Angels, saints, good Samaritans, kind strangers: they’re all on the Camino

We stood befuddled at a huge intersection that looked like a bowl of spaghetti. A roundabout, overpasses, underpasses and construction. No yellow arrows in sight.

“Ola! Ola!” A man across the road waved vigorously to us and beckoned us over. At a break in the traffic, we ran our bikes over to join him. After settling on French as our common language, he gave us directions for how to get around the construction and find the yellow arrows that would put us back on the Camino de Santiago and out of the city of Coimbra.

Then we noticed what was in his hand – a can of yellow spray paint! I was so excited to meet a Camino angel – a volunteer who took it upon himself to spend a day re-doing the arrows for the new underpass that was behind the construction barriers. His name is José (although in my head I began calling him Saint José). Pilgrims spend their days watching for the next yellow arrow, so to meet someone who painted them was like meeting a unicorn.

Call them what you will – angels, saints, good Samaritans, kind strangers – the Camino is littered with people who go out of their way to help. It’s almost overwhelming. I struggle to believe that we do the same in Canada for strangers in our land.

“Caminho de Santiago?” people ask when you look lost. They’ve stopped their cars, leaned out their house windows, pointed over their garden gates, and walked with us to the next intersection to give directions back to the yellow arrows.

“Si, Caminho,” we reply. Even when the directions are in Portuguese or Spanish or French, we usually understand what they mean. “Obrigada, senhor. (Thank you, sir.)”

“Bom Caminho,” they wish us as we cycle away.

One day, about three-quarters of the way up a long hill, we came upon three other pilgrims sitting on a wall beside a box. “Have some fruit,” one woman called. “Someone left them for us.” We happily took a break and bit into the plum-sized juicy green fruit (I still don’t know what they were). Other pilgrims have told us of locals who stand at the side of the road handing out bottles of water and fruit to those slogging it out on the Camino.

Every café owner we’ve asked for water has happily filled our bottles for free. But one day, a man asked if we wanted ice too! “Oh, si, si, senhor!!” I held back from kissing him.

Then there was the day when a spoke on my back wheel broke. That meant no riding and required fixing right away. Fortunately, we were in a city – not miles from nowhere in the countryside – and found a bike shop just one kilometre off our route. As we walked our bikes there, I imagined we’d spend hours waiting for the repair. But the bike mechanic dropped everything he was doing to fix my bike right away. What a blessing.

We’ve also met many interesting, kind and helpful fellow pilgrims.

Our second night on the Camino, we stayed at an albergue – basically a hostel for pilgrims. Called Quinta da Burra, it was run by Paula, who hosted 20 of us pilgrims that night – some sleeping in rooms in the main house and some in the converted stable (that’s where we were and, yes, the snoring was intolerable). Over a shared a communal dinner of excellent food prepared by Rainer, a volunteer from Germany, we got to know the others.

Bill told Centenie – a fellow Canadian, from Vancouver – about my blog and she asked if she could see it. We had just launched it although hadn’t told anyone it was live yet, so Centenie was my first blog reader! Very exciting for me.

Over the next two weeks, we kept running in to Centenie along the trail and we always stopped to chat. (She’s a fast walker and would leap-frog past us when we took breaks.) We often compared notes about the Brierley guide – practically a Bible for pilgrims. Written by John Brierley, it contains maps, descriptions of the trail and lists of places to stay. Although it’s a wealth of information, its many mistakes can be quite frustrating and lead you astray. If the Camino is indeed a metaphor for life, Centenie asked, “How do you handle bad information? How do you react?” What a challenging question! I usually get annoyed, but the more developed person would take it in stride, look for solutions and work past the mistakes. I found an area for growth I needed to work on.

One morning, we left our small hotel without breakfast, thinking we’d stop at the first café we came to. But, it was Sunday. Most places are closed. We kept going and going and I was getting a headache from not having eaten. Then we spied Centenie, who gave us a banana and apple. Of course, around the next bend was a café, so we repaid her with tea. The next Sunday, we were better prepared with food.

Mark and Constance from Alaska are strong Christians who enjoyed asking others about their backgrounds and beliefs. Mark asked probing questions in a gentle, kind and curious way. The morning we left the Quinta, we caught up to them and I walked beside Mark for several kilometres. “Do you ever think about what comes after this life?” he asked. His round, smiling face, his age, and the way he talked reminded me of my father. I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Yes, I do, especially since my father died three years ago.” I shared things with Mark that I’ve never told anyone else. Later, when Bill and I reached Santarem, we went into a church. I knelt in a pew and burst into tears. I missed my Dad. He and Mark would have enjoyed debating any number of subjects.

We met a couple from Australia along the trail one day. After riding on, we came to a steep, narrow trail with huge jagged rocks. Bumping our bikes down the trail, both Bill and I managed to drop them at the same time. We had to remove our panniers so we could wrestle our bikes upright. The Australians caught up to us and simply picked up our panniers to carry them down the hill for us while we dealt with our bikes. We were grateful.

We ran into them again in Porto, while we were taking some rest days. I mentioned that we were trying to find a bank, since none of the ATMs would take our bank cards and we were down to just 5 Euros. They offered to give us cash! We thanked them profusely, but declined, saying we’d try the bank first. “But if you see us singing on the street, please toss some Euros in the hat,” I joked.

Sometimes the help came simply from people cheering us on.

I panted and puffed up a winding road through a village. A man outside a bar (yes, he’d had a few), clapped and held out his hand for a high-five as we passed. And coming into the town of Sao Joao de Madeira, at least half a dozen people waved and shouted “Bom Caminho!” It felt like taking part in Ottawa’s Race Weekend or The Ottawa Hospital’s fundraising event The Ride – when people cheer you on, you pick up your pace and smile. You can’t help it.

I resolved to pay it forward, to help other people when they needed encouragement.

One morning, we felt like fish swimming upstream as a marathon of runners and cyclers passed us on a bike trail. We stood at the side as the grim-faced runners came up a steep hill. But then we started smiling at them, giving them thumbs up and high-fives and calling “You can do it!” Most of them smiled back, thanked us, and wished us “Buen Camino.” (We were in Spain by then.)

As I’m riding, I often sing songs in my head. This hymn comes to mind often:

“We are pilgrims on a journey

Fellow travellers on the road

We are here to help each other

Walk the mile and bear the load.”

We have indeed been grateful for the countless people who have helped us along our Camino. But I have also learned to accept help, even when I don’t think I need it. Several times, after Bill beat me to the top of a hill, he would walk back down to help me push my bike up. I resisted at first, saying I should do it myself and that I was holding him back. But he wouldn’t stop helping. “We’re a team,” he said. “We’re doing this together.” And he’s right, of course. He’s helping me “bear the load,” just as the other angels, saints, good Samaritans and kind strangers are doing.

After I took a photo of Saint José, the yellow spray-paint can and Bill that day in Coimbra, we said our adieus and turned to follow his directions to the Camino. But suddenly José called us back again. He had consulted with a construction crew member and moved a construction barrier for us. He walked with us down the newly paved underpass, moved another barrier at the other end, and we were back on the Camino.

“Vous êtes un ange, monsieur,” I said. (You are an angel, sir.)

José mimed hugging and said I should give St. James a hug for him when we got to Santiago. I promised I would.

Spoiler alert: We made it to Santiago de Compostela on Oct. 3! Read the details in the next blogpost.