I had met Alberto for one day in Finisterre, a town at the end of the Camino, whose name literally means the end of the world.
In hindsight, it seems fitting that we would meet there as I was about to end one journey and begin another.
He liked my idea of walking for peace, but didn’t feel especially called to do it, and so we parted ways that same day.
Two months later, as I was making my way to Rome to begin my walk, our paths would unexpectedly cross again, in the home of a mutual friend. This time, he felt compelled to join me, citing “signs” and “omens” that were too powerful to ignore.
I wasn’t sure I wanted company for that length of time, or how we would communicate with my negligible Spanish and his high-school English.
But I, too, felt similar signs tugging at me to acquiesce. I did, and left him to prepare, while I continued ahead to Rome. Ten days later, he would join me in Rieti.
On December 5, 2001, we took our first steps together.
This photo was taken on the road near Rieti leading to the Franciscan monastery of La Foresta.
In hindsight, it seems fitting that we would meet there as I was about to end one journey and begin another.
He liked my idea of walking for peace, but didn’t feel especially called to do it, and so we parted ways that same day.
Two months later, as I was making my way to Rome to begin my walk, our paths would unexpectedly cross again, in the home of a mutual friend. This time, he felt compelled to join me, citing “signs” and “omens” that were too powerful to ignore.
I wasn’t sure I wanted company for that length of time, or how we would communicate with my negligible Spanish and his high-school English.
But I, too, felt similar signs tugging at me to acquiesce. I did, and left him to prepare, while I continued ahead to Rome. Ten days later, he would join me in Rieti.
On December 5, 2001, we took our first steps together.
This photo was taken on the road near Rieti leading to the Franciscan monastery of La Foresta.
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