Off To See The Wizard

Today, as I set my passport on the Delta ticket counter, the attendant (is there an actual title for the people at the counter? Ticket clerk? Check-in person? Airline ID checker? Forgive me, I know not and do not have access to the Internet, as I'm flying somewhere above the great state of Georgia), asked me my final destination. A rather creepy way to put it, "final destination," considering the terrifying horror movie franchise the phrase conjures up, which I believe does include in some sequel a plane death. Moroseness aside, I smiled at her with my best 'I woke up at 3am' smile and answered, "Belgium."

I don't know what's gotten into me (of course I do; it's love!), but lately I can't help but say the next line to everyone I mention my trip to - the lady at the nail shop, the guy at the dry cleaners, the person handing my my Swan roll and seaweed salad to go. - "To see my boyfriend who lives there." It's funny how heavy with pride that line is delivered to friends or complete strangers. As if I'm now in some secret, elite international club of women with foreign boyfriends. If it was a real club our motto would be, "Just go with it,"... Or better yet, "Act now, ask questions later." We of the Foreign Boyfriend club take chances on love. And We charge everything, even that cup of frozen yogurt, on our airline mileage credit card. We also can't shut up about it apparently. Not so secretive after all.

The Bag Checker Attendant Clerk looked at me, her eyes first lighting up and then growing small and wistful, and said, "I wish I had a boyfriend in Belgium." I should have stopped there, but I opened my big braggart mouth once again and told her, thinking I was being amusing, "We met in Spain actually. Quite international." Yes, I used those exact words, which sound like nails on a chalkboard in retrospect but really was just meant as friendly conversation as she made squiggly pink marks on my boarding pass. "Wow," she said. "Even better. How wonderful. Some people are just lucky. That's the sort of thing I dream about."

I could tell at this point that there was a sort of sadness in the air, so I tried my best to cheer her up. "It was something I always dreamed about too. And finally it came true. It's not luck. You just have to keep focusing on what you want, and it will find you." Look, it was 4am. That's the best I could muster at that ungodly hour! Unfortunately, it didn't work. "I don't think it will happen for me. It's been a really bad year." Oh no. Why do I always get myself into deep conversations with strangers? I'm notorious for accidentally drawing out the life stories of helpline service agents - Comcast, AT&T, AAA, SMUD. I kid you not. I suppose some people are just so surprised to find a curious and genuine listener, they simply can't help themselves.

"I've had a terrible few weeks," I admitted to her. "But a whole year. That would be tough. I'm sorry." As I said it I was secretly asking the Camino to help her. If anyone deserved a "How Stella Got Her Groove Back" moment, it was this Delta worker. I can't imagine what it must feel like to be down in the dumps and to be forced to watch happy travelers excited for their adventures or eager to see loved ones rub it in your face day in and day out. "There was a death in the family this week," she said nearly in tears. Okay, now things were feeling a bit surreal. I would have jumped over the baggage scale to hug her, if I didn't think I'd be tasered in the process. All I could offer was my sympathy and a kind word.

Putting my boarding pass in my purse, she held out her hand to stop me. "Wait. Let me see those again." I gave them to her. "Here. I changed them so you don't have to show your passport again at the gate." She smiled. A little favor for someone who listened. I felt honored. As I walked to the security gate I thought to myself just how right she was. No matter how terrible and stressful my last few weeks have been, I am lucky. I have met the man of my dreams. The best friend anyone could possibly want. And here I was boarding a plane to spend two months by his side. Every day with him would be a privilege. And I wouldn't waste one damn second of it dwelling in the bad.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:The Sky

"Love In The Mud" Part 3 - His Story

[More from guest writer, Belgian and my Camino Love, Hannes Bral...]


The night in Castrogeriz,we walked the Californian ladies back to Tess’ place after dinner.  I had no clue whatsoever if she liked me or not.  But the first signal I presumed to be one of interest, I can still recall.  As we said goodbye and promised to meet up the next day, I noticed a change in her eyes.  She looked at me and said goodnight in a different way than before.  It was almost as if she wanted to make that moment last a bit longer.  But as cold-hearted as I still was at that time, I did not act on it.  Just said goodnight back, and the moment was gone.

Juliano and I walked back to our albergue, which was a great place.  It had a policy that no pilgrim could get up before 6am!  Which is a huge blessing.  No zipper sounds at 4am, no plastic bags opening and crinkling, no headlights blinding you as you half-open your sleepy eyes and think, 'Omg, yet another day ahead, pilgrim!

