July 5, 2018

The Spanish saga has  come to an end, I’m back in Riga. The first morning home, Bohema is purring at my ear, twitchy Lakshmi is at my feet. Opening my eyes I try to figure out whether this all is true or was it just a dream. Thank God for the facebook entries.

The last morning in the albergue arrived quickly, I had packed my bags the day before, all that’s left now is to clean the room and make sure that there’s still food on the breakfast table after the early birds have departed. Paul is rustling up, he’s gonna be an excellent helping hand. I pick up my bags and head towards the exit, my eye is caught by the review-book, I pause for a moment… there have been too many unspoken words and sudden goodbyes that ended with the word NEVER, so I take the pen and write: “ I love you all very much. Thank you for everything, I’ll miss you. Take care.” And a drawn heart, too. A basket of Barbele candy is left still on the table…

Paul has come to see me off, we hug by the exit door. Thank you, my guardian angel, thank you that you showed me the way here, a goodbye smooch and off I go. I know he’s looking, just as I am, but I won’t look back.

I raise my eyes and whisper: ”You have to hear me, you have to. If this is mine, let me return, let me fulfill the dream; let me see the way how to get there.

Wheels of my luggage clatter against the pavement in the morning’s silence, echoing the pole hits of those who walk the road. Every one of us, we walk our road, now in opposite directions, but maybe someday my home will become a stop for others. We exchange well wishes for the road ahead.

It’s a long way to Madrid, 4 hours by train, I have time to recollect myself and observe the beautiful landscape. How was it here, when Izabelle and Ferdinand ruled, who started uniting Spain?

These seventeen days have taught me the biggest of arts – the art of acceptance. It’s the ability to see and accept, and value what one gives you, without the mantle of your own expectations. Every day I had little testimonials of attention, either that being a chunk of break on my plate (it’s not common for them to give you something if you don’t ask; I insisted on pouring tea in cups, to each whichever they liked best,) or getting a bigger piece of steak, or a coffee etc, etc.

It’s easy being happy about life and people when you’re free of expectation. There are many revelations swirling in my head, many new unnamable feelings and colours.

At the airport. My ticket won’t “beep” through. A team of consultants is summoned, they study the ticket, check the computer, make a phonecall. I’m taken through the back door. I’ve to show the goods in my suitcase at the luggage check. “Do you have any food?”, I answer that yes, I do, lots of cheese and candy. Now I have to upend the suitcase for them to check it all. “Why so much?”, I answer :” Me gusto mucho queso.” Control smiles. “Turista?” “No, hospitalero.” “ OOO, buen camino!” and I’m let go. The other control man trying to help with the suitcase closed the lid so hastily and hard that he manages to get my finger caught too. Auuuu! The plane’s late yet again, I’ll be home really late. When we’re finally in, a message from Daniel pops up :” Is everything ok? I see that the plane is late. Send a message when you’re home, and a photo, too.” Sweet.

I’ve got a window seat, gotta enjoy the views while they’re there – fields, cities, sometimes with a puff of clouds above. At one point clouds get thicker and start resembling different shapes, some of them remind me of little dreamy houses, some others – castles of a strange kind. Then I think that maybe our loved ones live in ones just like these, and Bachata is running through some of those fields. How strange are the ways of life. Some doors close while other windows open, someone leaves but something is given in their place. I remember now another discussion about love, human wants and the ego. That evening we concluded that ego retreats in the face of true love, it doesn’t matter who you love, but most importantly – how. This would be my answer – Spain: falling in love, just satisfying my ego or true, deep love.

Many stories are left behind the scenes, like meeting the cat lady, and the district baddie, self-confident puss, or how I bruised my left butt-cheek and panicked, if I cannot manage this on my own who out of the three I’ll ask for help. The first that came to mind was Antonio, because he’s the simplest of them all, but then I’d have to take either Daniel or Andrea as a translator because Tono doesn’t speak English, and in turn my Spanish is so weak I couldn’t possibly explain why I’d have to show him my rear. Meeting so many lovely people and the discussions with them – that will stay in the memory storage like unfainting beams of light, little fires to get warm by on rainy days…

In the middle of the night I send the message that I’m home and include a picture of me with Bohema. I know they’ll only see it in the morning when they wake up. The reply comes lightning fast: “Stay safe, this evening we prayed for you, your family and Gundega…”

Ah , Spain, a spark in my little heart…

P.S. For a moment only, I was admitted to a paradise – chapel Sisters’ garden, which is hidden from strangers.