I walked the Camino de Santiago for the first time 13 years ago, and since then I like to return for a few weeks each summer, and I become one of the many unpaid volunteer 'pilgrim helpers' who offer help to pilgrims in need. My way of doing this is that I park my motorhome at remote wild places on the trail and offer cold water, cold fruit juice, First Aid for blisters and tendenitis, and any other help that I can give to anybody who needs help. Upwards of 400 pilgrims pass by each day in mid summer. And often I meet someone unusual......and they stop and we chat...... in Spanish, French, pidgin German or English ..... and out of that meeting there might come an unusual interesting story. So later I 'write it up' and sometimes I send the story and photos to EL PEREGRINO magazine ....and I am also saving these stories in my computer, and one day I might have enough true-life short stories to fill a book.

I call this true anecdote relating an event that happened to me over 4 years ago....



Pilgrim Bettina's Camino Drama.
It all started one very hot day in late June when I was parked in a remote wild desolate place on the Camino de Santiago in north Spain, about 6 kms east of Astorga city, and over 200 kms from Santiago. I was offering cold drinks, First Aid, and any other help needed by the passing pilgrims. Over 400 people carrying their heavy backpacks trudge past any one spot on the trail per day in mid summer and often some of them need help of some kind.

It was late in the afternoon. Most of the pilgrims for that day had already passed by, when a woman came striding along with a backpack on her shoulders and a jolly smile on her face, and seeing me sitting inside my motorhome, she waved at me. Then she came to my open side door, peeped in, and said .....'Hello, I can see the Union Jack flag in your window..... so you must be British'

I concured, and invited her to come inside out of the burning hot sun and have a drink of cold fruit juice from my fridge ... and a chat. She readily accepted, and when she had offloaded her heavy backpack on the ground outside, and we had shaken hands, and she was sitting comfortably on the settee just across from my seat by the table, as she sipped her cold drink, we exchanged some typical pilgrim talk.
"Hello, my name is Bettina, I am Danish from Copenhagen.
Where do you come from....?
What is an Englishman in this motorhome doing parked here in this wilderness ?

I-have-pain-in-my-legs-and-blisters-on-my-feet-and-oh-what-a-hot-day-it-is-today...!" Then I asked her how many days she had been walking, where did she start from, was she enjoying the experience, and if she was walking the Camino with anyone else...?
She went a bit quiet then, and a sad look came over her face. Her head fell forward, and she looked down at her boots. I softly asked if there was anything the matter.? She slowly looked up, took a deep breath, and quietly revealed that she had a VERY BIG problem, and she didnt know what to do. Her cheeks flushed a bit, and her eyes started to go misty, as she told me that about two weeks ago she had met 'the man of her life' on the Camino. He was a fellow pilgrim, his name is Rolf, from near Dusseldorf in Germany. They had been instantly attracted to each other, and had walked and talked for many hours together every day for more than a week on the Camino...... and fallen deeply in love with each other...!

After telling me that, she told me the rest of her long sad story in an emotional spasmodic and broken way. But when I joined all the details up afterwards, it came out like this.
They ate all their meals together, and each night these two love-stricken pilgrims had slept in albergues (pilgrim hostels) in single bunk beds, each in their own sleeping bag, a metre apart in typical crowded pilgrim dormitories, and after 'lights out' they silently reached out in the dark and squeezed each other's hands across the gap between them as they dropped off to sleep. And by day they were inseparable ..... walking about 25 kms from morning till evening ..... holding hands all the way. Until the fatefull day arrived when they had walked out of the beautiful peaceful countryside and entered the grimy industrial suburbs of the big city of Burgos.

They came to a bus stop. Rolf declared that they should take the bus into the centre of the city, because (as his Pilgrim Guide Book warned) there are eight horrible kilometres of industrial buildings and factories, sprawling crowded commercial suburbs, with lots of noisy heavy traffic to endure along the only road into the centre, which completely shatters the peace of mind and tranquility of soul that most pilgrims seek. He wanted to see the Cathedral before it closed, and the bus would quickly take them there. Many pilgrims take a bus at that place, and there were some already waiting there at the bus stop. But Bettina thought that this was wrong. She said that in her view pilgrims should never take a bus. She told him that she would walk on...... and catch up with Rolf at the Cathedral later. They discussed where they would meet, and then she marched off.


But after that.....she never saw Rolf again.....!



As she told me this she burst into tears, and her head fell forward on to my shoulder. I put my arms around her shoulders, patted her back in an 'Uncle John' sort of way, and murmured 'there, there, there' as comfortingly as I could manage. After a while she composed herself a little, and went on to tell me that when she had reached the Cathedral two hours later, there was no sign of Rolf. She walked around inside and all around the outside of the enormous Cathedral, and a large part of the medieval city centre...... searching for him for a long time. She met and spoke with some other pilgrims who had also taken the bus. But none of them could help her. And neither could I, as again she crumpled up, utterly disconsolate, and wept and wept, sobbing uncontrolably, with her head buried into my shoulder, ....... and her beautiful long curly blonde hair tickling my nose.....!

We were sitting very closely opposite each other, and both of us were wearing shorts. Carefully I shuffled my knees sideways so as not to touch her bare knees with mine, and I turned and reached behind me for a roll of kitchen paper towelling, tore off a sheet with only one hand (difficult) , lifted her chin and dabbed her puffed up crying sky-blue Viking eyes, and while she continued to weep I was thinking....... "How on earth can I help her to find this man that she has lost....?"

I offered Bettina another paper towel, and gently I asked her some more questions. I learnt that this slim and pretty woman is 42 years of age, she looks and sounds very intelligent and educated, works at a responsible job as an editor in a publishing company, and is normally very sensible. But she had panicked in the middle of Burgos city, and in a confused state of mind she had walked on towards the next albergue on the Camino. When she arrived in Tardajos village 9 kms further on, it was beginning to get dark, but there was no Rolf in the albergue. So as night fell she walked on yet 3 more kms in the dark to the next village, Rabé, and went into the albergue there for the night.