The following morning I woke up to Gregorian chants playing in the background.  The hospitalero, dressed in a monk costume, came wandering in the room with a lantern and in a friendly and gentle voice, woke up the entire dorm.  Everyone started laughing and applauding, as it was a very unusual but original way of waking up.  As it turned out, the hospitalero, who was a very kind man, had done the Camino a few times and wanted the pilgrims to feel at ease.

View from the top.

I lost track of time.  Hey, wasn’t I supposed to meet a gorgeous Caligirl that morning?  It was way past 7am already, so Juliano and I were late to meet them.  But I had the firm belief, somehow, that I would catch up as I had done before.  So we started our day of walking in the cold morning air.  That day had something magical about it.  The sky was so beautifully dramatic.  The rising sun had rays of light coming down as if the heavens were opening up (well, at least, that is how my grandma would describe the view, if she saw that sky).  It was breathtaking.

It was also quite a walk up the mountain.  My heart was beating like crazy, and it wasn’t because of Tess (not yet, that is.)  Speaking of Tess... Guess who was looking out over the valley at the top?  That same cute Caligirl with the lovely hat on.  My mood switched from being exhausted from the climb to sheer happiness upon seeing her!  My heart was still racing!  Normally, a heart slows down its rhythm once you take some rest... so how could this be? 

She had taken some strong medicine for her cold that day.  That I remember.  As we walked together again, we talked, shared, laughed, went ahead, stayed behind, waited for Juliano and Red...  But there was one thing striking to me: we could fill up all those moments talking, and I so much enjoyed her presence.  I felt at ease with her, and I was thinking to myself, ‘This Caligirl is kind of special.'  I really hadn’t met a girl like that before!

 
Upon arrival in the town of Fromista, we split up because Juliano and I had another albergue, while the girls were staying with their mothers in a hostal.  Juliano looked at his printed paper of sleeping options and decided on a private albergue.  A big contrast to the day before, actually.  

That night we met up for our second dinner together, and when I saw Tess, my heart felt like it skipped a little beat.  ‘Damn, I’m liking this girl’ I thought to myself...

"Love In The Mud" Part 3 - A Camino Love Story

Posing for a picture before dinner in Castrogeriz.

I went back to our little hotel that night in Castrogeriz, pondering what had transpired at dinner.  Could I actually like this guy after only one day of walking together and a simple French phrase uttered over a menu peregrino (which he kept shaking his head and laughing about, not believing a guide book could have a name as ridiculous as Miam Miam Dodo)?

A quick anecdote about the aforementioned hotel... When my mother asked the proprietor if we could have an extra blanket for the night (being Spring, all furnaces, we quickly realized as we put wool socks on to go to bed our first week of walking, had been temporarily shut down for the season), the man refused, telling her he would bet us 1000 Euros we wouldn't need it.  So as I lay in bed shivering myself to sleep, I couldn't help but look forward to the next day's walk.  We hadn't made solid plans to hike together again, but Hannes and Juliano had mumbled something in between goodnight hugs about trying to meet at 7am in front of Rick's albergue; although our Cali gang were notorious early risers, and the boys weren't so sure they could rise to the occasion.  Oh, and that 1000 Euros the proprietor bet my mom?  The blanket-hoarder never paid up.

As the Cali gang gathered in front of Rick's albergue the next morning, the boys were nowhere to be seen.  Normally, Rick was about 5 to 10 minutes late in joining the rest of us, which would have bought Hannes and Juliano some time to meet up, but low and behold Rick was right smack on time, waiting for us with a smile and a morning song (this one was about trekking poles I think?)  So I shuffled my feet around a bit and slowed my pace to see if perhaps that head of shaggy blond hair would appear from behind a stone corner, but alas, no mud-walker to be seen.  Red and I chatted away on the trail, instead, with me pretending total indifference... 'Oh they'll catch up maybe.  Whatever.  No biggie.  Was nice to meet them.  Great guys.  Yada yada yada blah blah blah.'  Blackheart was in full effect, spinning a web of lies a kilometer long.

