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During the fall of 2019, well before the first reports of the coronavirus, I traveled to Spain to trek the 825-kilometer, 500-mile, Camino del Norte and perform research for a novel I hoped to write one day.
Well, I’m now writing that story. I want to keep you all up to date, and to tell non-fiction parts from my Camino and show how they have morphed into bits of my new novel, Camino Child. In this novel, Summer Darling, a fifteen-year-old American girl, is walking the Camino trail alone. Yes, by herself.
During my trek, October 2019:
At the port town of Deba, the Camino del Norte drops into town down a series of streets, alleys, and stairways. As I negotiated this section, I came upon a young man who seemed quite lost (though everything was there in front of him). Tall and thin with a shock of curly and brightly dyed hair atop his head, this fellow got my attention before ever saying a word. As quickly as that he became a key character in my newly developing storyline. The poor fellow may never know.
Summer’s story, as told by her:
(BTW, she’s at the end of a very long trek this day and has a nasty blister.)
. . . Not far away I see a young man with dark skin and a large backpack under a dark blue poncho. It had rained a few drops earlier, up in the hills, but I hadn’t bothered with rain gear. The very top of his head is covered with standing curls dyed bright yellowish-orange. He looks like a big blue marshmallow skewered by a long matchstick just set on fire.
He looks lost, confused. He glances at his smartphone, looks up, turns this way and that. He spies a woman walking his way along the narrow lane. He calls to her. I can just make out that he is “looking for the all-pear-kay.”
The woman indicates in perfect English that she doesn’t have the time, she’s in a hurry. She rushes to her car, slams the door, and buzzes away. I’m as surprised by her reaction as the matchstick. I’m beside him now. He turns to me and without hesitation says something similar about an albergue. He has a thick accent that I must weed through.
“Yellow arrows point down that stairway over there,” I say, pointing in that direction and resuming my stroll-slash-limp toward the stairs and the center of town. He follows close behind. Too close. I speed up the best I can. On the stairs, keeping that angry toe pointed up, I step only on my heel. This doesn’t do much good.
He says, “I not know which way. I need find all-pear-kay.” He’s so close I feel the words and his breath across the back of my neck.
Through clenched teeth, I say, “The al-bear-gay should be down here, in the town.” I wonder how this guy found his way this far along the Camino del Norte. He follows along, so close I’m afraid he will push me down the stairs. “Are you looking for the municipal albergue?”
“Yes, yes, municipal,” he says.
I can’t stand it anymore and stop before the next set of stairs to let him pass. He stops too. “Go ahead,” I say with a wave.
“I not know which way,” he says again. I point down the stairway. He stands there. Weirdo.
I go ahead, and as fast as I can manage.
The arrows lead down and through a narrow alley before entering a small plaza. I turn to see how Matchstick is doing. He is missing. Where in the hell did he go? I look around, turning full circle. He’s not there. . . .
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| While sketching out the backstory and family history for Camino Child and our lead character, Summer Darling, I wrote a novella about her grandmother when she was a young woman backpacking through Europe in the 1980s with her older sister. CLICK here to download your FREE copy of Georgia & Patricia. |
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