When we have an adventure and wish to describe it to our family and friends, is it fair play to leave anything out? Must we include only the good things, or are we allowed to leave out something unfortunate? May we ignore a mishap? Perhaps not. As a student of history, I like to think the record must be complete.

On a long walk to Santiago in northern Spain, I had reason to consider this after an episode that occurred some time before arriving in Pamplona.

Passing through a town which will go unnamed, I was walking straight west and following the Camino waymarkings everyone sees everywhere, and I was passing down a street which, like many in Spain, was pedestrian only, and I was walking down the middle of the street, as one does. On both sides were old residential buildings, and one was under repair, with workers and their equipment. A few of the workers were setting up a very high fence structure to secure their worksite. As I was passing by, they struggled with their labor — the wind was very strong — and someone in the crew lost his grip, others lost their sense, and the wind gained the upper hand. The whole thing suddenly blew down, the upper part striking me on my left side and suddenly there I was, flat on my back on the street and looking up at a cerulean sky and wondering, not for the first time in life — what happened? 

Immediately I was surrounded by a dozen workmen, clearly distressed, and all talking loudly, shouting to each other with an accusatory tone, and my very intermediate Spanish caught a few words — un viejo… un perigino… Jesus! — and I grasped the essence. “Oh my god, we knocked down a pilgrim! And it’s some old guy!”

Just as immediately, the foreman was there and he was clearly furious, shouting at the workers. Hearing his torrent of fricatives, plosives and  sibilants, I realized that my understanding of Spanish invective was seriously limited — or perhaps it was actually Euskara, the Basque language? — and I could catch hardly a word but his sense was clear to the meanest understanding. Pressed to translate and absolved by any censors, I might guess, “What the hell's’s wrong with you guys! I look away for a second and this is what you do? You can’t hold up a fence — all you guys together? Are you all drunk? You coulda killed someone!” 

Meanwhile I was lying on the street, still contemplating the sky. But I sat up, observed that I could do so with no problem, and looked about me, found my hiking poles and saw that nothing was missing aside from my composure. I still had my glasses, I had not landed on my face — always a good sign.

Ignoring the furor around me, I sensed something else was amiss, I pulled up my left pants leg and found a foot-long scrape down my shin, but there was little blood, which was reassuring. Considering past experience, it could have been worse. All my joints and tendons seemed to be minding their duty, so perhaps there was really nothing wrong, despite all the shouting around me. Such noise! 

But then I noticed a hole in my pants and this concerned me. One does not want to walk across another country looking shabby and ragged. 

The foreman helped me to my feet. He was deeply apologetic, and, because this was Spain and not the U.S., I knew his apology was genuine and sincere, and not simply fear of legal action. I assured him I was fine — estoy bien, no es herido — and he seemed slightly reassured by seeing me upright.

Setting aside my regret for my pants, I was ready to move down the road but the foreman was, apparently, not ready to let it go, he needed something more. His face showed deep regret and I could only think he wanted me to forgive him, which was absurd. It wasn’t his fault, and I’m the last person in the world to place blame for an inadvertent event. What could I do?

Recalling my childhood and assuming something about his, but not knowing the words in Spanish or Euskara to convey my thought, I raised two fingers in the air and figured the sign of the cross, the priest’s gesture, and said, “Ego te absolvo.” His eyes went wide, he smiled, then laughed, and so did I, and he took my hand and shook it firmly. We could not have understood each other more clearly.

And so I went down the road. I still had five more miles between the moment and my night’s sleep.

Pamplona May 18, 2023