Lying in her bunk sleeplessly tossing for hours and thinking and worrying, she convinced herself that Rolf must already be at the NEXT village ..... waiting for her. So before dawn she set off again at a very fast pace, but when she reached Hornillos ..... there was no sign of Rolf there either. Dismayed she hurriedly walked on to the next village, and the next, and the next, and the next. And so on, marching along feeling miserable for many days. On some days she covered up to 40 kms in the blistering heat of the Spanish summer....! As you might know the average pilgrim only covers about 25 kms daily, and when she reached the spot where I was parked, she had already covered over 180 kms from Burgos, and she was still convinced that her hearts desire was just a little way ahead, and she would catch up with him ..... if only she could keep going at this extraordinary gruelling fast pace every day...... until she would find him.

Eventually I released her shoulders, gave her another paper towel, and got up and had a think. Here was a serious situation. And serious situations demand a cup of strong English tea.

So I put the kettle on...!

While we silently sipped our cups of black Indian tea, I thought very carefully about her problem. Then gently ... ever so gently ... I asked her in a whisper ..... if she had considered the possibility that Rolf might actually be BEHIND her...? She stared glumly down at her feet, and just sniffled and ( very ladylike ) blew her nose into the fourth sheet of paper towelling that I had offered her.
She didnt say any more. So I took command.
I told her to finish her tea, while I cleared the decks and put things away, brought her rucksack into the van, closed the side door, slipped into the driving seat, started up the motor ..... and as she sat down in the front passenger seat ...... I engaged gear and let out the clutch and off we drove ...... BACK along the trail, in the opposite direction of the Camino, back towards where she had just come from.

45 minutes later, after a very rough ride over a very bumpy rugged stony track ..... stopping now and again to ask passing pilgrims if they had seen Rolf.... we reached the village of Santibañez. Rolf was not in the albergue there. Nor in the next village called Villares further on over a track that was even rougher. Two hours after we had started, we reached Hospital de Orbigo village and I pulled up in the street in front of the albergue. Bettina went in while I waited outside. Three minutes later she emerged ...... with a man.....! They were clinging on to each other ...... and both were weaping tears of joy.

Bettina had found Rolf, and Rolf had found Bettina.

Over three cold beers from the fridge in the van ( and more sheets of paper towelling for her puffy smiling eyes)..... as they sat side by side with their arms around each other, Rolf told me what had happened. There had been a misunderstanding at the Burgos bus stop. They communicate with each other in a mixture of German and English. He had thought that he had clearly explained that he would meet her in the albergue, which his pilgrim guide book said was ....very near to the Cathedral. So after he had visited the Cathedral, he had gone in to that pilgrim hostel.

But Bettina had not understood clearly.
She had not searched in the Burgos albergue for him at all ...... somehow convincing herself that Rolf had said that if she did not find him in or near the Cathedral in Burgos when she arrived there......he would meet her in the next albergue.

So she marched out of Burgos...!

Love sometimes makes people deaf...... as well as blind.

We finished our beers and made an arrangement to meet in Santiago, and then I drove away, leaving them waving and smiling, each with an arm around the other.


They walked together for two more weeks, and later they phoned me and I met them in Santiago de Compostella city. They invited me for a meal in a restaurant, of pulpo, the typical Galician octopus dish, which was delicious. The next day Rolf flew back to Germany from Santiago airport, and Bettina flew to Copenhagen the next morning. I gave her a lift to the airport in the van, and the last thing that she told me was that as soon as she would reach her home she would dump her worn out pilgrim clothes, boots, and backpack, have a long soak in a hot bath, go to her hairdresser, hurry back to her home and put on her prettiest frock and shoes, pack a suitcase, lock up her house, and drive her car to Germany as fast as she could go. She and Rolf have made big plans, and now they are together near Dusseldorf. Everybody is happy. Especially me. I like helping pilgrims in any way that I can, and this was a very special 'pilgrim assistance' incident which I will never forget.
And by the way...... I have since then stocked up with plenty more paper towelling......!



John Francis....... hoping to find a mature witty woman who will accompany me the next time that I go to the Camino de Santiago to walk some parts ...... and also to help pilgrims.

Thankyou Brynhill.
I hope that you enjoy my other stories too.

I am an educated mature man..... seeking an intellectual mature woman.
If you are such a woman.... please read my profile
John...... seeking a lady living anywhere in Spain, UK, or western Europe.

Here where I live in south east Spain the tectonic plate that supports the continent of Africa, and the tectonic plate under Europe meet and grind against each other deep down under this región of Spain. Seismic movements occur frequently. Most are so gentle that they are rarely felt, but now and again a strong earthquake shakes this area. In May 2011 a strong quake hit the town of Lorca, causing much damage, many injuries, and nine deaths.
Nearly 200 years ago a catastrophic quake caused vast devastation and hundreds of deaths in this área around Torrevieja. Half the town was totally destroyed, and Torrevieja nearly ceased to exist.
And one sunny day in June 2013, when I happened to be in a local public library doing some research.... suddenly,.... an incredibly loud deafening rumbling noise roared up from under the ground, the floor heaved violently up and down, the walls shook, the windows rattled, the chair that I was sitting on threw me off sideways, and I gasped with fear and I was gripped by panic.
I thought that Armaggedon ..... The End Of The World.... had struck.
As I leaped to my feet I was aware of shouts and screams from the many other people all around me....... but my only thought was.... ..
I HAD TO GET TO THE DOOR......I HAD TO GET OUT..!
My feet didnt seem to touch the floor as I raced to the exit, bashed the swing door aside with both hands, rushed through, and a moment later I reached the street. As I gasped for breath and stood there shaking .....the roaring slowly subsided, the ground stopped heaving, and my heart slowed down and stopped thumping.

I calmed down.

Gradually I became aware of the crowd of people who had followed me out to safety. Bewildered and white faced.... we all looked around .... and I saw to my amazement and relief that the library building did not appear to be damaged. Then we all started speaking at once ..... excitedly expressing to each other our relief at being alive.... and some people who were total strangers to each other were even hugging and kissing....!
Then I noticed that the two people who had been the closest people behind me as I rushed out, were two very frail-looking genteel little old ladies. Thats when I belatedly realised ..... with shame .... .that I had totally forgotten my usual good manners. In my thoughtless instinctive selfish desire to save my own not-very-worthy life .... I had completely forgotten to hold the swing doors open for those two dear old ladies to pass through.
If they ever set eyes on me again I hope that they will forgive and forget ......the day that I forgot my good manners.

