A New Recipe

Two nights ago (man, how the days fly!), Sofia and I stopped at an albergue at the edge of Siarra.  I was absolutely beat; a few days of intestinal disturbance means eating very little food and sleeping only sporatically at night, which translates into very little energy for walking all day.  On top of that, I'd been slowly developing some tendonitis pain in my left ankle.  I was slow, and the day seemed to last forever.  I crashed beside Sofia at a table at the albergue's bar, and Sofia launched into an uproarous conversation with this English kid we'd met on the way.  He let us skype with our Mom (yay!), but I was too quiet to fight for a place in that three-person conversation, so Sofia talked as I sipped my Aquarius and listlessly looked around.
Someone was playing Simon and Garfunkle.
And this guy was peeling potatoes.
Peeling potatoes suddenly sounded like the perfect pasttime for my burnt-out brain.  I wouldn't have to talk to anyone or focus on anything...

finding peace in potatoes

The guy looked at me like I was a bit crazy when I asked if I could help, but he didn't question it.  He got me another knife, and we sat in companionable silence, peeling potatoes.  When the potatoes were peeled, we sliced them super thin, just right for the Galician-style tortilla (which in Spain is a thick omlet).  The man was named Iñaki.  He was very nice.  Big heart.  He carried each pilgrim's bags up to the rooms, and he gave us bread for the road in the morning.  His favorite Simon and Garfunkle song is Kathy's Song, which I had never heard.  Mine is For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her.  We played them for each other, then listened to Cecilia, which both of us loved as kids without ever knowing the words.

He showed me how to make the tortilla, calling me over from conversation ("Connecticut!  It is time!") whenever the next step was ready.  The cooking of the potatoes in hot oil, the beating of the eggs, the flipping of the omlet...  I was the first pilgrim ever to see his tortilla-making skills in action.  :)  
And then, when everyone was sitting down to dinner (which for me was free! Thanks, Iñaki) and it was time for the main course of tortilla, Iñaki had me help bring the plates of hot food over.  In three languages, Spanish, English, and Italian, he asked everyone to clap for me, because I had helped make dinner (very minimally, I would say).  The applause came in three separate bursts (one language at a time), and everyone seemed happy.  I was feeling better; being well-fed and appreciated can turn the hardest day into a wonderful evening.

Finished product!  Delicious!

Kathy's Song

I hear the drizzle of the rain
Like a memory it falls
Soft and warm continuing
Tapping on my roof and walls.

And from the shelter of my mind
Through the window of my eyes
I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets
To England where my heart lies.

My mind's distracted and diffused
My thoughts are many miles away
They lie with you when you're asleep
And kiss you when you start your day.

And a song I was writing is left undone
I don't know why I spend my time
Writing songs I can't believe
With words that tear and strain to rhyme.

And so you see I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs
The only truth I know is you.

And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain
There but for the grace of you go I.