ANZAC Day – 25 April 2022

“They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.”

Cold, clear sky greets we weary pilgrims this ANZAC Day morning. There is peace in this little rural village in Spain. It is too cold for even the birds to sing to welcome the morning. They will wait until the sun has eased their chill.

After a cafe con leche, served boiling hot as always on these chill mornings, James and I leave the village on a straight road that will see 6.5km pass with no change in direction or altitude. We talk about whether James should study at the University in Pamplona. We also reminisce about my days at university in the late 1980’s. I mention what Alex told me yesterday, if you have a Compostela in Spain, you get preference for employment. Great, says James, I’m in.

As we walk we hear a mythical beast approaching from behind. We turn together and yell, “no, it can’t be!” But yes it is. Dazza from Wimbledon is running. He tells us he is aiming to get to Astorga today and has shipped his pack. He only has a small day pack on his back. Go you bloody good thing!

James and I recall how over 500km ago we shared our first pilgrim dinner in Roncesvalles with Dazza, Mads, Mikael, Karin and others. And then here in butt freak nowhere, he runs past us with a smile.

After crossing a road, the way follows a gravel farm track over a major canal. Somewhere in the mountains there must be a lot of dams feeding the irrigation system through this area.

The rest of the walk into Hospital de Orbiga was on road. Then we get our first view of what makes this village famous.

This is the longest Roman bridge in Spain and it’s impressive. On the left as we walk is the jousting field. Our hospitalero at San Juan Albergue tells us that every June there is a 3 day jousting festival. 20,000 people flood this little village to watch people on horses try to knock their opponents on their arse. Then they party all night (something that is now seeming all too common in Spain).

At the end of the bridge is a restaurant where we enjoy a fresh orange juice and a coffee with Dazza and several other pilgrims from the USA, Austria, Germany and Spain. The sun is shining, we have a bed for the night and don’t need to walk any further today. All is well with the world.

ANZAC Day is one of the most important days in Australia. It starts as a solemn day where we remember those who fought, supported or lost their lives in many wars. We are thankful for their sacrifice, courage and resilience. We will remember them, always. In typical Australian fashion, the day then turns to living in the moment, living in the now. We drink and play two-up. We revel in our mateship and the joy of the moment. Tomorrow can look after itself.

Tomorrow can look after itself is probably a good way to look at the Camino. You have to live in the moment. Distances can only be covered at a certain speed. Your body can only push so hard before things go wrong. We’ve seen fellow pilgrims with horrific blisters, swollen knees, ankles and feet. They hobble along with a grimace, enjoying an ibuprofen high before it passes and the serious pain returns.

The moment calls. Tune into what is around you. Bird calls. Wind in the trees. An approaching car. Adjust your pack slightly. Take your gloves off. Put them back on. Drink some water. Is that a pebble in your shoe? Why are there arrows pointing 2 different ways? Oh, one is for a bar, the other for the way. Each moment joined so elegantly. Time.

After a quiet afternoon at Albergue San Miguel, it was time to reveal my inner talent. The albergue provides paints and small canvases for pilgrims to express themselves. I’m famous for a stylish motif known simply as “guitar man”. As fellow pilgrims stood around in awe (exactly how much Rioja had I drunk?), I put brush to canvas.

For an artist, it’s hard to know when to stop, when to walk away from a piece. I think I should have done that when I was handed the blank canvas. Nevertheless I painted on.

The finished piece, I assume, will hang proudly with the other work in the albergue. Well, why wouldn’t it.

Such rich use of primary colours. Such scale. Such perspective. Such crap. Oh well, I did have an enjoyable afternoon drinking Rioja, getting paint all over my hands and clothes and painting something a kindergarten kid would be ashamed to take home to their parents. More Rioja anyone?

James and I walk the streets looking for somewhere with a kitchen open for dinner. We eventually find a bar in Puenta de Orbiga, the part of the village on the eastern side of the river.

On our return to the albergue, it was James’s time to paint.

Tune in tomorrow to see what masterpiece our young Padawan creates.