I am a retired journalist, but I still like to write true stories and send them to newspapers and magazines . They are usually about things and events that happen to me .... or to people that I meet in my travels.

Once a year I like to drive my motorhome to north Spain and walk and drive along the famous hiking trail known as the Camino de Santiago. Here is a 'doggy' anecdote about the Camino de Santiago that you might find interesting. It was published in EL PEREGRINO magazine some time ago. I learnt what I have written here from the very two people featured in this heart-warming true story.

Nearly everybody gets something from the Camino when they walk it. It might be ..... spiritual enlightenment ...... or a clearing of the mind when you have a big problem to solve ....or ( if you are religious ) a closer relationship with your God....... or even just good healthy exercise by walking many kilometres each day for a month or more. It all depends on what you need most. But here is a tale of two lucky people who got something that they needed very much ..... by just being there at the right time at the side of the Camino.
Eloy and Maria are two elderly villagers who run a small dairy farm on the outskirts of the tiny village of Barbadello, near the town of Sarria in Galicia, 107 kms. before Santiago de Compostella. The Camino trail passes right in front of their door.
One summers day, around mid-morning, they were in their farm yard when a group of half a dozen Spanish pilgrims came by..... followed by two medium sized dogs. It was a hot day, and the pilgrims and the dogs were all very thirsty. They asked if they could have some water, and Eloy and Maria gladly gave them all the water they needed, with ice cubes from their fridge in their kitchen. Then they all got into conversation, and the farming couple discovered that the dogs did not actually belong to the pilgrims. The two friendly animals had been following the pilgrims .....uninvited and unwanted for many days....! It was imposible to discover who they belonged to, and they could not be shooed away. All attempts to hide from them, even in the albergues-hostels, failed to shake off the two friendly misguided mutts.
They were male and female. The male looked a little bit like an alsatian shepherd dog, and the female looked a little bit like a golden retriever. These very lovable mongrels had succesfully begged food each day from the pilgrims, or from other people as they passed by. They got plenty to eat every day, but they were never admitted into any albergue ( pilgrim hostel ). The dogs always slept outside..... in the garden or in the streets.
Every morning the pair would be waiting by the door of whichever albergue the pilgrims had slept in. When they emerged, the dogs would greet them and wag their tails ...... and then they would both fall in behind and trot the 25 to 30 kms to the next hostel, following their reluctant adopted 'owners' all the way. They had done this for more than three weeks already since they had first inexplicably appeared behind these pilgrims somewhere in the countryside in Navarra. They had already followed them for over 500 kilometres, and seemed doggedly determined to follow them for ever.
The pilgrims were very worried about this. They would reach Santiago city at the end of the Camino in only four or five more days. Then they would all catch buses, trains, or planes to return to their homes in different faraway cities in other parts of Spain. What would happen to the dogs then....? They didnt know, and they didnt know what was best to do. With worried looks on their faces, they thanked Eloy and Maria for the water, and set off again..... with the two dogs falling in and trotting along behind them as usual.


A couple of hours later Eloy and Maria were milking their sixteen cows in their milking shed ..... when suddenly the two dogs appeared. There was no sign of the pilgrims. The dogs had returned alone. They sat down in the yard, had a good scratch, wagged their tails, lay down, yawned, and just quietly made themselves at home. After a while Maria took a liking to them, and as she thought that they looked a little bit hungry, she decided to feed them. She took them into the house while Eloy got on with milking the cows.
When the milking was done, he called out goodbye to Maria, ( who was already churning the milk into cheese, which they sell to make their living ) and he drove the cows into the narrow lane outside ( which is part of the Camino ) and slowly herded them in the direction of his grazing meadow, which lies a full kilometre away. He walked behind his animals as usual, and after only a minute or so noticed that the two dogs had appeared and were now following along close behind him. He was a bit worried about this, in case they might bark or attack his slow moving cows. Some town dogs will do this, and they can easily start a stampede, and cause injury or even the death of a valuable milk cow. He wondered whether they might be unruly town dogs, but he felt relieved when they stayed just behind him, and made no noise at all.
The lane has practically no motor traffic, and after a hundred metres or so, the route to his field veers off to the left, and the cows ambled tranquilly in single file along this narrow muddy track which has no traffic at all.
When they arrived at the field, Eloy opened the gate, and the cows ambled in and started grazing. When he shut the gate behind them he noticed that the two dogs were sitting quietly about ten metres away on the track. They were watching ..... and observing everything closely. Then he set off for home, and they both followed him.
In the evening Eloy set off for his meadow again, to bring the cows home for their final milking of the day. The two dogs followed, and when they arrived at the field Eloy opened the gate.
Thats when (as Eloy told it to me) the Great Miracle happened.
The female raced off to the right, and the male raced off to the left. They got in behind the cows on the far side of the field, and with a couple of little yelps, just enough to get the cow's attention, they both together started herding the beasts towards the gate...!
Eloy was amazed. The dogs dashed this way and that, yelping now and again, but never caused the cows any panic. All sixteen of the big brown beasts just ambled quietly and submissively out of the field and on to the narrow farm track, with the dogs trotting behind in a businesslike way, and they all set off at a comfortable cow-pace in single file towards the farm where they would be milked and then spend the night chewing the cud in the cow shed. Maria saw them all arrive, and nodded approvingly. These two dogs were obviously expertly trained and experienced cow-dogs....!
And the same thing happened the next day, and the next, and the next.
After a week, Eloy decided to try an experiment. Upon arriving at the field in the morning ..... after the cows had gone in ..... Eloy did not shut the gate behind them. He left it open ..... and then set off for home with the dogs following him as usual. He knew that the beasts would come to no harm. His cows would never leave the field by themselves without being prompted or driven. They love the lush green grass in their meadow too much and are happy to stay and graze all day.
At midday, Eloy called the dogs out of the farm yard into the lane...... which is the Camino de Santiago..... and they came out and stood waiting expectantly. Eloy raised his arm, pointed his finger towards the field far away, and ordered...." Ir por las vacas ! " (Go for the cows...! ) Without any hesitation away raced the two dogs in the direction of the field, yelping with delight..
With a worried look on his face Eloy paced up and down in the lane outside his farm. The minutes ticked by. He took out his tobacco pouch, rolled a cigarette, and lit it. After a while he was tempted to go and see what was happening at the field. But he stayed and finished his cigarette...... and then nervously rolled another. More minutes ticked by. But about thirty minutes later, sure enough, the sixteen cows appeared around the bend in the lane, ambling along with the two grinning dogs behind them, both of them wagging their tails held high .....as if to say "Arent both of us clever...! "
And that is how things are today. The dogs have done this task of herding the cows to and from the field a full kilometre away, twice each day, all by themselves. And poor old Eloy and Maria, ( who are both well over 70 years of age and not in perfect health ) have been saved the long walks, a total of eight kilometers each day, summer and winter, and so have avoided the cold and the rain of Galicia, and the deep mud of the track for more than two years now. These are wonderful dogs. Eloy and Maria consider that they are a miraculous gift from Santiago himself, and regularly give thanks with a prayer and by lighting a candle in the village church on Sundays.
And what names have these two dogs been given....?
Why, the female is called Camino ( a popular female name in Spain ) and of course the male dog is called Santiago. Camino and Santiago are the cleverest farm animals ..... and the most loved dogs ...... in all Galicia....!