Meanwhile, we had a huge mountain to climb, and my sick lungs were screaming in agony.  During one stop to catch my breath, I spied the Belgian/Portuguese duo below, a kilometer or so behind.  Sweat poured down my face in sheets, and I was breathing like a Sumo wrestler after running a 5k.  Oh no, he wasn't going to see me like this!  My treaded feet flew up the mountain, hoping to reach the top in time to put myself back together like a pilgrim Humpty Dumpty.  There I stood at the top (finally!), raising my hands to take a picture of the view below, when in reality I was lifting them up to dry my armpits in the icy morning breeze.  Have I confirmed to you my sex symbol status yet?  The pictures were beautiful though.  The sky over the distant hillside village below was gray except for rays of sunlight spilling over the top like a crown of gold.  Gorgeous.  (Hannes' came out the best, so will try to persuade him to share when he writes his version.)

A well-deserved 'top of the hill' snack.

Then, suddenly, there the boys were.  My sweat-stache had nearly dried up by that point, and my breathing had slowed to a somewhat normal state, so I made my way over, gave a casual hello (which was literally all my lungs could squeak out) and joined them for another day's walk.  And guess what?  Turns out this Belgian was even more amazing than I had first deduced.  You see, shortly before I left for the Camino, I had made a mental list of all the things I wanted in a partner and all the things I didn't.  Let's call it a 'Hit & Miss' compilation of every man I'd dated over the last 15 years.  Okay, let's say 25 years because there was that boy Davy in preschool who had really bad breath when he kissed me on the playground, and bad breath had definitely made the 'Miss' list from then on out.  (Sorry, Davy, if you're reading this.  You were young.  I'm sure your bad breath phase has since passed, as has my horridly frightful permed hair stage.)

As Hannes and I walked with Juliano and Red, I watched in amazement - 'stupefied' is really the term that best sums up my state of being - as Hannes checked off every last 'Hit' item on my list.  He was patient, sincere, had a great sense of humor, was spiritual but not strictly religious, friendly to anyone and everyone, adventurous, a movie lover (as a film major, that is a must) and had the same seize life with both hands gypsy heart I did.  The man even drove a Campervan!  A modern day gypsy caravan, which I already pictured myself riding in if I must admit.  And he adored his border collie, Luka, so my father and step-mom back home would love him.  If this was a "3 Stooges" movie I would be rubbing my eyes and blinking heavily as if to clear the hallucination before me.  A few more miles, and it became clear he also lacked the items in my 'Miss' list.  He didn't smoke.  Didn't drink much (although he assured me he could make a mean mojito - plus 2).  Wasn't lazy or judgemental.  Wasn't shallow - i.e. he liked women who were natural and curvy (seriously, he's an angel sent from heaven right?)

As we got closer to town, we sat and waited by a canal for Juliano and Red to catch up.  An hour later Red came whizzing by as if her butt was on fire.  A frantic Juliano then informed us that ticks had attacked her while she was using the bushes (note to future pilgrims: when choosing pee-estate, bushes are like long abandoned houses up for sale... you have no clue who or what has made themselves at home inside.)  And that's how I came to guard Red from onlookers under a highway overpass as she pulled down her pants to check for ticks... But that's another story.

Actually, this town of Fromista was ripe with good trail anecdotes, including the fact that as I lay down in bed to rest up for chores and dinner (yes, as a pilgrim you must rest in order to be able to complete the physical act of eating), I discovered the sheets were soaking wet!  The little old ladies who owned the joint had no idea what could have happened (the sheets and not the comforter!  Is that even possible?!), and gave my mom and I a huge room overlooking the main town plaza.  We decided in the future to spill water on the bed if our room was too small.  (If you have ever crammed yourself into a room the size of a coffin after walking 14 miles, you  understand how morality shifts ever so slightly in order for a pilgrim to survive.)

Red & I in our Juliet balconies in Fromista.

The boys had planned to meet up for dinner, once again, and as I leaned against my Juliet balcony purveying the pilgrims in the plane tree plaza below - writing postcards, sharing foot abnormalities, drinking cold Spanish beer - I spied Hannes in the distance with that kind smile of his, chatting away with fellow pilgrims, and I thought to myself, 'I guess Romeos really do exist.'

To be continued...

"Love In The Mud" Part I & 2 - His Story

 I set out on a quest in search of myself and ended up finding love...

[Part 1 and 2 by Hannes Bral]

As you are all now familiar with the story, I wanted to give you  a glimpse into my little Camino Love world.  And, please, pardon me for my English, as my native language is, in fact, Dutch...  Well, I should correct myself and say it's Flemish.

