by Kevin Craig
Manny’s face lights up and becomes even more expressive when he talks about his baby brother. It’s obvious he has a case of hero worship.
“The first Tavish brought his girl to Nova Scotia. That’s where Mom’s from. She moved to Toronto just before she met my dad. But I have, like, a thousand cousins, aunts, and uncles down there.”
“Wow,” Meagan says. “That’s amazing, Manny.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. And I have two of them. Tavishes, that is. Mom’s brother. Uncle Tavish too.” He smiles. “He’s still in Nova Scotia.”
“Tavish,” Claire says, once again. “I like it.”
“You join us,” Bastien says as the two groups merge into one. “I just told these boys to get ready. Soon comes Las Herrerias.” He says this like we should all know what he’s talking about.
Only Meagan recognizes the name. She gets this exaggerated grimace. “Oh, boy,” she says. “It begins.”
“What begins, Meags?” Manny says. He scoots up beside Diego and gives him a little punch on the shoulder, and they exchange conspiratorial smiles.
“Uphill. The real climb begins. I remember this leg. It’s hard. But I wish I could tell you it prepares us for what’s to come tomorrow.”
Bastien laughs, but otherwise there are groans all around.
“Man, girl, why are you doing this to us?” Manny says.
We come to a small wooden bridge and as we cross over the little creek beneath it, we can see the uphill path on the other side. Here we go.
Chapter 21 — Troy Sinclair
If tomorrow is worse than this, I don’t wanna. We’ve been walking forever. I feel like we must be almost there. My calf muscles are screaming.
We’re finally stopped for a rest. Faba Fountain. Everyone’s just walking in circles guzzling water or sitting on the edge of the little stone wall. We just climbed a pretty big hill, but the next ones are even bigger.
“Soon, Galicia,” Bastien says.
“Oh, I thought we were in Galicia this whole time?” Shania says.
“Me too,” Diego says.
“So, so,” Bastien says, after he takes a big swig from his collapsible water cup. “It blends.”
“Can we stay here tonight?” Greg asks. I know I’ll never get tired of looking at him, but I’m so over the guy. “My legs are on fire.”
“Fat chance,” Gil says. He laughs, but our fearless leader is actually on the ground doing leg stretches and rubbing his calves. He’s in just as much pain as the rest of us. The old man is the only one who seems oblivious to the exhaustion that’s on everyone else’s face. “Have faith, Greg. Only about four more miles to O Cebreiro. You can do it.”
“Yeah, and I can do the backstroke in a sewer, too, but I’m not about to.”
“You’re funny,” Claire says to Greg.
A large group of peregrinos walk past us, sticks clicking, not even stopping for a break at the fountain. They must be insane.
“Buen Camino,” a cute Japanese boy says to me. He smiles, and I watch him walk away. So cute. About my age, too, I’d say.
“Buen Camino,” I say, returning his greeting. He turns back and offers another smile. He’s walking with two girls who are lost in their own conversation, oblivious to our interaction. I give him a short wave, and he turns back to his friends.
Just before they round the next corner and disappear from view, he turns back one more time and returns my wave. And, just like that, he’s gone. My cute new pilgrim friend.
“Okay, gang,” Meagan says as she jumps down from the stone wall surrounding the fountain and does a few quick jumping jacks. “Time to hit the road. If I remember correctly, we’ll hit some nice shade soon. It’s gonna help combat the uphill battle we’re in for.”
“In for? Lady, we’re in it. What did we just do? Wasn’t no flatland.”
“And now we can finally designate Greg as our resident comedian and cheerleader,” Gil says. “Thank you, Greg, for showing us your true stripes.”
“Don’t mention it, Gilbert. Just put me in your backpack and we’ll be even.”
“Nice one,” Claire says.
“Come on, let us go,” Bastien says. He stores his collapsible cup, takes out an old-fashioned thermos, and fills it with water from the fountain. “Fill up before you go. Water, water, water. Oui.”
