In the evening at the Santo Domingo hostel, a huge hostel with over 160 beds, I was having a hard time getting on to the available WI-FI.
I sat down at one of the communal tables in the dining area across from a lady that was working on her lap top. The lady had a blunt cut bob hair style, she was wearing a yellow sleeveless shirt and was looking relatively fresh and eager. I thought it was impressive and a little crazy at the same time that someone would be carrying their laptop hundreds of miles, but to each their own.
“Can you get on the WI-FI?” I asked her. I assumed that since she was working on her computer that she was probably connected.
“Yes, just try the 2nd network instead of the first.”
I changed WI-FI networks and punched in the password. After a few minutes I was connected. Sweet success.
“Thanks so much.” I said and proceeded to check my e-mail and start working on my journal entry for the evening.
“How was your walk today?” I asked her assuming that she was a fellow pilgrim.
“Oh, I am not walking El Camino. I am working as a volunteer here.”
“Oh, that is awesome. What is that like?” I wondered.
“I don’t know! We just got here today. I didn’t even think to ask what my duties were going to be, I just knew that I wanted to come back to El Camino.” She seemed excited.
She told me that her name was Denise from Ireland. Her and her husband were going to be working at the Albergue together for the next month. I told her my name and where I was from as well.
“Did you do El Camino?” I asked her. It seemed odd to me that she would just volunteer out of the blue.
“Yes, 11 years ago in 2005. My father had just died.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I replied with the obligatory conversational acknowledgement of someone’s death, but she waved me off and continued.
“I went with my husband, kicking and screaming for miles and miles but then I found what I was looking for.”
It didn’t feel appropriate to ask her what it was that she found.
“I wasn’t Catholic before I went. I mean I am Irish so I was Catholic, but not really, you know?”
I nodded my understanding.
“But now I am Catholic. El Camino changed me. There is such a spirit to this place. Even just being back as a volunteer I can feel the spirit of all these people, all these travelers.”
“Does it get easier? When will my feet stop hurting?” I asked her.
“It will get easier, but when I did it my feet never stopped hurting. I bought boots and wore them and broke them in around the hills of my house in Ireland. No problems. But when I got to El Camino my feet bled the whole way.”
“I think that I need to skip a section. It isn’t any fun to try to walk 35-40km per day to make my timeline.” I told her.
She waved her hand at me. “So skip a section, do what you need to do. Find a buddy. Then find what you need here on El Camino.”
She told me I was brave for being here on my own. I didn't feel brave. Exhaustion can override several other emotions. I wanted to bottle up her encouragement. I had a feeling I might need it soon.
“ I don’t even know what I am supposed to be doing here.” She said again as she looked around the huge common area.
“I have a feeling that you are already doing it. Thank you.” I was grateful that she shared her time and her spirit revive me.
The Irish woman’s husband came bustling up to me a few minutes later.
“My wife tells me that you are Canadian. I lived in Canada for awhile but I didn’t like it there, it was too boring.” He said. “But my brother liked it. He moved to Toronto in the 60s and he was into the whole drug scene so that suited him fine, but I didn’t like it.”
I was surprised, I haven’t met a lot of people that say they don’t like Canada or Canadians.
He told me that his brother was very successful in Toronto. Apparently he had been some sort of film producer and had made health promotion type videos for the government. His brother still lived in Canada. He shrugged this off like it wasn’t the true story and he then continued on with his own.
“And I never had a problem with women,” he continued, “ but in Canada I couldn’t get a woman.”
He launched into what he thought was wrong with the Canadian system and how “strict” they were because of some of the tickets that he had gotten while living there.
“Once I came up to a stop sign. This was in the middle of the prairies, you know? I slowed down and I could see for miles and miles, you know? And there were no cars coming, so I proceeded through the intersection. And this Mountie pulls me over and gives me a ticket for not stopping at a stop sign! He was a nice enough fellow, you know, and we talked for maybe 20 minutes, but he still gave me a ticket.” He still seemed slight annoyed and incredulous decades later.
“Well people say that Canadians are nice.” I told him.
He shook his hands like I was proving his theory. “It is like they are too nice though. Sometimes you’ve just got to stand up and say ‘This is bollocks!’ You know?”
He paused and then abruptly changed conversation topics.
“You know the scripture, be an instrument of peace?” He asked me with some urgency.
I shook my head.
He waved his hands.
“Well that is too hard, you know, you just need to be at peace with yourself in order to be and instrument of peace, you know, BEFORE you can be an instrument of peace.”
I nodded and he continued.
“I am going to write a book about how to do this. I figured out that writing this book is my life calling. You know the reason that most people aren’t at peace with themselves is because of their ego.”
He told me his proposed book titles. I nodded, slightly stunned by the intensity of the conversation.
“First you need to be at peace with yourself in order to be an instrument of peace. Can you imagine what this world would be like if more people could do that?”
“I imagine it would be pretty incredible.” I replied.
“Have you read ‘The Power of Now’?
I shook my head. I actually had read it but I could not remember enough to engage in any conversation.
“You need to read it. Just live in the moment and this will help you to be at peace..” He said emphatically.
“What is your name, I need to know how to look out for your book.”
“Robert Anthony Downing, you know, like the actor? But I actually go by Tony Downing.”
I made a note of this. “I will keep my eyes peeled for this book.” I promised him.
“OK, now give me a hug.” he said and then he marched around the communal table and wrapped me up in his arms. His energy was frenetic and exuberant.
I thought about my ego and letting go of this to continue El Camino in peace. Could I do it?
A few minutes later the Irish couple could be heard sending people to bed and clearing out the garden area. It was time for me to go to sleep.