on a hill towering high above. Yellow arrows on the single road through the village boldly marked the Camino. It would be hard for any pilgrim to get misoriented.

His room was clean and quite large, on the second floor of the albergue. There were forty or more others staying there, a few in private rooms like his but most in two bunkrooms. The cost of a bunk including dinner was twenty euros. His private room with bath was double that but worth it in his opinion. It overlooked a grassy patio surrounded by bedroom walls. Clothes lines were strung along one side with an assortment of pants, shirts, socks, and underwear pinned to wires. In a small alcove stood a single washer and dryer, not much opportunity for a dozen people to do laundry. There now were two baskets of clothes waiting their turn. It was not uncommon for people to wash their clothes in sinks and hang them wherever they could. Several pilgrims were sitting in chairs on the grass drinking beer and wine, probably waiting for machines to empty or their clothes to dry.

At seven sharp, Ward was waiting with several others to get into the dining room for a communal dinner. The proprietor had warned him it would fill early and there were few other places to eat in the village. He headed toward a table for four in the corner and sat down when three others asked if they could join him. Waitstaff were placing bottles of red wine on the tables, and everyone was filling their glasses. By the time food started arriving, the volume in the room was increasing. People were having fun talking to each other. It had become a little rowdy at a table to his right, where eight guys were sitting. They had been drinking together and laughing in the patio for over an hour before. The two women and man who joined Ward had not known each other before starting the Camino but had been walking together since Burgos. The women were from Spain and the man from Germany. All spoke English well but occasionally spoke back and forth to each other in Spanish. Ward could hear several other languages in the room and suspected that the three-dozen people came from ten or more countries. When he had been walking with his brother-in-law Martin a few weeks ago, they had eaten alone. This communal dining was a new experience for him.

Everyone had a choice of three entrees for three courses. Ward chose mixed salad, pasta Bolognese, and ice cream. The food was good, and by the time the ice cream came, his table was well into a third bottle of wine. The guys to the right were into more and still having fun. It was all included in the price of the meal, good not great wine perhaps but cheap for the proprietors, who filled the bottles nightly from large jugs in a back room.

He had met a charming couple from Switzerland at the monastery who now were sitting at a table by themselves in the middle of the room. Everyone was finishing up their deserts, and it had quieted a little when that couple surprised everyone by singing a Swiss song as they looked across the table at each other and held hands. It might have been a love song. Ward did not know. Their voices were beautiful. When they were done, the room erupted in applause and the happy couple smiled and clapped back.

After a brief pause, a guy in the group to the right, surprised everyone again by starting to sing “Yesterday” by the Beatles in another impressive voice. He had not completed the first verse before everyone in the room, including Ward, was singing along with him, people speaking different languages coming together to sing a song in English. When it was over, Ward shook his head in amazement, and again everyone shouted and clapped.

As it quieted once more, a young lady stood up from another table. By the looks of her wet curly hair, she had showered before coming to dinner without the benefit of a hair dryer. Her eyes widened as if she were looking for someone. She smiled and began loudly singing the Manfred Mann song from the sixties called “Do Wah Diddy Diddy,” her body rocking with the beat. She extended her arms as she sang and motioned with her palms for others to join in on the refrains. Everyone in the room started singing and clapping to the beat, some stood and danced. As she finished, the room erupted in laughter. The clapping and cheering echoed out of the albergue onto the streets of Ledigos.

Ward was still tapping his feet when he got back to his room. The evening had really bolstered his spirits after the horrific events in Burgos and his mishap with blisters. He loved the experience and so wished his deceased wife, Sofia, was with him to enjoy it as well. He could picture her smile. He knew she would have joined in and might have danced too. After the song, she would have laughed loudly. He especially missed that.

Ward closed the curtains and sat on the bed looking at the wall for a few minutes, deep in thought. He shook his head, sighed, reached for his phone, and dialed Martin.

“¿Que pasa, seńor Crimmons? Dónde estás, amigo?” his brother-in-law answered with an upbeat sound in his voice.

“I’m in Ledigos, a small place. Do you remember a group called Manfred Mann from the sixties?’

“Barely, Ward. It was older than both...