Lise, My Camino Compañero

We have made it to Barcelos in one piece, a little bruised and battle-weary, but our spirits remain strong. We could lament the state of our toes until the cows come home, but we’re braver than that. We'll dust ourselves off and soldier on, drawing on the resilience that keeps us going.

I watch her sleep, always the sleep of the innocent, so quiet, not a snore, not a movement; she lies there, with only a gentle rise and fall of her chest visible, and I must really concentrate to see it. Her peaceful sleep reflects her inner calm, and I feel a deep connection to her serenity, which melts away all worries. To me, she is just beautiful. I smell her at the nape of her neck and give her butterfly kisses on her forehead. She has that childlike smell about her, warm and fuzzy. Her breath is sweet on my cheek. She does not budge. She is almost angelic. At 6’2”, that’s saying something!

While she slept, I pricked my blisters with a pin, dropped healing Tea Tree oil onto the open wounds, and silently hoped they’d heal soon. I wrote in my diary, “My pinky toe looks too awful; of course, I’ll lose the nail, and by the looks of things I might even have to consider amputation, but not today. Today I’ll take to the streets”.

Barcelos is a beautiful town with a large square, a magnificent cathedral, and the river, its lifeblood through the centuries. The gardens bordering the town square are magnificent; flowering plants, shrubs, and even potted vines in terracotta pots are on display, a celebration of summer. There is always a bell tolling the hour or half-hour.

While sitting with my morning coffee, I watched a Pilgrim stumble in; his exhaustion was palpable. The first thing he did was grope at his bootlaces and have them off in a matter of heartbeats. Poor thing. We’re all in the same boat. His boots look like mine!

Shoe shops are everywhere in Portugal, and they stock the cutest styles. I could stock up on a dozen pairs, but today we’re hunting for comfortable hiking shoes. I opt for the largest available pair, a men’s size 10. They look like boats, but on my feet, they feel like clouds! This is a slipper! We celebrate with a double scoop of gelato. Bliss!

We met a charming mother and her daughter from Johannesburg. As they shared stories of their Camino journey, they appreciated our shared experiences, fostering a sense of gratitude and closeness.

A special mass is held daily to bless and pray for the travelling mercies of pilgrims on their way to Santiago. The cool, quiet Santa Maria Maior Cathedral calls to us, welcoming pilgrims who've come from all over the world. A kindly lady met us at the door and handed out little cards with words of encouragement printed on them; we certainly needed that. The very handsome Franciscan monk asked me whether I was Charlize Theron’s mother! (the African connection) Oh, what a waste! He could be on the cover of GQ. The experience leaves me quite teary-eyed, yet rejuvenated and determined not to throw in the towel. How lucky was I to have one of my children sitting next to me. I didn't stop the tears; I couldn't, even if I tried.

It was at supper on our second evening that we got talking, a little about ourselves, opening up about things we wouldn’t normally discuss; we touched on painful times, sad times and joyful, fun times. We wondered about the reactions of those closest to us, how we disappointed them, how their reactions frequently surprised us, and how we unintentionally hurt them. We stumbled over the right words to express our inability to always talk about the things that worry and distress us.

It was then that you asked me why I avoid talking about certain subjects that concern you specifically. I replied that I didn’t have an opinion, as I don’t like making judgements without some knowledge of the subject; I prefer to be fair, but I could comment on my concerns, which I did. We put it to rest as we tucked into our delicious meal, and afterwards, as we strolled back to our hotel with ice cream cones. I hoped my response satisfied you; it was when you slipped your arm through mine and kissed the top of my head that I knew all was well. 

Occasionally, like last night at 3 am, when I woke missing you and found I ached where my womb should be, I thought I might’ve answered differently. But this morning, I read a poem (included below) that perfectly captures my feelings about you, the boys, my other girls, and most people I meet. I invite you to read it, reflect on it, and know that I adore you just as you are. You see, I know you’re all right; you are free.

---oOo---

“The Invitation

Written by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

I think the reality of being home has finally hit me, probably because I’ve been looking through our daily “selfies”. It’s only in retrospect that we see clearly. We had fun; we laughed a lot. My renditions of “Hello! It’s me” were atrocious, but you laughed as you shook your head and popped those plugs into your ears. I couldn’t have asked for a better travelling companion, and I will be forever grateful that you made so many sacrifices to accompany me, never baulking or criticising me. You were patient, kind, and uncomplaining, and it was fun to be with you. You are caring and compassionate, and I know your intentions are always good. 

It's always the little things we miss most. I loved shopping with you. I should've bought those Dior sunglasses. We could be gluttonous, and I could indulge in my cupcake without guilt. We spoke Afrikaans so no one would understand us, snoozed on the beach, soaked my feet in the bidet, listened to you chastise the slightly intoxicated man when we hired the bicycles, and watched you enjoy an apple cider or beer after a parching day. I love the way you laugh out loud, never mince your words, and never play the blame game. You're expressive and wear your heart on your sleeve. It was lovely waking up with you for three weeks. 

I might be risking my good standing now, but she's not all candy floss, sweetness and light; she can be moody, willful, opinionated, stubborn, and independent, and she's perfected the "dirty look". WW3 has nothing on her PMS! One can't get apples from pear trees now, can we? But we could, and we did shout YES! We did it, Lise. 

You're all grown up now, and I know and accept that your life is separate from mine; your heart is in another country, in another city, and you have a home, family, and a life far removed from mine. It's okay and as it should be.

When I’m old and grey, this adventure will be the one standout memory I’ll have, and I’ll savour it, sucking out all the marrow as I chew on that bone. My dream of spending my 60th Birthday with you was fulfilled in more ways than one. Thank you.