R and D

I caught my first glimpse in the bathroom mirror.  It was morning, and everyone was leaving,  it was essentially the "men's" restroom where I'd gone to use the toilet because there was still tp available (always in short supply.)  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a hat and dark clothing, for some reason making a snap judgment and thinking "Texas.  American."

Viana.  Invites me to dinner.  German women.  Poetry.

In Burgos, lying on a top bunk, agonizing over the pain in my feet (first blisters, and what blisters they were! Beginning of all of my leg issues.)  R walks cheerfully into the room, takes one look at me, and declares, "You look awful!  I'll go get you food for dinner." and tromps back out of the room.

One village further.  We stay the night, he is the last one up, group dinner, dogs, "Good mornin' America."

Hornillos, we split lunch.  Arroyo, I lose him.

In Hontanas, the two Spanish men buy me breakfast in the place with the wine pouring.  It is served on dirty plates, but we don't become ill.  I don't take a picture, the place later closes, though I think I meet him again in 2009, he gives me an apple, I sit out with him on street for hours and watch people wander past.

In Leon. On my third night, he shows up.

In Poblacion.  I make one more village, give D (the American) some stomach medicine, he's says "You can't rid of me that easy." as he books a room for the night, and I think, "Buddy, all I have to do is get on the next bus." Which I do, though not because of him.  Three days in Leon, and still, I never see him again.

My last view of R, I'm on a bus, and out of the window, I see him walking, with an older German woman, tall grasses on every side.  When I've been through here subsequently, I cannot find the place in my mind.  In Virgen del Camino, I see him sitting outside a cafe.  I don't go to talk to him, though I want to, because I am a social idiot.  The next evening in Orbigo, one of the Jewish dudes tells me R left and went back home or something.  Something about a bad tendon.  I never see him again.  I am unexpectedly heartbroken, he's a good 15 years younger than me, it was an impossible thing, or perhaps I made it so, always concerned about age differences, it haunts me for the rest of my trip, always a sadness lingering at the back of everything else.  Haunts me until 2007.  When I find myself back in Arroyo, not to spend the night, but to dine with them, and to rest in the shade for awhile.  J sings the Superman theme song, and salutes me as I heft my (too heavy) pack on and walk away: I really want a toilet.  J has photos from that night, photos of R.  Says he remembers me, I don't believe him, but he knows who I am talking about and shares the photos with me, from our time there.  I don't know why, but that is enough, and it heals something that was broken.

D tells me stories of a New Zealand woman.  In Cacabelos, sitting in an open restaurant, waiting for pizza, a woman walks in, plops herself down at my table and introduces herself, after days and stories, I meet A.  She is good for me, she doesn't give a shit about what people think about her, the American woman who keeps putting me in my place, has no use for her, either, but she dishes it right back.  Her bravery to be herself unapologetically is good for me. Also, when I run into her in Santiago, as I arrive into the city, I tell she and her friends of my "miracle" and her answer is, "Duh."  As in, yes, that was there all along, nice of you to finally see it.  It's not offensive.  It's comforting, I've been overwhelmed, and it was like a slap in the face to bring me back to reality.  Welcome to the neighborhood.

Dinner in Orbigo, the Jewish dudes convince me to stay.  I'm invited to dinner by the younger American girls, the older woman is upset with this, I go to the store she follows and keeps pulling things for me to buy to contribute (and I am the only one that knows enough Spanish.)  I make a composed salad, still during the meal, she alludes to me saying, "Those who didn't help with the meal, can do the dishes." And shit there are a lot of dishes.  While washing, one of the Jewish men (whom I assumed couldn't stand me, but I guess that's just the way he comes across), who she most definitely wasn't referring to, comes over and rinses and dries them for me.  She's just pulling a bitch move.  She likes men alright (except, interestingly, R, whom she thinks is a fraud, though, even if he is, he's not scamming anyone; and D.) But can't stand A, and can't stand me.  She likes younger people, whom she can be a mentor to, I suppose.  I suppose this makes me like A all the more.