My story starts just before the Camino, as I had lost my way a bit.  I had all these different choices to make, a relationships gone bad, physical exhaustion from not having enough sleep, and so on.  But I got myself together, packed my bags, took vacation from work and set of on an adventure called the Camino de Santiago.  I was doing it no matter what anyone said!  My boss at work even told me, "If you don’t go, you 're not getting your vacation days back."  That was his way of making me do it, and what a way it was...  No turning back!

I remember someone even telling me, "Maybe you’ll meet a girl on the Camino."  That phrase raised my eyebrows a bit, and I kindly replied, "I’m not looking for love on the Camino; just me and myself walking."  

I wasn’t sure what lay ahead, but I was excited!

The first week of walking felt kind of like my birth on the Camino.  I had to learn all new skills and get used to the pain in my knees, hips and back, as they were not used to carrying the heavy backpack and walking for so long everyday.  What made it bearable were all the amazing people I met along the way.  People who kept me going, made me forget my physical discomforts and who even told me about a wondergel named Radio Salil - sounds like a Spanish radio station, but in fact, helped a lot.  I would use it just before I'd go to sleep; twisting in my sleeping bag and trying to rub it on without making any noises.  Albergues were already loud enough, filled with sounds of all kinds, especially symphonies of snoring.

I had days when I walked alone along desolate, beautiful nature trails, with sometimes not even a single soul present, except me and some birds making funny sounds as they flew by.  That gave me the opportunity to have some time to myself to reflect on my life as it had been up to that point.  [Side note: I’m also one of the ‘81 babies that will turn 30 this year!  Starting a new decade of adventures still to come...]  It did me good to have that ‘me time'.  There were even days on the trail when I didn’t take any time to think about that sort of stuff.  Instead, I just walked and enjoyed what was going on around me, or just the simple act of saying "Buen Camino" as someone passed by.

On one of my reflection days,  I had a strange thing happen to me.  I was thinking back on my love life so far and the question marks surrounding it.  Amazingly, out of that thinking I started having a conversation with my heart.  I know it sounds funny, and I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was digging really deep into that organ people sometimes just refer to as a muscle.  Yet, it is much more than that as I was about to discover.  I asked my heart what was wrong.  'Why didn’t I experience the love that I once felt?  Why didn’t I fall madly in love when I'd go on a date?  Was I getting too old for those sort of butterflies?  What was happening?' 

A revealing answer came, as the heart started opening up to me.  ‘You take the hurt of a lost relationship too personal,’ it said.  ‘You don’t allow yourself to feel that wonderful love again.  You put a wall up to protect yourself, so that nothing and no one can hurt you!  Instead, you should let it go.  Let love back into your life and start looking for the signs all around you.'  I would later discover what all this meant, but for now I thought to myself, 'Easier said than done.'  Though, in my head I had the firm belief that one day I would find what I was looking for.

After 20 days of walking, I wanted to give myself a treat, so rather than sleep poorly in another albergue packed with snoring pilgrims, I took a hotel.  I was in Burgos - an amazing city full of life, culture and spirit.  I loved it.  After a wonderful dinner with Camino friends and some nighttime walking trough the gorgeous moonlit city, I almost decided to take another day off.  I could sleep in and maybe visit the city some more...  But that morning, as I woke up late around 9am,  something in me said, ‘Why don’t you walk today?  Take it easy.  Like a rest day while walking?'  That thought would change my life as I knew it!

I set off on a lazy laid back hike to the village of Hornillos.  Walking at this point had already become like a routine for me.  Muscles on autopilot, and backpack light as a feather.  My Camino buddy Juliano and I walked into the village right before a thunderstorm hit.  As lightening and heavy rain filled the afternoon sky, we arrived at the albergue and got the last two beds in the main house.  This meant we were staying there for sure.

In the morning, I got up earlier than Juliano and decided to have breakfast and get an early head start on the day.  As I was quietly eating my already hard bocadillo - as a real pilgrim you sometimes take the food as it is presented to you, and I still had leftovers from the day before - I noticed two girls, Tess (your blog author) and Emily (otherwise known as Red), who I didn’t know yet, walk into the kitchen area.  That lovely girl with the hat on and the walking sticks already in her hands caught my eye.  But as a mantra playing in my head, I told myself, 'I'm not looking for love.  I'm not looking for love.'  Though, I have to admit, she looked interesting to me.