John Francis.....age 69.....seeking a travel companion for my next trip to the Camino de Santiago in north Spain.

I am a retired journalist, and I occasionally still Iike to write stories for magazines..... true-life stories ...... about things that happen when I am travelling in my motorhome. And often they are stories of some little event that has occured unexpectedly ...... and somehow I got involved.....!
Here is a Camino de Santiago story.
It is a true story, about a little dog that got lost, and it happened to me and the dog some time ago. I hope that it tells you something about my character .... and the fact that I love all dogs.
I first walked the Camino de Santiago 13 years ago, and since then I like to go back for a few weeks each summer, and as well as walking, sometimes I give help to other pilgrims by making use of my motorhome as a mobile First Aid post. Over 400 people per day go past any spot on the trail in mid summer, and often some of them need help of some kind. I am one of the many unpaid occasional volunteers who do this charitable work from time to time.

One very hot day I was parked at the side of the track in the middle of a long lonely desolate stretch of the trail about 40 kms west of Pamplona, and about 700 kms before Santiago, offering cool wáter from my fridge, and offering remedies for sunburn, insect bites, blisters and tendenitis from my First Aid box to the many passing pilgrims.
As a group of four pilgrims approached, they were preceded by a small hairy black dog happily bouncing along on its short little legs. It appeared to belong to someone in the group and I called out (in English ) "Is that tiny little dog going to walk all the way to Santiago..? Its a long way for such short little legs....!"
Immediately one of the women burst into tears, and replied (with a German accent) ....." Itt doss nott velong to uss. Mein Gott, itt haz bin following uss vor 6 kilometres effer zince vee left Asqueta village. It vont go back, and ve dont know vot to do...! "
Well, this is a familiar tale. It happens many times, and I have known of similar mishaps with other dogs (and sometimes even with cats and cows, horses and donkeys) who stubornly and devotedly follow pilgrims who befriend them and feed them.... for days and days. So I was not surprised when one of the other pilgrims exclaimed to the one in tears...... " I haff toldt you in Asqueta NOT to feed it ...! Now it vants to valk vizz uss for EVER...... you dumpkoff...! "
I love dogs. So what else could I do but to offer to look after it, and take it back to Asqueta...? And so saying, I bent down and scooped it up in my arms. It did not struggle, and even licked my chin. It seemed very friendly.
I waved goodbye to these very relieved German pilgrims as they walked on, and then inspected the collar around the neck of this little dog. It was a white plastic anti-flea collar, but there was no label or tag with a name or phone number. I saw that she was a female dog and noticed that her teats were very enlarged. This little female dog had very recently become a mother, and she must have puppies somewhere, and those puppies needed her milk....! The sooner I found out where her home was the better. So I put her inside the motorhome, put a bowl of water on the floor, and closed the door. As I returned outside and sat down on my folding chair by the side of the van to wait for more pilgrims this little hairy Dachshund immediately jumped up onto the passenger seat, placed her front paws on the inside door handle, and with her nose pressed to the glass she looked at me appealingly through the side window. I saw her wag her hairy little tail, and cock her head appealingly on its side whenever I looked at her. She was a most lovable little dog.
Later in the afternoon after the last of the many pilgrims had passed by for that day, I started the motor, and with this friendly little dog sitting upright on the passenger seat, I bumped along the trail for six kms. and arrived at Asqueta village. It is a village of about 50 houses, but nearly all of them were locked up, window blinds rolled down with no people living in them. It is in fact a 'weekend holiday cottage' type of village, as so many other villages are in that part of Navarra in Spain. But I knew that there was a bar there, and thats where I went first, with the dog cradled in my arms.
The lady who runs the bar told me that she had seen the dog for the first time that very morning, playing with the pilgrims who were drinking coffee and eating whilst sitting at her tables just outside. She had noticed that the dog was being given bits of ham rolls that the pilgrims had bought from her in her bar. She was certain that it did not belong to anybody in this sleepy little village, and that was confirmed by other people that I met as I walked about outside later.
So.....what to do now....?
Might she have followed pilgrims from the next village further back along the trail....? I returned to the van, started up, and set off towards that village 4 more kms. away, with the little black female dog standing, with back legs on the seat besides me, front paws on the dashboard, grinning from ear to ear with her tongue hanging out, wagging her tail in ecstasy. She seemed to enjoy being driven by me in a motorhome....!
Ayegui is a larger village, with hundreds of people living there. I improvised a dog lead with a long piece of string, and tied it to her anti-flea collar. Then we set off for a walk around the crowded streets. To everyone that I met I asked the question ....." Have you ever seen this dog before....? " (Has visto esta perra alguna vez antes..? ) But after an hour and many dozens of enquiries, nobody could help me.
Then in the distance I heard the sound of loud music and singing. I followed the music, and after a short distance through the streets I turned into a large square. There were hundreds of people there, and more than a hundred children were dancing to the loud pop music, blaring out from loudspeakers on an open flat top truck parked in the middle. It was a Fiesta day in Ayegui, and the Ayuntamiento (Town Hall) had arranged the entertainment for the kids. At that moment the loud-speakers were playing Michael Jackson singing "I'll be there" ..... and many of the kids were 'moon-walking' as they danced and jigged to the song. Could the owner 'be there' while his lost dog was there at my feet .....? I wondered how to find the owner in that very crowded place, and wished that I knew his name. Then, with the oft repeated refrain......"just call my name, and I'll be there" ironically blaring out of the loud speakers ..... an idea came into my head. So I walked up to the truck, and just as Michael Jackson was finishing his haunting song, I spoke to the person who was playing the CD records on the sound system. This Compere was very comically dressed up, with a bright pink shirt, long baggy trousers held up by wide braces, very long flat-footed boots, and had lots of colourfull makeup on, with a plastic 'bald head' and a red nose ...... just like a Ronald MacDonald clown. I said..... "Can I please use the microphone....?" ( Puedo usar el microfono por favor...? )
The clown did an exagerated 'double take' and staggered backwards, loudly flapping the boots and with arms flailing about, paused for effect while the children all laughed, gave me a curious look, then with eyes very wide open and smiling , fiddled with some switches on the sound console, and passed the microphone to me. And so, with the little dog held high above my head in one hand, I spoke in Spanish into the microphone held in my other hand. My voice boomed and echoed around the crowded square..... " Attention ..... attention .....Ladies and Gentlemen, and all you Children..... this little female dog in my hand is LOST." ( Atencion..... atencion...... Señores y Señoras y todos los niños ...... esta perrita en mi mano esta perdida ) Everyone in the square went quiet. The children all stood still. Hundreds of eyes turned towards me. The little black female dog wriggled a little bit in my hand above my head, but I continued....... "This morning this little dog went astray and I have brought it here from a long way away." ( Esta mañana esta perrita se estravió, y yo la he traido aqui desde lejos ) A sigh went up from the crowd. I went on....."So if anybody recognises this dog, please come and tell me. It wants to return home. It is lost, and I am seeking its owner. Thankyou all very much" ( Asi si alguien reconoce esta perra, por favor ven aqui y dimelo. Quiere volver a su casa. Esta perdida, y yo busco el amo. Muchas gracias a todos )
Then I turned and gave the microphone back to the clown, (who winked at me, and smiled a wide smile )...... and I suddenly recognised that under the multi coloured make up it was actually a very attractive young woman clown.!!! When I turned around again, I found myself surrounded by dozens of children, all screaming pleadingly....."Give it to meeeee......give it to meeeeeeee ...... I will take it home to my mummy and we will love it and look after it...... give the little doggie to meeeee...!" (Damela a miiiiii ....... damela a miiiiii ..... yo la llevaré a mi mama, y la amaremos y la cuidaremos ...... dame la perrita a miiiii .....! )
I cradled the dog protectively in my arms as I gently pushed through the crowd of well meaning kids, and made my way out of the square. The loud speakers started up again behind me. Michael Jackson was now singing.... "I want you back"
