Day 1 – A quiet morning and Networking 101
It’s pitch dark outside as I open the door and set the menu board out front. Beyond the bar’s terrace, I can’t see a thing and wonder who would possibly be out walking this early. Our bar is the first stop for pilgrims after the hour-long trek from the last town, Belorado. For someone to arrive here by 7:45, they must have set out around 6:45. In the summer, that seems reasonable, but on these gloomy autumn mornings, I can’t imagine someone being so determined.
On the left side of the bar, there’s a path that goes as far as the eye can see, surrounded by fields coloured green and brown and even yellow. The other volunteer, Matias, who has been here for a month already, comes downstairs at 7:50. Since it’s only my first day, I’m a little lost with what to do so I’m relieved when he explains the morning routine: First, start the coffee machine, then press fresh orange juice, and finally, put away the dried dishes from the day before.
Over the next four hours, only six customers stop by. I spend the time cleaning and reorganizing the fridge, and then do the same for the bar’s glasses. The second-to-last customer is a man who orders a coffee and a croissant. After paying he gives me a bunch of stickers and asks if he can leave them here. “Of course”, I answer. The sticker is big and bright yellow, with a book in the middle.
“Are you a writer?”, I ask him, to which he answers that he is. The author explains how he has been a travel journalist for almost thirty years and has published multiple books, guides as well as novels. I am amazed. To meet someone doing almost exactly what I hope to achieve on my first day abroad feels like a sign that I’m on the right path, or perhaps a spark of inspiration to keep pursuing my dreams with renewed determination. I tell him I write too, and that I’m a photographer, but I am too shy to show him my blog.
After twelve, when the bar is closed, I take my book (e-reader actually) and sit outside with the sun burning on my face. With nothing to do, nowhere to be, I feel the usual tension in my body leave with every breath I take. I look around me, bewildered by the beautiful nature I’m surrounded with and notice a little opening between the trees and shrubs bordering the farmland. I run upstairs to my room, where I remember seeing a lot of blankets, and find a colourful thin cover. I walk over to the farmland and find this spot where the grass is low and nothing else seems to grow. There, I put the scarf-like blanket down. With the sun warming my body from out- to inside and the vibrant hues of the spread lifting my spirits, I close my eyes and feel content.
Day 2 – Kind of the exact opposite
We opened the bar just 30 minutes ago and have already served twice the costumers as the day before. Until 10:00 solo pilgrims or little groups walked into the bar to get a coffee and/or a croissant.
Sylvia, the owner, invites us to her home in Belorado to help with some house chores. Though she offers to come get us by car, Matias suggests walking and we agree to the latter. The walk is beautiful – fields stretch endlessly beneath the autumn sky. With barely any movement in the landscape, it’s like walking around in a painting. I hesitate to take out my camera with my co-volunteer walking beside me. There’s something intimate about capturing a moment, and I feel shy about doing it around someone I barely know.
After finishing the chores, Sylvia drives us back to Tosantos. I had hoped to spend the afternoon in the slightly bigger town, but Matias wanted to make pasta from scratch, so I didn’t say anything and went along with it. Normally, I’m not too shy, but it takes me a few days to open up. After the very stimulating weeks I had in Belgium, this quieter, slower pace and change of scenery is messing with my head a little.
Just like yesterday I plan to nap and read and maybe write the rest of the day away. To many this might sound boring – you’re in Spain! But honestly, there’s not much more to do. Which is why I chose this place in the first place. With a mind that never stops overthinking and a tendency to spiral into intense mood swings, a break in the middle of nowhere is exactly what I need, but my mind isn’t quite ready to relax yet.
Even after trying out yoga and meditation (I’m too impatient), my mind keeps running this marathon of thoughts. As a last resort, I decide to go sleep early. My magical remedy against overthinking.
Day 3 – Small town, Big feelings
After another morning with barely any pilgrims passing by, Sylvia picks me up to go back to Belorado – this time it’s just me, so when I finish my chores I tell her I want to see the town and will walk back to the bar later.
As I step outside, I stumble upon a tiny church. While I don’t consider myself a Christian, I often feel drawn to enter a church whenever I come across one in a different country. In ten steps I reach the end of the nave and find myself in front of the memorial candle stand. The candles are electronic. I’m disappointed because the act of lighting the candles is a specific moment to linger on those I remember.
The box says it costs 10 cents, so I take a coin and insert it. One of the candles that wasn’t lit yet, flickers twice before gleaming steadily. Impressive. I put another coin in and then another. I always light three candles; for both my grandmothers and for my mom’s best friend. I stare at the candles and a certain person comes to my mind. I close my eyes for a second. Though I never met the woman, I light another candle. Not just for her, but for the person she means so much to, who means so much to me.
I sit down on the bench in front of the candles and stare at those burning for me. Before I realize it, my eyes let out streams of tears. Between the sobs, I laugh a little, blending my hurt with relief. The mixture of feelings inside me escapes into the open, and I am glad that no one else is here to witness my insanity. Without hesitation, I allow the tears to flow freely. I hope to release all these feelings and leave them locked up here in this sanctuary.
“I miss you”, I say out loud, and suddenly I find myself praying. Not to any god necessarily, it started out as pity whispers to my grandmothers. They’re always the first ones I think of when entering a church to light their candles. I like the idea of them being the Gods I pray to. Though I’m certain I don’t actually believe in God, I do believe. I believe I believe I believe. I believe that everything will fall into place. The mantra I thought I had lost months ago, puts again a smile on my face and I leave the church.
The town was a lot smaller than I had anticipated. Starting from one end, I walk toward the centre, and just five minutes later, I check Google Maps, only to find I’ve already reached the opposite side of Belorado. I turn around and find the centre, resembling a ghost town – the stores are closed and I count only three people crossing the town square.
For two hours I wander through the town, passing the same people repeatedly, searching for a spot of the town not yet discovered. I spotted the mailwoman but didn’t think much of it—until I encountered her again later and noticed she was delivering the mail on foot. It struck me how small this town truly was if the mail could be handled so personally.
The days are repeating, but I make them so voluntarily. All I hope to achieve right now is a little peace in my mind, which sounds dramatic maybe, but really, it’s true. Therefore, I decided to book my ticket to my next stop. Despite not having any actual plans there yet, I’ve known for months that after Spain, I was going to Lisbon. So, on the 3rd of November I’m taking a twelve-hour bus to the hometown of a dear dear friend of mine, who I can’t wait to see again!
-Cels:)
CelsAway 
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