Flip-flops are mandatory on El Camino. You can’t use the shower in albergos. YOU. WILL. SIMPLY. NOT. GO. We all know people are the worst pigs on the planet. So, one day, I had to walk back because the hamster that runs my brain obviously overslept. I had to walk three kilometers (one way) to get my flip-flops, that I had forgotten in the albergo, back. I could’ve bought new ones, sure, but I didn’t. They were a gift and they accompanied me in every shower of El Camino. It’s a sort of a sentimental attachment. And come on, it’s the Crocs we’re talking about. I don’t love clog shoes because they are horrendous, especially the pink ones. When I see people wearing Crocs I’m like a bull in an arena. Flip-flops, on the other hand, are more pleasing to the eye, and mine are black. The most important thing: your feet don’t sweat. It may sound ridiculous that I went back, since I had a buttload of kilometers waiting for me that day. I knew they’ll be waiting for me, since no sane hiker will put extra weight on their back. They were exactly where I’d left them.
Sentimental attachment, why the hell not? Call me a sadomasochist. Why wouldn’t you go back for a change if you can’t go forward? That way, you can see the Path from both directions.
If you still find this dumb, let me tell you a story from my first El Camino, when Tina and I were accompanied by Henry from Estonia from Day One. We had to say goodbye after a fortnight because I was in agony due to torn ligaments. The doctor was also quite clear with his diagnosis: SIT, LIE, STAY PUT! The most severe punishment possible. But I already knew that, before my fellow sufferers convinced me to see a doctor. All I got from that hospital trip was a hefty cab fare. It was on a Saturday and since Spain is following a different rhythm, public transport was horrible or extinct. So, I paid almost 100 euros for those 20 kilometers in a cab. Mr. Stingy in me wasn’t exactly pleased with it. My region is famous for its stinginess and while you can get a girl out of Thriftville, you cannot get Thriftville out of a girl. Anyway, as I said, the cab fare was in the amount of FUCK ME SIDEWAYS AND CALL ME SHIRLEY. I’d suffer less if I just hung in there and continued the Path like a cripple instead of settling with that fucking cab fare.
When the cab brought me to the village Tina and Henry were going to, it was still quite early. I knew they were arriving there before 3 PM. When they finally got there, I was already joyful.
As night shows the morning, Tina and I decided to stick around for another day and rehabilitate our legs. Henry wanted to go forward as he already had a flight back home reserved. We sure as hell didn’t, so we had plenty of time. We had to say goodbye the following day and it was not easy. Tina and I tried to drown our sorrows in a bar and remember the wonderful moments with that boy from Estonia. After a few hours, we see a silhouette of a man in the distance that looked like Henry. Nah, it can’t be. It’s the wine making us see things and people. But it was Henry and we what-the-fuck-ed in unison. He said walking without us was dull, so he came back – making extra 20 kilometers.
His Facebook post:
Waiter: “Where you headin’?”
Henry: “Back.”
Waiter: “Why back?”
Henry: “Because I forgot my friends there.”
I swore to walk not just 25 kilometers in return, but at least 30. The boy is from Estonia and he just came back from serving. And we all love a challenge, right?
We stuck together till the end and we had a helluvafuckingamazing time!!!!
There are, of course, more insane people on the Path. I met a guy who decided to go back to Rome the following day to fetch winter clothes. Because the winter is coming and it’s coming soon! When I asked him where he’s flying from, he just stared blankly. He’s walking of course. Now, who’s cuckoo here?!