Not knowing I was going to meet her again, I set off on my walk.  As I was racing through the mud - Tess is right in saying we Belgians are used to walking through mud-infested tracks, as we have lots of rain in our little country - I passed by that girl with the hat, and she yelled "show off!" at me.  'Hmm, now it's getting interesting,' I thought to myself.  'Why is she saying that to me?'  She caught my attention right that very moment.  Something dormant inside me had been awoken.

So I decided to walk that day with Tess and Emily.  As Juliano caught up and joined us, he started walking with Emily, and I had time to get to know Tess a little better.  My big wall around my heart was still standing, so no feelings were allowed to pass through. Yet, it wasn't like a normal friendship between us, as we kept talking while walking that Meseta path.  I really liked her already.  Her voice.  Her humor.  Yes, it was even the first time a girl could make me laugh; that on its own was amazing to me.

Yet, the fear of falling for someone fast was still there, so it brought me back to reality.  My realist mind again said, 'Well, she’s American; you’re Belgian.  You’re both in Spain, so don’t get anything in your head, man!'  Keeping the facts in mind, I felt confident that there was no pressure to impress.  We started sharing our thoughts, dreams and experiences.  Talked about where our life was going, where we wanted it to go, what bad love stories had come before.  I mean, we shared it all.  As Tess put it, it was like two soul mates catching up with one another.  I started noticing that time flew by in her presence.  What normally takes about half a day walking. seemed only hours.

           

When we arrived in the next village, I didn’t want to say goodbye just yet.  It didn’t feel right after meeting someone that special!  So I insisted that we meet up for dinner.  Juliano and I left the California gang and got ourselves yet another snugly albergue, which wasn't even open upon our arrival.  Yet, it would turn out to be one of the best places we'd  stayed in on the entire trip. 

The dinner that night was also fantastic.  There was a good vibe in that cozy little restaurant... or was it something else?  Was it because of the company?  Had something changed in me?  I remember that night at the table, little sparks filling our eyes.  I had a different way of looking at Tess.  Something, indeed, had changed... 

To be continued...

"Love In The Mud" Part 2 - A Camino Love Story Continues

An soon-to-be muddy Meseta.

First, I want to say 'thank you' to everyone who has read this love story and told me to hurry up and finish it.  Now that's motivation!

So where were we?  Ah, yes, calling a complete stranger a show off.  You know how in the movies when a couple have their "cute meet" (i.e. their first run-in) and BAM! they stare longingly into one another's sparkly eyes, and you just know they're going to end up together?  Well, that didn't happen.  For one, my eyes were glazed over from the cold medicine, so even if a sparkle was happening, Hannes wasn't going to see it.  Secondly, it wasn't a look of love he shot my way, but a look of... keen interest.  One eyebrow raised in a sideways glance (a look I've come to adore... I know, gag!), he laughed a bit and then asked me what in the world I was talking about.  I explained to him my envy of his quick mud stride to which he replied, "Well that's because I'm Belgian." 

Okay, so all I knew of Belgium at this point was that they made some killer chocolate.  In fact, he was probably a good ally to make on the trail because he must have pralines tucked away in his backpack somewhere.  On the trail, chocolate is fuel.  And the fastest way to a pilgrim's heart.  (That and the offer of a foot massage, which no one does because our feet look about as appealing as THIS.)  So when he gave me that sphinx-like answer I was perplexed.  What does being Belgian have to do with it?  Do they have webbed feet?  Is mud wrestling a national sport?  The answer is, of course, much more obvious.  Turns out, they have more than their fair share of rain and mud, which over the coarse of three decades turned this cute shaggy blond with glasses and a kind smile into some kind of mud Wunderkind. 

The three of us began to talk, laughing about our disgusting situation, while Red and I desperately tried to keep up with him, following Hannes' every step ,which he assured us would get us through the muck alive.  He was our Meseta hero.  Twenty minutes later we met the fourth member of our soon-to-be pack, Juliano from Portugal.  [Note to my single lady friends: If you are looking to date a hot Portuguese man who loves the outdoors and traveling, with his own house and pool and who happens to be the purest gentleman I've ever met, then book a plane ticket, and I'll let him know you're on your way.]  For awhile the four of us chatted away in a cacophony of accents and broken English.  I'm not referring to Hannes, who speaks perfect English, but to myself, who had walked nearly two months without much talking and could no longer seem to form proper sentences... "Yes, I American.  Mom and me walk long time.  Not bad feet.  Cafe con leche por favor." 