We do as he says, all taking our turn at the tap, and then we set out for our final walk of the day.
* * *
At the top of a long, drawn-out, uphill battle that has me considering abandoning some of the stuff in my backpack along the side of the road, we come to an almost flat section in the road, and just up ahead there’s a café. Tables and chairs are set out on an oversized patio in front of the little shop.
I begin to pray to all the fairy godmothers in my head. Please, please let us stop here. Please, God in heaven, let us have a little break.
As if to answer my prayers, Bastien says, “Let us pee.” He smiles as he arrives at one of the tables, shucks off his backpack, and lets it slip to the ground. He plops down in a chair and, for the first time, I can see a hint of exhaustion in his face. He slumps hard.
Thank God and baby Jesus.
By the time I reach him, his table is already full. I go to the one beside it. Claire, Shania, and Manny join me. Everyone else is already seated with Bastien.
We sit in silence—every one of us—as we catch our breath. That was a killer hill. It’s getting really mountainous. Like, everything is changing. We’re pretty much on a mountain. Even the plants and trees are different. It’s mostly evergreens now. And wherever we walk, I feel like we can see for a hundred miles. It’s all so vast.
“Hey, dude,” Manny says, nudging my side. “That guy over there is looking at you. I think you have a fan.”
My face explodes in heat as I look everywhere, trying to see who he’s talking about. Eventually my eyes lock on the boy who said hi at the fountain. Ooh. My face burns a deeper level of heat.
“Nah,” I say. Feeble, I know.
“Um, yeah.” Shania actually winks at me. “If that boy doesn’t have the hots for you, Troy, I’ll eat this loser’s hiking socks.” She motions to Manny, and he laughs. We all know Manny has the smelliest feet of all of us. Combined.
I fake-gag, like I’m going to throw up all over her. We all laugh, and the boy across the patio smiles even more. Yeah, he’s definitely looking at me. He’s sipping a café con leche and completely staring at me as the girls with him continue to talk nonstop in their own little world.
I get up to go inside to use the washroom and maybe get a café con leche. But Manny misunderstands my intentions.
“Ooh,” he says. “My boy Troy gonna make a move. Slick shit, dude.”
I punch his shoulder and give him the evil eye. “Not quite. I’m going to the washroom.”
He pretends the punch hurt while the others laugh. I walk away and try to see out of the corner of my eye if the boy watches my exit or not.
He does. I turn back when I step into the café, and he’s so totally looking at me. Oh my God. He’s getting up. He’s coming toward the café.
Like the coward that I am, I run for the washrooms as soon as I scope out the signs for them. I say another prayer, this time to the owner of the café who chose individual washrooms over communal ones.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. My go-to panic mantra.
I can do this. I’m a fierce warrior, a peregrino. I quickly do my thing, wash up, and stand holding the doorknob, ready to take on the world. Or, at least this tiny corner of it that contains a cute Japanese boy just outside the door I’m too afraid to open.
I take a deep breath and step into the hall leading to the rest of the café. Without looking at anyone, I make my way to the counter and attempt to casually order my café con leche.
After I
thank the lady who serves me, I take my passport from my back pocket. I present it to her, open at the first page with empty squares. She positions her stamp inside a square, and with a little force she pushes the plunger. With a soft kerflunk, I have a new stamp. She quickly grabs the pen from behind her ear and jots today’s date under her stamp, which is a picture of her café logo along with a Camino cake.
“Buen Camino,” she says. She smiles and turns away. I thank her, but she’s already moved on to the next customer and the next café con leche.
Off to the side are a few shelves filled with peregrino souvenirs. I see the boy pretending to be fully fascinated with some scallop shell trinkets. It’s a ruse. They’re the same shells we see at every single stop. He’s so cute: shorter than me, with perfectly coiffed jet-black hair. His eyes are so brown they look black. They were the first thing I noticed about him at the fountain.
This is the part I’m terrible at. I hope he’s better at it than I am. He already said hi back at the fountain, so maybe.
