Dispatches Del Camino
Things I’ve seen in Spain.
Little children, deviceless in public, making blatant eye contact with adults, behaving ten years more mature than their age.
Pilgramage
Dispatches Del Camino
I have learned that everyone walks the Camino for a reason. This is my second Camino, and thus far I have not met anyone who approaches this 1,500-year-old path without a spiritual and emotional objective.
The reasons are not always clear. Sometimes the reasons are even unclear to the person walking. But the reasons are there. They walk so they can find something. Something unnameable.
Dispatches Del Camino
The village of Tineo is bathed in thick morning fog. The impenetrable miasma is smothering the Sierra de Tineo mountains like a damp dishrag.
The miasma is really spectacular. I have always wanted to use the word “miasma.” But I’ve never had a reason to use it until now. I’ve gone for many, many years with a burning passion to use this word, just like actual authors do in actual classic literature, but alas, I’ve never had the opportunity. Until today. But now that I’ve used “miasma,” I don’t feel any elation inside. In fact, I feel nothing. It was not the exuberant vocabularial experience I was hoping for.
Dispatches Del Camino
“Take time, pilgrim,” the old Frenchman said. “Take time to stop and smell every flower, not just some of them.”
He was old. If not in body, in soul. What little bit of white hair he once possessed had vanished. So had some of his teeth.