A bit further along, after eating chocolate croissants together and sipping coffee in a tiny bar bursting to the brim with wet pilgrims - the floor sopping wet, two people sharing each bar stool - Hannes and I, in a fever of conversation, broke away from the pack and found ourselves passing through the now slightly less muddy Spanish plains alone.  At this point, I was so disgusting (muddy body, greasy face, dry nose, watering eyes, frizzy hair... I mean, a real sight) that flirting with him was the last thing on my mind.  There was no way this guy would take an interest in me, so why not put all my cards on the table?  The ex-boyfriend/s card.  The mouth like a sailor card.  The worst dates of my life card.  The sarcastic, cynical, crass sense of humor card.  The big dreams card.  The failures card...  I mean, it was ALL out there, trailing through the mud right along with us.  And with every card I put down, Hannes sent his own flying onto the table.  'Oh yeah, you're going to be totally honest and open?  Well take that!'

Never had I shared like this with someone I'd known only a few hours.  Maybe I had never shared like this with anyone, in fact.  Sure, you tell people you just met the pretty stuff, but not the grizzled, haggard, soggy, stinky, expired stuff.  Not unless you're at some self help meeting.  Yet, here I was, dishing out the good with the bad and listening to his own cornucopia of ups and downs, as if we were long lost friends and really had some catching up to do.  Most importantly, the man laughed at my jokes.  +2 points.

Later when Juliano and Red caught up with us, and by that I mean Hannes and I waited by the side of the road for an hour (sorry, Red, it's true!), Juliano was shocked to see that Hannes had allowed me to walk inside the road, rather than protecting me by having me walk curbside.  Frankly, I could care less but quite enjoyed watching Hannes squirm, trying to fish for an excuse.  "But women in Belgium don't expect that!"  Or how about this delightful quip, "Well, I do that for my dog!"  Oh.  So now I had been relegated to less important than his dog.  -1 points.  Only -1 because I was already somewhat used to this situation, seeing as though my dad has barely a picture of me in his house, while my "dog sisters," as he calls them, can be found prominently displayed in about twenty frames.

Once we got into the village and found mom, who had taken a taxi to catch up with us since in true Spanish bus fashion, they decided not to come that day (why drive today when you can drive tomorrow?!), Hannes made sure to make proper dinner plans with us.  That, after helping us find a place to stay for the night when the first albergue was full and Lizzie was beginning her "hotel with private bathroom" chant.  Hmmm, maybe this mud walker was a gentleman after all?  Yet, still I was looking only through friendship eyes.  Sure he was cute.  And funny.  And sincere.  And lord those arms were nice... really nice.  But romances don't start in the Meseta mud.  Okay, so before dinner I did bust out my miniature perfume and mascara that my friend Jeffrey at Chanel had given me in case of an emergency, but that didn't mean anything... Did it?

That night at the dinner table, though, things changed.  A complete 180 of my perception.  My romcom BAM! moment, sparkly eyes and all.  'Why?', you ask (I hate to assume you did, but go with it...)  Did he recite poetry?  Shower me in compliments?  Admit he was royalty?  Reach across the table for my hand?  Tuck a flower behind my ear and plant a magical kiss on my cheek?  Um, no.  Although those all sound like lovely gestures.  And he did reveal to me a lot of amazing qualities that night: his intelligence, patience, kindness, depth, lighthearted spirit.  Yet all these things didn't have the same life-altering power of three solitary words.  Three words in a breezy French accent that made my heart beat fast and my palms sweat and my blackheart say to me, "Damn, girl!" 'Those words?' you ask (there I go speaking for you again). 

"Miam miam dodo."

Yup, the three words that make up the title of our French Camino guidebook.  Yup, three words that sound like a child's cartoon or the name of a muppet.  Yup, three words that are the opposite of sexy, even in French.  Yup, three words that translate to "Yum yum nighty night."  There's no accounting for taste.  Who knows why they had such an effect on me, but there in that moment this Caligirl, as he came to call me, was a goner.  The Camino path had shifted and led me to him... the one.

To be continued...