I make my way over to the shelf and pick up a small leather purse with a yellow shell embroidered across the front. I’m opening it and looking at the pockets inside when he finally makes his move.
“It’s so cute, right?” he says. Perfect English. I stare into his face and notice that he has a tiny diamond earring in his nose. Hot. “But what’s inside is what really matters.” He smiles again and he’s so adorable.
“I know. Function over fashion, right?” I feel like a dweeb. I consider running out, until he agrees with me.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says.
My shoulders relax and I unclench my teeth. I hadn’t even realized I was clenching them. I put the purse back on the shelf. Not enough compartments. Can’t have everything loosey-goosey in the bottom. It’s a cute purse I would never use.
“Kei. Kei Amano.” He offers his hand, and I take it. It’s small in mine, soft.
“Troy Sinclair. Toronto.”
“New York state, here,” he says. “Those two talkers out there are my older sisters. I’m on the Nonstop Talking Camino Tour. Looking to be rescued.” He’s so totally coming on to me he doesn’t even try to hide it.
“Oh.” I almost scream. Sudden realization excitement. Sue me. “Happy Fourth of July!”
“Ha. Yeah. Thanks. No fireworks for me, I guess.”
“Maybe. There’s probably a ton of Americans walking the Camino. Maybe somebody’ll set them off?”
“Maybe.” His smile is incredible. And I love the stud in his nose. It picked a perfect nose to be a part of, too. Am I pathetic? Who cares? He’s a cutie.
“Let’s go outside.” After I say it, I pray for an empty table on the patio so we can sit alone. “We can go get your coffee and find somewhere to sit away from all the chatter.”
He pretends to wipe sweat from his forehead. “Phew. Thanks, Troy. You’re saving my life.”
I laugh, because he’s cute and because I know that’s not really what is happening here. He made his pass, and I’ve accepted. This has nothing to do with him escaping his sisters.
Ten minutes later he knows my dog’s name and I know Wagon Wheels are his favorite food. Raspberry Wagon Wheels. Not the originals, because they’re just sad and pathetic raspberry wheel wannabes. He’s seventeen, the same as me. His mom is from Japan and his father is from Montana, third-generation American, and my parents are from Toronto and so are their parents.
Basically, the more he talks, the more this dummy is falling for him. Like it could ever happen. In my head, I’m trying not to calculate the distance between New York state and Toronto while simultaneously imagining the flower patterns of our china.
Kei’s sisters thought the Camino would be a great experience for him. They walked it with their mother during the summer before their last year in high school. Back when their mother was still healthy enough to make the trip.
His mother died last year, just before Christmas. Cancer. They couldn’t convince their father to shut down his dental practice long enough to come with them, even though he hadn’t had a holiday in years.
I know so much more about him than he knows about me.
The focus is just about to switch over to me when Meagan interrupts us. I see her shadow loom over us before I see her.
“Sorry, Troy,” she says, “but it’s time to go.”
Her words pull me out of the security of the little world Kei and I have made for ourselves at this table.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, sounding just as startled as I feel. “Sorry. This is Kei. Kei, Meagan.”
I look where the others are sitting, and every single one of them is staring back at me with a great big stupid grin on their face. I feel the heat rise into my cheeks once again, but I don’t care.
“Hi, Kei,” Meagan says. “Sorry, but we have to steal Troy away. Time for us to make our way to O Cebreiro.”
“Nice to meet you, Meagan.” He stands and extends a hand. Meagan shakes it. “What refugio are you staying at, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Not at all,” she says. Kei and I look at each other like Meagan’s about to call the numbers of the million-dollar lottery and we’re eagerly holding our tickets. But, seriously, what are the chances? “Albergue de O Cebreiro.”
“Oh my God!” he says. And I can almost see him waving his winning ticket in the air. “That’s where my sisters and I are staying. We’ll see you there.”
I do my best not to jump up and down when I get to my feet. The two of us just beam at each other.
