Butch Bites The Bullet

As with much in life, unless one is 100% committed to a task, it is likely to fail or, at worst, be a disappointment. I know that if asked 5 years ago whether he’d attempt to walk halfway across Spain, Butch would’ve said “NO!” Unequivocally. The only reason he did it was that Anna (his daughter) and I coerced him. Although I sensed his heart wasn't in it, he would give it his best shot. After all, we only had 3 days left to reach Santiago de Compostela.

On his last day of walking, we set off at a brisk pace. He’d spent the previous day in bed, recuperating from his overindulgence in paella after forgetting his prawn allergy. (Ten years later he’s forgotten he’s ever had a prawn allergy… Sangria does wonders to the memory)

While early-morning bakers, grocers and delivery men went about their tasks, we set off over the ancient Roman bridge across the quiet river, watching the sky turn the pinkest as the sun gently appeared. The silence was deafening, occasionally broken by the whirr of a bicycle or the start of an engine way down in the valley. Early mornings were the best time for farmers to get started on their daily chores, while bored farm animals kept a close watch on us as we passed by.

We’d be walking to Caldas de Reis along natural paths through forests and river valleys, occasionally crossing the railway line. Fortunately, there was plenty of shade and many water fountains to quench our thirst. We met friendly hikers along the way, and one even called us back as we trudged up a steep incline; we’d missed the way-mark.

This would be a gruelling day. Hot, hot, hot, according to my diary. Unless something changed drastically, I had to walk at a snail’s pace, which was a tall order, or Butch had to step it up, which would be too much to ask. We decided early on to part ways; he promised he’d ask strangers for assistance if needed. 

Easier said than done. Believe me. Imagine leaving the person you love to slog on, knowing full well they’re suffering terribly. He assured me he was a big boy and had managed for 67 years without help. With that in mind, I set off. I’d keep him in my thoughts and pray he’d make it to the next rest stop.

The Tabby cat following Lise, winding herself around her legs until she could walk no more and needed her ears stroked, certainly had to be our housecat, who always curled up on Lise's bed in the mornings, sunning herself in the warm winter sun.

It was Father’s Day! Although my dad was miles away, I felt his love and support, knowing he’d be up with the sparrows and that we’d be the first thing on his mind. I’m sure our feet would be foremost in his prayers as he prayed for our well-being and asked for travelling mercies. He knew where we were and would probably have the old map out, tracking our every step. How lucky am I to have a father who always had our best interests at heart, even in difficult times?

He loved us unconditionally, prayed for us every day, was kind and generous, and believed in us wholeheartedly, even when we flopped miserably. This dignified, reserved man is wise and patient, and when I’m at my wits’ end, he comes up with an answer to ease my fears. Our paterfamilias loves and nurtures my mother, cares for her, is gentle with her, and encourages her, even when she puts her foot down and refuses to go on.

He is an example and an inspiration to us. Many of us cannot grasp the concept of a Heavenly Father because of our skewed perspective on our earthly fathers, who often fail their children, their wives, and society. My brothers, our children, grandchildren and I are lucky to have him as our guide to living an exemplary life. He is a gentleman in the true sense of the word. These were my thoughts as I slogged on, inching my way to Caldas de Reis, our hotel and the hot water spa.

At 9 o’clock, the very hour my father would serve my mom (Sleeping Beauty) her tea in bed, Lise and I met up at the ever-popular Peregrino cafe to enjoy coffee and croissants and wait for Butch.

For much of the way, I was on my own, lost in my own thoughts. I must confess I worried a lot about Butch; it was hot, and I knew he was tiring. While walking along a gentle stream, shaded by the forest, I became aware of a tiny Robin.

She certainly had to make herself heard, as my mind was on other things. Once she had my attention, I was fascinated by her as she moved from shrub to shrub or hopped along the path in front of me. I managed to snap a few pictures of her as she hopped and jumped ahead of me, chirping incessantly! This was a poignant moment, as it reminded me of my Aunt and Godmother, Robin Robbins (believe it), who for many years lived in and loved the small fishing village of Cascais in Portugal. She lived to travel and would send us postcards from all over the world as she sailed on Mail ships, exploring exotic places, living an exciting, almost nomadic lifestyle, sipping champagne or gin-lime-soda, relishing life and never regretting a moment of it. I’m convinced it was her spirit accompanying me that day. (Now I have a Cape Robin who regularly visits me in my kitchen; I see the signs she’s left behind as I open the Granola jar, and a dropping sits atop it!)

