First part

A group of Polish pilgrims is walking El Camino. They began in 2016 from Lviv, walking over 4000 kilometres in stages, and are now on the final stretch. We meet at some stops, and I have become friendly with them, chatting from time to time.

Second part

In the mornings, I start walking in my sneakers. As the sun rises and the temperature climbs, I change into sandals around midday.
Yesterday, when I arrived at the albergue, I took off my sandals and put them on the shelf. In the evening, I picked them up and packed them into my backpack.

Third part

On the next day at a breakfast stop, I met the Polish group again. One of the women told me that her friend could not find her sandals that morning. It seemed like an ordinary travel mishap; when you travel, things sometimes go missing. At a lunch stop, I met the Polish group once more. It was getting hot, so I decided to change into sandals. I took them out of my backpack and noticed they were dusty, though I did not remember them that way. I shook them out and realised they were not mine. Apparently, they belonged to the Polish woman whose sandals had gone missing. I had picked up the wrong pair the previous evening! She was happy to have them back. I felt a little sad, though, because I had to say goodbye to my own sandals, which were still at the albergue, and look for another pair.

Fourth part

On the second day of this stage of El Camino, one Polish woman from the group twisted her knee and could not walk. She had been travelling by taxi from one stop to the next while the group continued on foot. Because taxis are expensive, she found a bus that day and planned to take it to the next stop. The bus was leaving at 3 p.m.

Merging of the parts

Around noon, well before the bus departure, her husband called and asked her to bring the sandals. The Polish group gave me the name of the albergue where they were staying, and I went there in the afternoon to collect my own sandals.

End of the story

Sometimes we carry someone else’s things without realising it. Finding them and returning them feels wonderful – especially when, in the process, you get your own things back. Regression therapists will understand. 

P.S. Someone who read this story on FB, asked “Shall we call it “sandals exchange”?” We may, but the fathers and mothers of Regression therapy may not approve.

You get what you give

One day, I decided to take a shorter route – and got lost. Two angels, disguised as Spanish women walking through the countryside, led me back to the right path.

Lesson: the shorter route is not always the simplest; sometimes it becomes the longer one.

The heat was exhausting. By 11 a.m., I had run out of strength when I reached a resting place created by a couple of men to welcome pilgrims. They offered cold water, freshly squeezed orange juice, boiled eggs, cookies, and more, all on a donation basis. I noticed that one of the men was on crutches after twisting his ankle, so I offered him Reiki. He agreed, and I gave him a short, fifteen-minute session. When I returned to the Camino, I felt a spring in my step. I do not know whether it helped him – hope it did – but it definitely filled me with fresh energy.

When you give on El Camino, El Camino gives back.