Did the owner want the dog back....? I felt sure that he must. She is such a lovable little female dog..... and her puppies were somewhere in this area, hungry for sure, and needing her milk.....! A man sidled up to me, and in a conspiratorial but friendly way, said ......."I reckon that dog has been dumped out of a car, and the owner has driven off because he doesn't want it anymore. You've got it. So its yours now" ( Yo pienso que esa perra ha sido tirada fuera de un coche, y el dueño ha arrancado y huido porque no la quiere mas. Tu la tienes. Ahora es tuya ) )
I sighed, and returned slowly to my motorhome with the dog happily trotting along beside me. I had a long think. Then I drove to a supermarket, and leaving the dog on the passenger seat, I went in and bought some cans of dog food, and a leather collar and dog lead. It was late in the day now, so I then drove out into the countryside, and parked up for the night in a quiet lane at the side of a field. I put some tinned meaty dog food in a bowl, and placed it besides the water bowl on the ground just outside the side door. As she began to tuck in to her food, I started to cook my supper, all the while thinking....... "Can I keep this lovable little female dog...?" But knowing that she must have little baby puppies somewhere, who must be hungry, I determined to find the owner the next day. As I ate my supper, she finished hers, and went and 'did her business' amongst the tall grass and bushes in the field. Then she returned and hopped up the steps into the van, as if she had lived in it all her life. She had made herself 'at home'.
When I had finished my supper, I placed her gently on the front passenger seat, and she curled up and made herself comfortable. It was now after 11 pm and dark, so I undressed, had a shower in the shower compartment, and climbed up the three steps into my bed at the rear end of the van. Just as I was beginning to fall asleep, I heard a little whine. So I sat up and peered over the edge of the bed (which is more than a metre above the floor) and there she was, sitting in the moonlight that was coming in through the windows ..... looking up at me..... imploringly. I looked down at her for a while, (thinking to myself) ..... " I know what you want" ..... and then I softly whispered (as if she could understand me..!) ...... "Look you silly little *****..... you cant jump up here, and I wont lift you up. And furthermore, you might be interested in knowing that you are the very first female in all of my life that I have ever refused to take into my bed. So goodnight...!"
She slowly walked forward and hopped up onto the front seat - her seat and her bed now - and I heard no more from her until the morning.
The next day after we both had had breakfast and a little 'walkies' for her to do 'her business', I drove into the large town next to Ayegui, called Estella. Pilgrims walk through Estella. She might have followed pilgrims from here. I parked, put the new collar and lead on to this little hairy lovable black dog, and again I walked the streets for two hours with her at my side, asking all and sundry....."Have you ever seen this dog before...?" ( Has visto esta perra alguna vez antes..? ) No result. I asked for and found the Police Station, went in and asked the Sergeant in charge, "Has a dog been reported as lost.?" (Alguien ha dado parte que se le ha perdido una perra...? ) No result. I had my Spanish mobile phone with me, so I left him with my phone number. I obtained the phone number of the local Dogs Home in that area. I phoned. No result. I left my phone number. I went into three pet shops and asked if they recognised the dog. No result. I left my phone number. I went into three Veterinary surgeries. No result ....... except that one Vet inspected the teats and her other 'delicate parts' carefully, and diagnosed that she had given birth only about a week or ten days ago. I left my phone number with all the vets. I walked the streets for another hour. No result. I went to the pilgrims hostel (Albergue de Peregrinos) and asked the Warden if he knew of anybody who had lost a dog....? A pilgrim maybe....? No result. I left my phone number.
Then, feeling exhausted I returned to the van. Again I drove out of town, parked in a forest, and as she frolicked around her new home .... my motorhome ...... I prepared supper for both of us. As she and I ate, I began to think ..... "Have I done enough to find her owner....? Shall I keep her as my own dog.....? What name shall I call her....?" She returned from a little excursion amongst the trees (no doubt having completed 'her business' ) and hopped up onto my lap. She knew who her owner was..... for now. She licked my chin. I tickled her ears. I was already in love with her....... and she with me.
During the night I thought carefully about everything, and decided to try a last possibility. In the morning I drove back to Asqueta, the first village, to a large 5 star hotel just outside there. Pilgrims walk right past this hotel. Leaving the dog in the van, I went in, and asked the young lady receptionist....." Can guests bring a dog into this hotel...?" ( Los huespedes estan permitidos traer sus perros aqui en este hotel...? ) She obviously thought that I wanted to stay in her hotel, and that I must have a dog outside in my vehicle. Very brightly she chirruped...." Oh yes Sir. You can bring your dog in, and place it in the special dog compound that we have downstairs for our guest's dogs" ( A si señor. Usted puede entrar con su perro, y ponerlo en la perrera que tenemos abajo especialmente para los perros de los huespedes ) Then I paused. I was trying to think of what delicate words to use to extract from her the information that I wanted, but which she would probably be reluctant to give to anyone. As I was thinking, she fluttered her long eyelashes at me, leaned forward seductively across the counter , took a deep breath and puffed up her ample bosom (which was only partly hidden by her minimum-coverage uplifting black bra which I could see through her flimsy semi-transparent blouse ) and then she looked at me expectantly. I also leaned forward. But looking only straight into her eyes (as advised by our Prince Charles for these delicate situations) I asked in a low voice......"Has any guest had a dog escape from here recently...?" ( A algun huesped se le ha escapado un perro recientemente...? ) She stepped back, frowned angrily, and declared in a loud accusatory voice...... "Never. Never. No dog has ever escaped from here. We keep the compound locked, and only I have the key.....! " ( Nunca..... nunca..... Ningun perro se ha escapado de aqui. Tenemos la perrera cerrado con llave, y solamente yo tengo la llave...! ) Then, no doubt convinced that I was only wasting her time and making excuses to ogle her bosom and 'chat her up' ...... and correctly surmised that I had no intention of staying in her hotel anyway ...... she reached for her cardigan hanging on the back of her chair, and with an affronted look on her face she quickly put it on, and hurriedly did up all the buttons ..... completely hiding her very attractive eye-catching charms.
That was a pity.
Just then a phone rang.
She then squinted her eyes at me, and lifted her chin aggresively, as if to demand of me ...... "Well....?" I paused, and wondered why she did not reach for one of the phones in front of her, and answer it. Then suddenly I feared that the reason that she was now scrutinising me in such a very aggresive way, might be that she was now thinking of calling the hotel security guard who was hovering nearby in a corner of the hall ..... to tell him to throw me out....! But it wasnt that. It was because the phone that was still ringing loudly, was NOT one of the phones on her desk. It was MY OWN mobile phone in MY trouser pocket....!
Hurriedly I turned away, and fumbling for my phone, I hastily ran out into the street ...... thinking ..... "Thank goodness I have just been saved by the bell.! " There on the pavement I pressed the green button and spoke my name into my phone. A man's voice then spoke in a nervous whisper ...... " Are you the Englishman that has found my dog....?" ( Eres tu el inglés que encontró mi perra...? )
I gasped with relief.....!
I was still withering under the fierce look of the indignant receptionist and the pugnacious-jawed muscular security guard, who were now both staring at me through the plate glass window, but I turned my head away and asked the man on the phone to describe the dog I had found. In three short sentences he convinced me that he was the rightful owner, had two starving puppies in his house, asked me where I was, told me he knew the Hotel Asqueta, and would be there in twenty minutes in his car. I told him to meet me in my motorhome parked just outside the hotel...... and to bring the puppies.
Twenty minutes later a car drew up, and out stepped a man, carrying two tiny puppies in his hands. As soon as he came to the side door and stepped in, the female dog saw the puppies, and lay down on her back whining with pleasure and wagging her tail. He placed the puppies besides her, they both yelped and dashed straight at the teats ...... and then noisily started sucking their first proper meal in four days.
Over a cup of tea sitting at my table, he told me his name was Miguel, and he told me what had happened. He lives on his vineyard three kilometres north of Asqueta, and well away from the pilgrim's route. Four nights before, there had been a private party and fiesta in the garden of the house next door. At midnight, many loud fireworks had been let off. The female dog had panicked at the loud bangs, and run out into the night ..... abandoning her puppies....!

