THE VOLUNTEER

Those travelling the Camino are very dependent on the network of albergues that provide accommodation and sometimes food at rates of between 5 and 10 euro a night. There are state run albergues and private ones and the latter are dependent on volunteers who, for no pay, clean, cook and generally run the show.

I met a number of wonderful volunteers whose humility, patience and good grace was humbling but there was one in particular whose memory stays with me still – for a number of reasons which will become clear.

That day I had walked further than I’d planned for no other reason than I was just so enjoying being connected with the ground beneath my feet – every step feeling like I was kissing the earth. So I was really tired and desperate that there would be a bed for me at the albergue El Serbal Y La Luna in the small village of Pieros, some six kilometres or so from Villafranca. I was especially keen to stay at this particular albergue as I’d heard good reviews on the Camino grapevine about the communal vegetarian meals served each night.

Well I shouldn’t have worried as there was room for me and the albergue owner handed me over to a volunteer to be “processed” – passport check, credencial stamped and house rules explained. The volunteer was called Annie. She was French, extremely efficient and seemed entirely oblivious to her striking good looks – tall, lean, straggly blond hair, and with an angular, narrow face.

There were a couple of Belgians, Manuel and Franz, who I’d met along the way sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a beer. When I had first met them I had been taken aback by Franz whose face and neck were literally covered by tattoos. I had felt intimidated. But Franz, I grew to recognise, was charming. Another Camino lesson learned! They beckoned me over and before I knew it Annie popped a beer down in front of me. Others joined us and Annie scurried back and forwards with beers and tapas. In between her bar duties I could see Annie in the kitchen preparing the evening meal for about eight or nine travellers. And still more pilgrims arrived who needed processing.

About eight o’clock dinner was served, by Annie, as we squeezed around the old wooden kitchen table. Three courses of freshly prepared vegetarian plates with tomatoes, courgettes, onions and peaches and plums from the alberguegarden featuring strongly.  Us diners tried hard to clear away the plates, pour the wine but Annie was always there.

As is the custom on The Camino my fellow pilgrims set off for bed pretty early until I was left clearing away the last remnants of our feast with Annie. I was intrigued to find out more about her back story  - was she between jobs, was she a stay at home mum? So I asked her “Annie what is it you do back in France?” She paused for a moment and then sat down at the table. “I am a social worker, working with children with severe physical and psychological problems. Sometimes I try to bring small groups for a few days walking the Camino. But my work is hard – never enough money so I can help the children the way they need”. There wasn’t a trace of self pityin her voice – just telling her truth. So here she was on her holiday volunteering so that, generally middle class walkers like me could enjoy “an experience of a life time”. She looked across at me, her eyes heavy with tiredness, and smiled. And as she smiled she radiated kindness and grace. I felt very humbled. Then she stood up and continued volunteering.

The next morning I skipped breakfast at the albergue as I fancied walking for an hour or so before stopping for something to eat. As was my custom I went to say my goodbyes before setting off and finally there was Annie – yes, you can guess it, she was busy with breakfast. I started to saythankyou and goodbye when she startled me by asking “Could we please have a photo together?” I have to be honest and admit that my male ego was starting to take off when, with impeccable timing, Annie went on to say “You remind me so much of my grandfather!” So the photo was taken on her Iphone and when she showed me the picture I realised that no one else would ever understand my somewhat awkward smile as I chuckled at my now severely deflated ago!

Ten minutes later I was walking through some hilly Bierzovineyards whose deep purple leaves had been washed dazzlingly fresh and clean by a short autumnal shower. I was still smiling to myself – about my own folly and about the blessing of meeting, however briefly, a truly special person. “Bonne chance Annie” I said into the light wind “Bonne chance”.