Act II begins

I awoke well rested, having secured a private room for around ten more euros than I’d pay to stay in the dorms.

I imagine the room as similar to the quarters of a monk or nun. Single bed. Bureau. Small writing desk. All made of wood. Given so many prior nights with shared shower and toilet facilities, the private bathroom feels like luxury. 

I slept well that night, which means I slept in, past sunrise. I’ve been sleeping best with the window open, the cool air providing refreshing ventilation and temperature moderation. In a group setting, the warm blooded seem to consistently win the window battle, meaning I suffer in sweat through the night. In my private room, there’s no contest. 

I awoke to the sound of a guitar playing down below at the street level. It was Arthur, a French pilgrim traveling the Camino with his great-uncle and aunt. He’s an offshore wind turbine engineer who was living in Boston but recently lost his job due to energy policy changes in the U.S.  

I gathered my belongings, packed my bag, and went downstairs for a modest breakfast before heading out into the daylight, leaving at roughly the same time as Lizzie from Amsterdam.

We both commented how strange it was to begin walking in the light. 

While we both began the day ready for some thinking time (Lizzie said she planned to put in her earbuds and listen to music, and I agreed that sounded good to me too), one sentence led to another and, before we knew it, we spent around two hours walking and talking together. 

I love Lizzie’s energy and her laugh. Our senses of humor align fantastically. 

Between funny anecdotes and jokes, we covered some loose threads of serious notes. I had shared with Lizzie the day before the work events back home that had rattled me. 

Today I closed the loop. Yesterday evening, after reflecting and hesitating, I ultimately decided to send a voice memo to my director on the matter. She responded in minutes confirming the gravity but also giving me permission and encouragement to let it go, to turn off news alerts, and to be present in Spain. The issue is being handled, she explained, and she and the team look forward to my return in October. This gave me the license to be at peace and return focus to my pilgrimage. 

I couldn’t ask for a better boss.  

Lizzie and I stopped for breakfast and were soon joined by Hadrien from France, who had been walking alone.

“Can I walk with you guys for a while?” he asked.

Of course.

Like me, Hadrien also loves music and singing. Somewhere along the way, the conversation turned jokingly toward the idea of us singing together. But the joke gradually became a plan.

What should we sing? I asked him if he knew any songs in English.

Hadrien suggested “Going to a Town.”

I enthusiastically accepted. We performed that song in my chorus, I told him. 

And just like that, it was decided.

That evening, a group of us ended up around a table together for dinner — some Italian pilgrims, a new couple from England, Medi and Alexis, Paul, Lizzie, Hadrien and me.

At some point, Hadrien and I followed through on our promise and sang “Going to a Town.”

The table loved it.

The waitress, Patricia, less so. Or at least she pretended not to.

“Who sang?” Patricia asked, wearing a perfectly serious expression.

Hadrien and I raised our hands.

“Please don’t sing again,” with no smile visible. 

No offense was felt. Several of us recognized the sentiment as mock annoyance, especially as I began to notice the flirtatious exchanges occurring between Medi and Patricia. 

Not to mention, Patricia has the cutest, most loving puppy ever, so she could do no harm.

Dinner even ended in a complimentary round of shots and a small kiss between Medi and Patricia.

Love is in the air on the Camino.