THE SHOE

The moment I saw it I knew it was Max’s shoe. It was lying, discarded like a toddler’s bootee, by a bench on the outskirts of Vilar de Mazarife, a small village some 20 kilometers or so out of Leon. The shoe, a light weight, black, expensive trainer seemed to almost plead with me not to leave it there alone, baking in the fierce early afternoon sun. I knew immediately that I would take it, even though with Max ahead of me the prospect of meeting up with him again was remote as I knew he was keen to push on to Santiago and from there to Finistere.

I had met up with Max ten days before at an albergue on the approach into Burgos. He was in his early twenties, was open but was diffident and even a little shy. He sat opposite me at supper and I felt a welcome from him that was quiet and sincere. On the Camino he was instantly recognisable by his tattered straw hat and his single wooden walking pole. Our paths crisscrossed over the coming days and he would draw me into the cabal of young travellers which seemed to always be drawn to him. Leaving Sahagun there was a long and isolated alternative route to the Camino which ran alongside the busy N120. I was keen to take the country path but felt uncertain to tackle it on my own. Max, with a carefree smile, over a glass of wine the previous evening, just said simply “Let’s walk it together”.  He had insight, caring and generosity beyond his years.

Max had however made one fairly major misjudgement in respect of the hiking shoes that he had brought with him for the Camino. His were just the biggest, meanest set of mountain busters that you could ever see – and he had decided to invest in alternative lighter weight footwear. But again his judgement seemed flawed as he bought himself a pair of the lightest trainers, with fabric uppers – but wow did they look good!

So on the morning of the day when Max lost his shoe I hadmet him on the outskirts of Leon. He was, as he always seemed to be, in the company of another lovely girl. But I noticed that his new trainers were tied to his back pack as he had reshod himself with the mountain busters as the route that day was set to be tough underfoot.

So here I was looking at Max’s shoe. I could picture him, relaxing on the bench, then swinging his backpack up into position, oblivious to the trainer which fell silently into the dust beneath the bench.

I picked up the trainer. I knew that it mattered that I carried it with me – even though Max would most likely never know.

And indeed the days flowed on as I progressed through Astorga, up past the Cruz de Ferro, through Villa Franca into Galicia and the home run down into Santiago. It amused me every morning as I repacked my backpack that I had discarded so many “essentials” to reduce the weight that I was carrying that it never crossed my mind to leave Max’s shoe behind. His shoe came to epitomise for me all that I had been given by others on the Camino – friendship, generosity of spirit, acceptance.

I took no photos on the Camino, I bought no momentos. But as I write now I am looking up and can see Max’s shoe on the shelf below my window. I am transported back to that day he walked with me to Calzadilla. We didn’t speak that much, we didn’t need to. There are other ways of talking than through words.

So to Santiago. I was there for three days and had by now assumed that I would never see Max again. But it didn’t matter that he didn’t know that I had looked after his shoe. His shoe was safe and would travel back with me to England.

But on my final afternoon on the Camino I was standing in thePraza de Obradoiro in Santiago  to the immediate west of the Cathedral when out of nowhere Max was just a matter of feet away. He smiled sheepishly and we hugged. He had been to Finistere and was now back in Santiago, with a scallop shell tattoo proudly inked into his thigh. I waited a while and then asked him about his trainers. “Oh” he said “I lost one somewhere on the way out of Leon”. “Did you keep the other one?” I asked even though I was sure I knew the answer. Of course I was right. “You should have kept it” I said “I found your shoe and have carried it with me in the hope that it might be reunited”. Max looked at me at first with disbelief but as he saw me smiling directly at him it was as if he understood that I had carried his shoe not with the purpose of reuniting it with the other shoe but as a token of friendship and gratitude and as a memory of a unique time shared which would never be repeated but would not be forgotten. He smiled impishly this time, turned, and drifted away into the crowd.