Wednesday: Lost and Found

I started to think about things we lose along the way after a man who stayed in the same albergue with me last night caught up with me on the trail this morning and asked a question:

Had I seen his pocket watch in the albergue? He couldn’t find it.

“No,” I said. “Lo siento.”

As I walked along, I thought of things I had lost on long-distance walks: on the Camino del Norte a T-shirt and underwear, on the Hadrian’s Wall Path a beautiful Camino bandana Sharon had given me, on this Camino a knee sleeve. All had been due to carelessness.

I stopped at a bus shelter to adjust my backpack. I felt in the pocket where I had been keeping the Ela’s Light Rock I planned to place three days from now at the journey’s destination: the grand plaza in front of the much grander cathedral of Santiago de Compostela.

The rock was missing. I said a bad word.

I had an idea how the rock slipped out but I had no idea where. I would never see it again.

I had a conversation with Ela in my head. I told her I was sorry. I told her that I hoped the rock would be found by somebody who took great meaning from it.

All those other things I had lost on my hikes could be replaced. The rock I painted for Ela was one of a kind. It wouldn’t reach its destination.

I walked some more. And it hit me: I could find another rock the right size, color and shape to receive a drawing. Surely I could find a Sharpie or two in a town I would pass through. I could even use this as an opportunity to create a drawing that better reflected Ela’s playful, nature-loving personality.

I walked on and found a rock that would do, then another, and finally one that was the best of the bunch.

I was sad that the small rock I had carried all this way would not reach its destination, but I was satisfied I would be able to place a fine Ela’s Light Rock at the place of celebration at the end of the Camino.

So here is where you can choose your ending:

• The two guys who stayed at the albergue with me last night ended up at the same albergue as me tonight — amazing since Melide is a sizable town on the popular Camino Francais and contains many albergues. With a huge smile, the guy who asked me about his pocket knife showed me that he had it all along. It was a fine knife. “Bueno,” I said. “Fantastico.”
• Contemplating things we lose along the way made me realize that most of the things that we lose can be replaced. But the people we lose are irreplaceable.

Buen Camino.

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