June 18, 2018

My second and third day. I’ve adjusted to my new home and am learning to communicate with all three priests. It’s good to keep in mind that this is Spain and priests are of special caste, even if they don’t look it. Looking at Andre – if you’d miss him wearing a small wooden cross, you’d think of him as by the books hippie dude with long, curly hair who spectates soccer matches on his phone. There’s a whole different story about phones, though – on the first evening we gather in the small chapel to say our thanks for the day and talk through anything that’s on our hearts. It was nice hearing all four men thanking God for my coming. Yes, formal, but pleasing nonetheless. However, then came the time of prayer, and lo! –  all of them are glued to their phone screens. Modern technology has impacted the ways of the church – the priests no longer haul their heavy tomes, instead they opt for their cell-phones.

My morning starts at 6.30 AM. Yeah, for me this is still deep night, to get up the bright sun helps, as well as the rhythmic stomping of pilgrims on the pavement. Then a large cup of hot, strong coffee – breakfast routine for the pilgrims, goodbye hugs and cleaning procedures. All of the second floor is in my charge, not exactly an act of diligence, it turns out I’m a very selfish person. The real reason, though, is I have to find a place among four men, all of whom seem indifferent from one another. Someone might act as the boss around here, but the real boss would simply go about his business without much of a fuss. No-one really orders me around. Do as much as you can, rest, attend a mass, sit, think. I tell Daniel that I’m on vacation: had there been a plan to do absolutely nothing I would’ve stayed in Riga. Priest’s eyes seemed to lunge out of orbits a bit at that, but he shows me the cleaning solutions, rags, basins etc. And shows me the order of cleaning. First the garbage, then cleaning and disinfection of mattresses and pillows (they’re in synthetic covers), baths, sinks and toilets, finishing with the floors. I inquire:”Which rags for the dust?” His eyes bawl yet again, uttering in response:”Well, y’know…we’re men here, all that really matters is that the floor is clean and there is no sediment in the running water…ermmmm… well, you check on the dust yourself…” and he quickly disappears. So as to not disturb the gentlemen and have some peace, I occupy the second floor and work on my own, listening to Decpacito!

Around 1PM the first travellers appear, the day is hot and the monastery garden offers some shade. I put my glasses on, check-in the travellers, show them to their rooms trying to not forget to say the three main things: 1. Coffee talks with a tinge of spiritualism at 5PM (I just tell them about coffee, nothing else, just that the priests will be calling for the coffee) , 2. Mass at 6.30PM, 3. 8 o’clock dinner. The monastery sisters cook the first dish and the rest is in the form of pilgrim baskets. Most of the visitors admit that they’re in paradise – the rooms are not even close to being full, every room has its own bathroom… I can remember myself, it was a real challenge sleeping with some 30-80 people in one room, both genders sharing a restroom… the barriers of the comfort zone were slowly but surely splintering. Here we even split the floors between genders, all for the comfort of the travellers. No-one’s even kicking you out of the door at 8AM here.

Faces of travellers after noon are drastically different from those earlier, rosy grey and clad in sweat and dust. Most have travelled 30-40km, over-evaluating their strengths. One guy is barely standing, two friends are holding him up. I give him a candy and a cup of water as fast as I can. Eh, eh… y’can’t do it like that, youth! One of the last ones to arrive is Vanessa, a nice American girl whose accent is absolutely impossible to understand. I’m sharpening my ears just to barely comprehend what this girl is saying. I decide to amend the rules of welcoming for this one. I show her to her room and tell her to lie down but keep her legs upright, put a cool towel on her forehead for around 10 minutes, take a shower afterwards and only then I’ll show her around and talk of house rules.

A Korean group that walked in first was cooking something in the pilgrims kitchen, laughing and exclaiming loudly. The sound of the fridge opening and closing is constant. A couple of hours later I learn of their mischievous deeds. In come Raul and Daniel with clear suspicion on their minds and ask me: “ Iveta, do you know where the meat from the fridge is?…” So that’s what the Koreans were cooking. Poor Raul is left with no meat for dinner, but our laughter is endless. Now Raul will have a special kind of affection for Koreans. To soothe his loss, however, he gets a double portion of rice and a bottle of wine. I suspect that pure red wine flows in his veins anyway, but that doesn’t lessen his charm though. Admittedly, closer to the evening his speech is harder to decipher and his eyes grow thoughtful yet foggy. I will miss him, we’ve gotten along quite well. The monastery is sending him away to a different albergue, in Raul’s stead a seminarist from Cameroon is sent to us. Here I have a strong opinion! But I guess it better stays in my pocket.

In the morning cleaning routine he has so many questions about the goings and doings of the albergue and the welcoming, that we barely have enough time for work. Everything’s got to be done by me, Raul and Father Antonio. We’re dripping with sweat. “Well, well, honey… I’ll leave the first floor to you.” I swear to myself. My hands are full on the second floor and I’ve dreamt up of cleaning the windows too. And now that’s that. I’m off to my chores.

P.S. Father Antonio is an all-rounder. I’ve seen him strolling about the albergue with a power-drill, then with some expanding foam and even a hammer. Jokingly I exclaim about taking him back to Riga with me, I’d need a handyman. But then I realise it’s a Catholic priest I’m talking to. Sigh…. Me and my tongue.