I owe the reader a report from last week’s trip to Valle del Jerte. during the weekdays I’m finding myself increasingly absorbed in work, which is good, but my emotional and physical selves are taking a toll. Writing is part of my emotional maintenance.
Before embarking on this trip I was dubious if I should invite my girlfriend to come with me. I wonder if this is understandable to someone who is not emotionally avoidant. Solitude is a very jealous friend, but also completely accepting of you and your quirks. However, in the end going with her was the right decision. Thanks in no small part to her, I felt both free and accepting of the compromises that her company entailed.
On the first day hiking I wanted to visit some spots which are dear to me. However, hiking up a mountain my memory failed me and we went into an adjacent gorge. Backtracking would have required some difficult passages, and this garge had a path which is part of a GR trail. I hadn’t it explored before, but I knew were it lead, so I accepted my spiritual confabulation that perhaps my “special” places were not to be shared at this time.
Going up this GR trail took us longer than we expected, and when we reached the summit of the mountain it was close to sunset. As it would grow dark on us, instead of returning through the trail we walked down the pavement road that criss-crossed the mountain. "Do you mind hitch-hiking?" I asked her. "If I'm alone I'm afraid, but it's ok if you are with me" she answered. "And do you mind hitch-hiking?" she returned the question. "It causes me great embarrassment", I said "but I overcome it when it's needed, such as now, it's not safe for us to walk this road when it's dark".
Maps said it would be a three hour walk. We expected to be picked up soon, but very few cars passed us, and none stopped. The sky above us grew dark, and the stars came out. It was a pleasant walk down the road. I was surprised that she wasn't freaking out. Most people would be afraid.
After two hours walking, a truck that was coming from the opposite side of the road stopped unprompted. He rolled down the window. A wiry gentleman with a thick rural accent asked us if we needed help. We told him we had hiked up the mountain, it took us longer than expected, and we were coming down the road as to not hike in the darkness of the woods. He offered to take us to the town where we were staying. We jumped in.
After some initial introductions I asked him about a cheese store which was closed when I arrived to the town. "El Ranchero"—he filled in the name for me—"the store closed permanently last weekend, it was mine". But that was impossible, I thought, I knew the owner was the shepherd I encountered in one of my previous trips here, and this man was at least two decades older. I said "about eight years ago I hiked to the ancient oak at Prado Sancho, there I encountered a shepherd who said he was the owner the store"—"Then you must have met my son" he said. "Oh, that's amazing, you are his father!", I exclaimed enthusiastically. But he wasn't amused.
"Eight years ago you say? that's more or less the time I haven't spoken to him", he answered dryly. "I separated from my wife, and he took her side, they tried to take everything from me, they tried to throw me to the street" he said bitterly. He explained that he was the owner of four properties. His wife was to have two of them, according to law. But they wanted everything. "I'm a good person, I pick up stranded people on the road, you see, and they do this to me". I didn't know what to answer, except to say "that's sad, I'm sorry", though I knew there was a part of the story he wouldn't be telling us. I doubt a son would be willing to leave his aging father without roof over his head.
We finally made our way into town. At a street light we thanked him for the ride. He took out his phone and showed us a picture of a handsome young man dressed in black with a matching black hat. I wondered if it was his son, but I kept my mouth shut. "That's me" he volunteered after some seconds of silence. "How old were you?" my girlfriend asked. "About 22" he said. How strange, why would he show us this picture, I wondered, but the appropriate answer came out from my mouth: "Artista... Pareces artista", I said. His grin was wide and proud.
At night my own father wrote me a brief email. He wanted to know my Spanish phone number, and if the multiple email addresses he had collected over the years were still valid. How strange, I almost don't speak to my own father, but not out of some fall-out. It's difficult to explain. I feel as if the best way to love him is not to give hime any trouble, or any need for attention. He loves to work and puts his full attention on it. I find it difficult to relate to him in any other way than work.
The next day my girlfriend was very loving, calling me "loco aventurero", unprompted. I don't understand how or why this happens. I suspected that she reads what I write here, but then discarded it as non-sense. I must admit that my life is just a constant stream of small but unexplainable miracles.