MY CAMINO ANGEL

If I was to explain how it came about that my mobile had become water damaged on day 2 of my Camino adventure you would have asked:  “And exactly how old are you?”. Still once I realised the problem I bought a large bag of rice, into which I immersed the phone in the hope, but not any real expectation, that the screen would miraculously ping back into full function. Well it didn’t – and so three days later as I approached Estella I realised that the time had come to revert to Plan B – whatever that was.

On the way into Estella the Camino ran along side a wideriver, which resembled a rocky beach at low tide due to the on going lack of rain. There I found a local tourist office where I explained my dilemma and left shortly afterwards with a plan of the town with the main mobile phone companies clearly circled. I had selected the albergue San Miguel for the night but on arrival was informed that I needed to leave my backpack outside in a black bin liner so that any bed bugs in my pack would be roasted in the afternoon heat. I just couldn’t be bothered so left knowing that there was another albergue just 50 yards back down the hill. When I got there, however, I was dismayed to see a sign stating that the hostel was closed. I was then faced with a choice – to eat humble pie or to trek across Estella to where other hostels were situated.

“If I promise to behave myself and to do everything you ask, can I please have a bed for the night? And I’m very sorry for being so rude before”. I was speaking to the Canadian volunteer at the albergue San Miguel to whom I had previously been less than gentlemanly. She smiled. “You’re very welcome”. I felt suitably chastised.

So I headed off down into the old town of Estella and soon found the Orange shop where a brooding, dark, heavily bearded phone technician undertook an understandably short examination of the phone and then exclaimed in a highly technical prognosis “It’s dead!” “Can you help me please?” I asked. “Well we can give you a new phone for abut 100 euros but if your SIM card doesn’t work in the phone you will still have to buy the new phone”. This was a far from ideal proposal. “Is there a repair shop in Estella” I asked. “Si. Just off the main square”. I thanked him and using my map of the town headed off for the repair shop which I found closed. It was still early and many of the small shops in the narrow street hadn’t opened yet so I settled myself down in the old square of Estella for a beer and a very enjoyable session of people watching. Already the bars around the square were filling up with what seemed to be mainly mixed generation family groups, children were playing football across the square and mass was underway in the Cathedral San Juan Baptista. It was as if all society had been poured out into the square, where it ebbed and flowed with an ease and grace a million miles away from the social disharmony so visible on so many British streets.

I finally roused myself and went back to the repair shop which was still closed. The man in the electrical shop opposite said he thought it unlikely that the repair shop would open at all that evening, so I headed off to find the Vodafone shop. There was just a single young lady working that evening and it became very apparent that my lack of Spanish and her lack of English was going to present a challenge – until she indicated that we could conduct a conversation through Google translate on her lap top. She asked me to start so I set down a brief summary of what my problem was. As she read the Spanish version of my words I could tell instantly that the translation left more than a little to be desired. She, in her turn, now tapped away and I waited with a fast disappearing confidence that this process could possibly reach a positive outcome. I wasn’t wrong. What I read was completely incoherent so I smiled, said “Muchas gracias” and stepped back out into what was now a calm darkness of early evening.

My final hope was Movistar – a Spanish mobile service provider. The shop was quite busy so I took my turn in the queue and finally spoke to one of the two girls working there. As soon as I spoke English she pointed to her colleague. So back into the queue until finally she was free. As I explained what had happened to my phone she looked at me with a great deal of the kind of sympathy which is reserved for those who aren’t expected to have mastered a new technology. At the end of my soliloquy she summed up by saying “So what you need is a phone just for text and voice”. She opened a drawer full of examples of what seemed to be every mobile device ever invented. She pulled out three or four, connected them for power and then started a rapid testing program which involved click clacking away on her laptop, talking rapidly through her headset to her service support centre and occasionally conversing with her Movistar colleague in the shop. I became aware that the queue behind me in the shop was growing by the minute but rather than being frustrated the assembled gathering seemed to be taking an ever growing interest in my situation, encouraged by the wit and repartee of my Movistar helper  - of which I clearly understood not a word.

All of a sudden there was a “Si” and a little fist pump. “I think we’re good to go” she said. There was a murmur of goodwill from the queue behind and finally, after a brief training program for me, she handed me the phone and said “That’s it – all done”. I was so relieved, so grateful. “So how much do I owe you?” I asked. “Nada” she replied. “No, no I must pay you” I insisted. She looked at me and said quietly “Senor, buen camino”. I knew that this was a time to accept generosity in the spirit that it had been given. “Can I at least give you a camino hug” I asked. “Of course” she replied. As I briefly held her the queue behind broke into spontaneous applause. I thanked her again, smiled to everyone and stepped out into the darkness. I felt very humbled, and very grateful.