Next morning Miguel and his wife had searched the surrounding countryside for her, calling out her name "Lily.....Lily" many times. They searched far and wide, to nearly as far as Asqueta, but in vain. For three days they had tried to feed the puppies with cows milk, which they dripped into their tiny mouths with an eye-medicine dropper that they bought in a pharmacy. But the puppies had vomited up most of the unnatural milk. They were visibly growing weaker by the hour. So that morning in desperation he had gone to a veterinary surgery in Estella to ask for advice. There he was told of an Englishman who had found a little black hairy female dog Dachshund ....... and he was given my phone number.
The puppies finished their life-saving feed of their mummy's milk, as I told Miguel of how I came to be in possesion of his Lily, and of everything that had happened since. Then we went out to his car carrying the puppies, as Lily jumped up and down excitedly besides us. We placed all three in the back of the car. Then despite my protests, Miguel pressed some money on to me for the collar and lead, and the dog food I had bought. He promised to get a disk engraved with his phone number and attach it to her new collar. Then he pressed into my hands ( with no resistance at all from me) two bottles of wine from his own vineyard ...... and a bottle of excellent Navarra Cava champagne.
As they drove away I waved at Lily, who was standing at the back window of the car, looking at me inquisitively, with her head cocked on one side. She is a lucky little dog, and I loved having her for that short time.

I will go to the Camino de Santiago again...... and I seek a travel companion who will help me to help the pilgrims.
If you know of a mature lady who might want to join me.... please put me in touch.
John Francis..... age 69.

.

