Coup d’etat: Day nine on the Camino trail …

*Pic: Watching me constantly watching over me…and you

Peace and goodness to a T.

So European, this happy chap really should be dark eyed and swarthy with a beard as big as a baristas’

Laredo, Spain from a great height and distance on the Camino Santiago

There are many water fountains on the Camino, Gonzo wants a drink.

‘Of the twelve good Caesars, not one had a good son’. Suetonius, I think 125AD. Or it may have been John Julius Norwich, this century.

Word has reached the Field Marshall that he has been removed from office. I am delighted at this turn of events. Apparently his son has taken a bold step towards ascendency and removed the dictator for life, in absentia. The palace coup occurred by phone and the now Generalissimo (ret) is absorbing the ramifications and contemplating what parts of his ego can be retrieved from his former world. I suggested his self awarded medals would look good as a disco mirror ball. What does any of this have to do with the Camino? Absolutely everything, a pilgrim (sp: peregrino) needs a home.

Tonight my home is in Laredo, northern Spain. I am in a real monastery with real nuns. The one who booked us in was a doppelganger for Pope Benedict. Same height, white haircut, beatific smile and determination and spoke all languages except English. This did not deter her from long lengthy but very happy speeches about the running of her Auberge. There was a small lift that would on a normal elevation take three males and no more. Francisco with his backpack moved in, then Gonzo and myself, the little nun then motioned for the Generalissimo (ret) and backpack to enter with ‘Avanti, avanti’ like he had no choices, it was packed with the smell of three days continuos hiking and to our amazement she then slid herself in.

There is no possibility of insurrection, in bed by 10:30 and out by 8 am. Few of the lights work but the beds actually have clean sheets and the rooms down dark corridors are watched by a thousand religious faces. These faces provide her with guards that watch for furtive guilt. I am not innocent, Gonzo acts innocent but his silent act fools neither myself or the Generalissimo (ret). We watch these paintings, icons and photos like they watch us. We also watch our room mate who does not answer to any greeting in any language.

Good news at last, as we travel our lives become part of the moving mass of humanity. There are lots of kids in their early twenties, like Franscisco, a gentle soul from Oregon who has become aid de camp to the Generalissimo (ret), helping this sorry broken character into forced retirement. And at the other extreme are the 55 plus, with almost no age group in between. Injuries are uncommon but I think Gonzo may be getting a playmate. Alison a Scottish lassie has injured her back and it seems the only cure to keep her on the Camino is a Basque shopping trolley, Gonzetta.

I am reassured by the forced retirement of the Generalissimo, his son will be a good Caesar. The Camino is a journey not a destination and changes are expected for all but some Mericans. I am struggling with patience and sleep. Auberges are communal sleeping and washing hostels, the downside is when you sleep twenty to a room, there are always people who snore.

To be continued …

*Greg James is a malcontent capitalist. He has employed (and fired) a lot of people and spawned many business opportunities for himself and others. Some have been wild successes and some abject failures. Greg refuses to accept that Tasmania is second rate, it is only the people who occupy it who are second rate. Greg is a self and state educated owner-operator. He has been Chairman and President of State and Federal organizations, has owned a gay bar, built a suburb and wasted his life hoping that others around him would see the light as he see it. His brain is addled, his motives suspect and age has caught up with a life well lived. He writes about himself in the third person.