This is the 31st of 42 posts about the poems which carried me along the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route in Aug-Sep 2016. On this, the 31st day, I went backwards 60km by car, from Furela to Villafranca.
In Furela, I had stayed at the art cafe. When I came down to the kitchen for breakfast, chanting emanated from a weathered black CD player. A veteran pilgrim made porridge with fruit while his two dogs played outside. The owner of the house - 'the alchemist' - appeared and, when I asked him how he slept, told me that he had been with the Gods all night. He added, 'either you will understand or you will not. Either is fine.'
I asked him to pick the poem for the day. He landed up with...... 'The Owl and the Pussycat' (which was, I think, given to me by my mother as part of her project to help me laugh more). Imagine me - with the help of a translator - trying to explain this avian-feline romance to a man that spent his night communing with deities.
And then came a camino first for me: I traveled backwards. The previous evening, I had been inspired by my hosts to invite my camino-friend to return and walk with me for the final week to Santiago (I had previously spend two joy-filled days conversing with her before she ended her journey in Villafranca, and then traveled home to Barcelona). To my astonishment, she took up the offer, on the condition that she could start again from Villafranca. Happily, another guest at the art cafe was driving the 60km to Villafranca that afternoon, and was able to give me a lift.
Upon arrival, I took a bunk at the municipal-run hostel. The manager was regarded as something of a 'camino legend' - one of the 'original wisemen' of the renaissance in the 1970s / 80s, who 'still knew what it was all about'. Sure enough, he finished the night by leading his guests in a blessing ceremony that involved a considerable amount of flaming alcohol.
In Furela, I had stayed at the art cafe. When I came down to the kitchen for breakfast, chanting emanated from a weathered black CD player. A veteran pilgrim made porridge with fruit while his two dogs played outside. The owner of the house - 'the alchemist' - appeared and, when I asked him how he slept, told me that he had been with the Gods all night. He added, 'either you will understand or you will not. Either is fine.'
I asked him to pick the poem for the day. He landed up with...... 'The Owl and the Pussycat' (which was, I think, given to me by my mother as part of her project to help me laugh more). Imagine me - with the help of a translator - trying to explain this avian-feline romance to a man that spent his night communing with deities.
And then came a camino first for me: I traveled backwards. The previous evening, I had been inspired by my hosts to invite my camino-friend to return and walk with me for the final week to Santiago (I had previously spend two joy-filled days conversing with her before she ended her journey in Villafranca, and then traveled home to Barcelona). To my astonishment, she took up the offer, on the condition that she could start again from Villafranca. Happily, another guest at the art cafe was driving the 60km to Villafranca that afternoon, and was able to give me a lift.
Upon arrival, I took a bunk at the municipal-run hostel. The manager was regarded as something of a 'camino legend' - one of the 'original wisemen' of the renaissance in the 1970s / 80s, who 'still knew what it was all about'. Sure enough, he finished the night by leading his guests in a blessing ceremony that involved a considerable amount of flaming alcohol.
"They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon."
The Owl and the Pussycat – Edward Lear (1812-1888)
I
The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful
pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a
five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small
guitar,
"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful
Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!"
II
Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!
How charmingly
sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we
do for a ring?"
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where
the Bong-Tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the
end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the
end of his nose.
III
"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?"
Said the Piggy, "I will."
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who
lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with
a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the
light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.
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