Friday, March 9, 2018

Camino Portugues Day 9: What's a Believer

— PORTO


Today, a train to Porto in the morning gets me to my new starting place. I spend a day walking around the large city, and an evening in a modern hostel. Surrounded by mostly early 20-something party travelers, I still haven't quite found my tribe yet but am enjoying the company nonetheless. The common area feels a little like being in an episode of the HBO series Girls, listening to young women talk about how strict their parents are and whether or not they're going to have sex while they're in Europe. The eavesdropping is glorious. The last time I traveled in Europe I was 27. Close enough in age to have tagged along with the youth hostel crowd, but with the temperament of a middle aged cat lady. This time, squarely in my 30s, I can get in my sleeping bag at 6 p.m. without anyone goading me to come to the bar. 

I did join the group for dinner at the hostel, ending up next to the three people that didn't fit in with the cool Americans on one side of us or the casual Europeans on the other. This included a young Japnese woman — she's studying education but wants more than anything to be a flight attendant and travel the world. She has a purse with grey fur and gold chains, long yellow bell-bottomed pants, and is very sweet. Then there's the Romanian — he's in his 40s, pounding red wine, and works as a meat inspector in the UK. "It's a shitty job," he says. "I work at a plant that butchers 20,000 chickens an hour. It's disgusting." And finally the Brit who lives in Newfoundland, a 60-something bookish man making his way back from a 3-month stint in India. 

"Try this garlic spread," says the Romainian. "It's amazing. Goes well with wine, not so much...Fanta." He rolls his eyes in exasperation as he gestures at my drink. "Why in hell are you drinking Fanta." He says it with a twinkling of his fingers and a twirl of his head. 

I explain that I don't drink alcohol.

"You don't like alcohol?" Asks the girl. 

"Oh no, I LOVE it."

The Romanian laughs and nods understandingly, but she doesn't quite get it. "So you already drink alcohol today so no more?" 

"No, she doesn't drink it EVER," explains the Romanian. "I'm going to do that someday," he says. "Not today." He wiggles his empty wine glass, shrugs, gets up for a refill. 

After the soup and bread and some more conversation I discover that the Romanian walked the Camino Frances just two years back. He's excited to reminisce, and says he plans to do it again, and again. Wants to do it despite religion. Perhaps in spite of. 


Like me, he's not a "believer." We comiserate over that for a moment, because it takes us a minute to figure out that we mean two different things when we say that. He was born into the Orthodox faith, and like many I know that clashed with the strict religion of their upbringing, he's rejected it with fervor, instead seeking solace in aetheism. It seems that it takes a lot of strength to stand up for your own beliefs in the face of cultural rejection, so when it's done it's done emphatically. When he says he's not a believer, he means he doesn't believe in God in any form. Period. Because that's the fence he was shown upon entering this world, the one you get to be on either side of. 

So our Romainian thinks religion is a hoax played on the ignorant. The Japanese girl is an aetheist but doesn't want to talk about it. And the Brit is a firm agnostic — he thinks religion is essentially an effective tax collection structure given holy status, but not in itself evidence that there's nothing at all out there in the big yonder.

"I figured out, even as a young boy, that I didn't believe in a God that would fill the world with hundreds of competing religions, all almost exactly the same with a few details different, and then damn you to hell for all eternity if you happened to pick the wrong one. I just didn't believe in that. But I do believe there's something."

My thoughts somewhat exactly. Though the Romanian seemed a little sad, I explain that while I don't believe in humanity's elaborate construction of faith systems as a tool to amass power and control over others, I do believe in the search for the supernatural, that which is beyond our understanding of this physical existence. Lacking omniscient knowledge of all things in the Universe, I say, I'm just not interested in making declarations of anything, other than believing in the possibility of just about everything. 

As usual, bringing up the Camino brings opportunity for interesting and potentially disastrous discussion, no matter where you are. But we get through it fine, and I'm happy to find opportunity for substantial conversation at this new starting point to my Camino. 

Earlier in the day, I was also happy to pay a visit to this bookstore, the self proclaimed most beautiful bookstore in the world. I joined the line of tourists outside waiting for entry, and once inside was able to eavesdrop on a deliciously obnoxious exchange between two young women. They spent several minutes reading poetry aloud in unison, in a bookstore crowded shoulder-to-shoulder, then loudly discussed the piece's finer points. The clash between the air of authority their tones suggested and the lack of self or literary awareness belied by the actual content of their words was remarkable. Sigh, I should be smited for my judgemental thoughts. Either way I'm glad I stopped to see this lovely store. Luckily I'll be on foot for the next two weeks, which is the only thing that kept me from buying any books.


LOL JUST KIDDING I BOUGHT TWO. I am very, very aware of their weight in my bag and the absurdity of their purchase. Even though they are small. My love of books knows no logic. They're not even unique to Portugal. It just seemed wrong NOT to buy something. 

And finally, in other wanderings, I overheard this from a tour guide, eliminating a little of the majesty inspired by some of the local monuments, which of course are not still standing 500 years later without significant upkeep and rebuilds over the years. 

"It's not hard to make a new building look medieval," he said. "You just build it out of stone, ok, and then hire someone to go around with a hammer, or maybe a sword, and, you know, whack it." 

Oh to have that job, amirite? Still, the scenery is pretty cool. 




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