Dear reader

Here is a true story, describing an incident that happened to me when travelling in my motorhome here in Spain. This little incident happened a few months ago, and will be another chapter in the book that I am (slowly) writing about my travels..... and I hope to have my book published..... one day.
It might give you some ideas about my character, and what it might be like for a travel companion who might travel with me in my motorhome. I am looking for a mature lady as a future travel companion. If you know of one.... please tell her about me.

One day I was driving my 7 metres long motorhome along a country road approaching the town of Lanjaron in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, south of Granada in southern Spain. As I drove around a bend I was startled at seeing fifty metres in front of me, a Shetland pony galloping towards me in the middle of the narrow twisting road....! The road was only about 7 metres wide, with steep banks rising up at each side at that point. Fast moving vehicles were rushing past the pony, and the callous uncaring drivers were sounding their car horns and scaring it. It was in a panic. Something had to be done, immediately, or there would be a tragic accident. I love all animals, especially horses, and I didnt want to see this one hurt. So I stamped on my brake pedal, skidded to a halt, and jumped out. As it came nearer towards me, I saw the probable explanation for the pony galloping along there by itself. It had a length of rope trailing from its head bridle, and at the end of the 5 metres long rope was tied a small broken sapling fir tree, which was being dragged along the road behind the frightened animal. It was obvious that it had been tethered to the sapling, somewhere far away, and something had frightened it and caused this tough little horse to tug and uproot it. It had then bolted and galloped off .......and now found itself in danger of being hit by a car or a lorry on this twisting narrow road.
I ran towards the pony waving my arms stretched out wide and shouting "whoa....whoa". It slowed down a little, but it started to swerve to one side to avoid me. As its head came close to me its eyes were open wide in panic and its mouth was foaming. I tried to grab the rope, but it dodged and threw its head up and I missed it. Then as its rump and tail went rushing past I leapt sideways, turned halfway around in mid air, and landed with both feet on top of the trailing sapling...... with my shoes either side of the knot around the stem........ and then I was facing the rear of this galloping pony. ( I used to be a nimble lightweight gymnast when I was younger ).
I teetered and almost lost my balance as I was dragged bodily along for a metre or two, wobbling violently, but I managed to stay upright, and my present 89 kilos weight served as an anchor, and trapped and held the dragging sapling under my shoes, which had the effect of turning its head and bringing the runaway pony to a sudden halt in the middle of the road. Its four legs splayed out, and its hooves clattered and skidded in all directions on the tarmac for a moment...... but it stayed there....... and stood quite still gasping and frothing at the mouth.

We stared at each other.

Just then three more cars came around the bend. They saw us in time and slowed down, and the people inside them saw me stoop down to pick up the sapling and the rope. Unfortunately they mistakenly assumed that the animal was mine, and as they swerved and went past me several drivers and passengers wound down their windows and bellowed insults at me. Some accused me (unjustly) of being drunk in charge of the horse, and others ( incredibly ) shouted two vulgar street words, implying that I did not have any brains, and that I did not know who my father was ......... and all accompanied by a furious cacophany of loud discordant car horns..!
I speak fluent Spanish, but there was no time to make explanations. They wouldnt stop. So I just stared at them, and changed the expression on my face to one of those pityful resigned expressions that you see on the faces of martyred saints in religious paintings by El Greco and statues in churches ..... and quickly gathered up the rope and gently tugged it to turn the horse around. Then I led it to the side of the road. The people in the cars continued to hurl insults at me as they accelerated away, outdoing each other in their invective as they disappeared around the bend still sounding their car horns.
As the blaring klaxons faded in the distance I had a closer look at this beast that I had saved from certain injury or death. It was a magnificent stallion. And he was big as Shetland ponies go. His shoulders reached as high as my belly button...! He had a golden coloured coat of shiny smooth short hair, a flaming long blonde mane, and a long blonde tail. He was very clean and healthy looking, and in superb prime condition. He was obviously a well cared for and much loved animal.

But who loved him...? Where was his owner....? Where had he come from...?

There was not a house in sight in these bleak deserted barren foothills of the Sierra Nevada, a long way south of Granada.

What to do..?

Well ..... I did toy with the idea of leading him into my motorhome through the side door. But quickly dismissed that flawed brainwave, for the same reason that you never take a bull into a china-ceramic shop...! But I had to do something. And I had to do it quickly, for my very wide motorhome was half blocking the narrow road. So I hurriedly led the animal about fifty metres along the road, to a spot where I could see there was a patch of level ground at the side. There I untied the useless sapling and with the rope I tethered the Sheltie to a stout tree trunk. Then I ran back to the van, and drove it on to the flat piece of ground and parked it safely. When I stepped down from the van the horse gave me a little whinny.......as if to say..."Thanks" His eyes were now calm .... but sad...... and they clearly said "What are you going to do with me now..?" Then he hung his head down low. Plainly he wanted to go home.

What should I do....?