“Awesome. See you there. Nice to meet you, Kei.” Meagan walks away, turning to wave before she reaches the table where everyone is still ogling us like crazy people.
“I’ll see you later then,” I say to Kei. I can’t keep the excitement out of my voice. But I don’t want to.
“Sure, Troy. It was really nice to meet you.” We do a little one-shoulder hug, and he speaks into my ear, “I can’t wait.”
“Me too. Later.” I turn to walk away. As I do, they’re all bowing to my awesomeness, and I seriously consider dropping dead of embarrassment. But if I did that, I wouldn’t see Kei later tonight at the refugio.
Chapter 22 — Diego Nelson
Now we’re in the mountains. Walking on a mountainside. Green hills as far as the eye can see. I’m alone. I just need some time to myself. It’s the open spaces. So much room to think about Moms and my abuelita. I miss her so much.
We just left this amazing little town with stone buildings and straw roofs. It looked like Hobbit land, or something. Right out of the Middle Ages. Everyone snapped selfies and Insta pics of the amazing houses. Everyone but me. I should have, to show them to Moms. But the more I walk today, the sadder I feel. I don’t know why I’m doing this.
“Just up ahead, my friends. The border marker. We will finally be in your Galicia. For real.”
“Want to carry me the rest of the way, Bastien?” Greg says from behind me. Suddenly he is my guardian angel, staying close. He’s the only one behind me. I was lagging, so he keeps making sure to stay behind me.
“Ah, no,” Bastien says. “This old man is weary of footsteps, son. This, my last Camino.”
“Oops,” I hear Greg mumble to himself.
“Tired, Bastien?” Meagan asks.
“This is a tough day, mademoiselle.”
“Indeed,” Gil agrees. “Almost to the top of this one, though. One hill at a time. We’ll make it.”
“Yes, yes.” He stops for a second and takes a deep breath and smacks his stick on the hardened earth of the path. We’ve been walking a narrow dirt path filled with a scattering of uneven rocks. “At the top, we will find the Galicia marker.”
“I’d rather find an A & W and a tall mug of ice-cold root beer at the top,” Greg whispers so that only I can hear. I look back at him, and he smiles and closes the short
gap between us. “Sorry. I think I’m dehydrated.”
“You’ve been my shadow today, Greg,” I say.
“Sorry, man.” He offers me a guilty smile. “It’s just what I do. At home, I look after my little brother. I know you’re hurting, man. I’m just worried about you. I hover when I worry. Sorry. Didn’t mean to stalk you.”
“No, no. It’s all good, bro. You can walk with me, though. You don’t need to walk behind me.”
“Thanks, bud. You hanging in okay?”
“Sure, yeah. Long day, though. I’d love that A &W root beer, now that you mention it.”
“Sorry I brought it up, Diego.” He laughs. “I just set you up for more disappointment.”
I laugh. We continue in silence.
Sure enough, once we round another corner the monument Bastien told us about comes into view. No A & W anywhere in sight.
The monument looks like a bigger version of the mile markers, only, instead of coming up to our knees, it towers over our heads. It says Galicia in big red letters under a red Galician cross with crests beside it. And a scallop. And way too much graffiti.
“Wow,” Greg says.
“Right?” I say. The others already have their phones out, taking pics and getting others to take pictures of them beside it.
I drop my pack and stretch. To my left, opposite the monument, I can see forever. I’m just taking in the view of rolling hills and valleys in the distance when Bastien puts an arm around my shoulder. I look at him, and he smiles. And for the hundredth time since my tumble yesterday, I’m happy we found him. I’m happy he found me.
“They say there is a place in these hills, Diego, where you can look back and see Ponferrada. That’s where you began, yes?”
“Yes, Ponferrada. But that’s impossible. No way we can see Ponferrada from here.”
“No, no. It is true. The castle of the Knights Templar, no?”
“Yes,” I say. “We stayed right across the road from it. It was incredible.”