Like a mirage, an oasis appeared before me. Opening its doors for the first time that day, a new bar/restaurant! I had visions of sitting there, catching up on messages on Wi-Fi while waiting for Butch. Lise had gone ahead; she had one thing on her mind: to wallow in the pool all day, she said; her gorgeously toned legs needed browning.

According to Garmin, our route was 23 km, of which I think I spent 3 km just pacing backwards and forwards, waiting for Butch! The new restaurant still hadn’t connected to Wi-Fi, so I had no way to contact him or Lise. After pacing for almost an hour, I was convinced he’d had a heart attack and was lying in a ditch somewhere, unable to speak, writhing in pain, with no one to comfort him in his last moments. I was wracked with guilt and worry, at my wits’ end. Finally, in desperation, I threw caution to the wind and fired up my SA mobile data to find Lise. To hell with the cost.

My SOS was answered almost immediately. I could relax! Both she and Butch were sipping long, cold drinks by the pool! “Relax, Mom!” I could’ve imploded, but I held my tongue in relief. He was safe. I later learned he hadn’t been well at all and might even have had a spell of hallucinating and experienced some memory loss!

He certainly had an Ah-Ha moment on his Camino. An angel had stopped by the roadside in an old grey Fiat, just sitting there, passing the time of day, when Butch stumbled out of the vineyard. Fortunately, he still had the presence of mind to ask the Angel whether he’d give him a lift to our hotel! I later learned he’d also asked two very kind, young and gorgeous American ladies for help. I think they spotted his rather natty Thai hat, a chick magnet of note. They’d hydrated him and encouraged him by accompanying him for a stretch.

I made it to our Hotel Balneario Acuna without a fuss. It was an old lady who’d had her heyday in the early 20th century, when dipping into the healing hot-water spas was the fashion. I needed to take to the waters, which I did without hesitation. Sheer bliss, staying under the hot-water fountain until my skin whitened and crinkled. Lunch would be under flowering mauve Wisteria vines, a simple, relaxed meal—our first.

Later that evening, we made our way to a riverside restaurant, where we met the kindly American ladies and their charming husbands. They were four friends all the way from Boston. To celebrate our day and the forthcoming walk to Padron, we enjoyed the acclaimed Padron Peppers, a traditional Tapas ingredient. Not hot enough for my crowd; they like red hot chilli peppers. 

The joy of hiking is that one's recuperation time is very quick; once one's got rid of the clobber, had a good, relaxing shower and a cold drink, one's ready to laugh and enjoy life again; one's memory of the trials and tribulations is short, as one is always eager to start a new adventure. Like childbirth, the joy far outweighs the agony, which is soon forgotten.

Butch refused to budge when we woke the next morning. He said he was going nowhere and would take the bus to Padron. No amount of coaxing would change his belligerent mind. In a sense, I was relieved. He is a big boy now, after all.

On our second-to-last day, Lise and I walked amiably together. Although her feet were still sore, we kept a steady pace. As the day grew hot and muggy, we tired and just slogged on, hardly enjoying the surrounding beauty. To add insult to injury, I misplaced my sunglasses, normally not an issue, but that day it floored me. I went into a sulk, very unlike me. I think I was preparing for our last days together and Lise’s imminent departure.

Looking back now, I regret my sombre mood, as Padron was a picturesque town. We welcomed our walk along the tree-covered promenade, where locals gather during the day and play traditional games after work when the day cools. I was amazed by the beautiful artwork dotted around the city, celebrating its citizens. We lined up with other Peregrinos at the Cathedral to collect our daily stamp and had time to reflect on the day in the cool stillness. Butch and I wandered around while Lise caught her breath and rested her weary legs.

photo id="43"]

Santiago was in our sights, and we had our game plan ready. Butch knew he’d had his moment with Angels; he wasn’t prepared to say another word. That would be going where angels fear to tread. As I write, recalling and editing the photographs, I choke up, the lump in my throat hard to swallow as tears burn behind my eyelids; I was happy then. Today, I'm sad it's all over.