The froth around his snout made me realise that he must need a drink of water. So I went into my van and filled a bowl from the tap in my kitchen-galley. I carried it outside and offered it to him, holding the bowl in front of me level with his head. He sniffed it, then dipped his lips in and sucked thirstily. The foam around his snout quickly disappeared.
While he drank I had a long think about what to do next. What I decided to do was to walk this lovable beast into the town of Lanjaron, which I knew was about 2 kilometres ahead .....in the direction from which the Sheltie had come from. So when he had finished drinking, I put the bowl away, locked the doors of the van, untied the rope from the tree, and we started to walk.
It was a pleasant walk. We stayed on the left side of the road facing the occasional traffic coming towards us. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. Passing cars slowed down and gave us a wide berth as they went by. Children in the cars waved at us. The horse obediently followed as I led it along by its long rope over my shoulder. And although the thought did cross my mind that the beast was strong, and probably could bear my weight for a short distance ...... I resisted the temptation to jump on his back and ride him. Bare-back horse riding is for experts only. I have had enough troubles in the past riding horses with saddles, stirrups, and reins. So I - we - walked.
Occasionally I felt a tug of the rope. And when I looked around I saw that my horse was nibbling at some bush or plants. But he didnt linger for long, and we continued. He seemed to trust me and he was happy. And so was I, as I contemplated that Gerald Brennan must have walked this way about 90 years ago, and then wrote his famous book "South of Granada".... which was made into a charming film a few years ago. I also remembered Chris Stewart who lives around here and wrote that best seller "Driving over Lemons".
We passed by many lemon tree orchards, and eventually we came to the edge of the town of Lanjaron. I knew that it is famous as a Spa town. Natural mineral spring water gushes out of the ground there in great health-giving profusion, and hundreds of people are to be found in the many spa hotels in Lanjaron, all of them there for a 'cure' by 'taking the waters'. The first large building that we came to was a 'Balneario' spa hotel. There were dozens of elderly people sitting at tables on the terrace overlooking the road .....all quietly and unenthusiastically sipping big glasses of mineral water. They all stared in front of them.....at nothing. They were silent, sullen and morose, and looked as if they were bored out of their minds. Some were in need of entertainment I suppose, because suddenly a man stood up, pointed, and mockingly called out in Spanish......." Mira que caballo mas pequenyito"....( Look at how tiny that horse is ) and quickly the cry was taken up by many others who jumped to their feet, pointed at my horse, and in ridiculing tones shouted " Que pequenio" ......"Que pequenyito" ..... and other similar remarks voiced loudly in scornful tones..
I felt a tug from the rope, and looking around, I saw that my horse had stopped again. From the look in his eyes I could see that he understood and resented the remarks. He was born in Spain. All Spanish horses are haughty and proud. They are the noblest of all animals, and they know it. Of whatever breed they might be, any Spanish horse will refuse to admit to any incompleteness of stature. Pequenyito indeed...! Then he showed his displeasure and disdain at the insult ....by lifting his long blonde tail and defecating a big pile of steaming droppings in front of the water-swilling invalids....! Then he walked on with his head held high and swished his magnificent tail from side to side. The water imbibers hooted with laughter.....and above the guffaws I heard an elderly lady croak "Muy bien hecho caballito" ......( Well done little horse ) ..... and then she cackled and cackled as the others all continued laughing, as we two disappeared around the next bend in the road.

Soon we were in the centre of the town. I asked some people in the street for directions ..... and quickly arrived outside the Police Station. I tethered my friend to a lampost and went inside. A bored looking Sergeant seemed very uninterested about my wish to report that I had found a lost horse. He started to make some notes, but didnt even bother to raise his head to look out of the window at it. But just as I began to elaborate my story again in the hope that he would do something positive...... a Municipal Guardia rushed in from the street, and with a stern face demanded of me......" Did you bring that horse here...? " And when I confirmed it, his face broke into a smile. Then he said " I have just been speaking to a man who has reported to me that his Shetland pony has disappeared. He lives with his family in a farmhouse on the edge of Lanjaron ......and right now they are all rushing around the countryside searching for the missing animal." The Guardia had the owner's mobile phone number, and quickly a call was made. Ten minutes later a car pulled up, and a man and a lady, and a tearfull little girl aged about ten, jumped out of the car. They were the owners, and they were all re-united with their beloved pony. The little girl threw her arms around his neck... and with tears of joy cried out..."Ay mi Samson...... mi Samson...... como te quiero" ( Oh my Samson.... how I love you)
I was taken to a nearby pavement cafe-restaurant and refreshed with a cool drink, and Samson got another bowl of water. It was lunchtime, and they invited me to be their guest and eat with them right there. While we all ate it was explained to me that the little girl, Carmen, had that morning gone for a ride on Samson to the farm of a friend, tethered her mount to a small young tree in the middle of a patch of long green grass, and took his saddle, stirrups, and reins off. While Samson nibbled the grass Carmen went inside the house with her friend.

Then a big dog had appeared from nowhere and started barking at the tethered pony. Before Carmen and her friend could rush outside and chase the dog away, Samson had yanked the sapling out of the ground..... and galloped away in a panic...... pursued by the barking dog. They were last seen far away in the distance, until they disappeared over a hill. The dog was an unknown wandering stranger, and was never seen again.
After long explanations by me as to where and how I found Samson, and after another cool drink, it was time to say goodbye. We all went out to the car, and the lady gave me a hug and two Spanish kisses on my cheeks, and her daughter Carmen, now with a very happy smile on her face, gave me two more kisses. Mother and daughter then started walking Samson home, and I was given a lift by dad in the car to my motorhome two kilometres away.

As I continued my journey I was feeling very pleased about my 'good deed for the day' ...... and I wondered where I might find a travel companion who will share my travel adventures with me...all over Spain and a lot of Europe....???
If you know a lady who might be interested..... please put me in touch with her.
John Francis..... age 69

Dear reader

Here is a true story, describing an incident that happened to me when travelling in my motorhome here in Spain. This little incident happened a few months ago, and will be another chapter in the book that I am (slowly) writing about my travels..... and I hope to have my book published..... one day.
It might give you some ideas about my character, and what it might be like for a travel companion who might travel with me in my motorhome. I am looking for a mature lady as a future travel companion. If you know of one.... please tell her about me.

One day I was driving my 7 metres long motorhome along a country road approaching the town of Lanjaron in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, south of Granada in southern Spain. As I drove around a bend I was startled at seeing fifty metres in front of me, a Shetland pony galloping towards me in the middle of the narrow twisting road....! The road was only about 7 metres wide, with steep banks rising up at each side at that point. Fast moving vehicles were rushing past the pony, and the callous uncaring drivers were sounding their car horns and scaring it. It was in a panic. Something had to be done, immediately, or there would be a tragic accident. I love all animals, especially horses, and I didnt want to see this one hurt. So I stamped on my brake pedal, skidded to a halt, and jumped out. As it came nearer towards me, I saw the probable explanation for the pony galloping along there by itself. It had a length of rope trailing from its head bridle, and at the end of the 5 metres long rope was tied a small broken sapling fir tree, which was being dragged along the road behind the frightened animal. It was obvious that it had been tethered to the sapling, somewhere far away, and something had frightened it and caused this tough little horse to tug and uproot it. It had then bolted and galloped off .......and now found itself in danger of being hit by a car or a lorry on this twisting narrow road.
I ran towards the pony waving my arms stretched out wide and shouting "whoa....whoa". It slowed down a little, but it started to swerve to one side to avoid me. As its head came close to me its eyes were open wide in panic and its mouth was foaming. I tried to grab the rope, but it dodged and threw its head up and I missed it. Then as its rump and tail went rushing past I leapt sideways, turned halfway around in mid air, and landed with both feet on top of the trailing sapling...... with my shoes either side of the knot around the stem........ and then I was facing the rear of this galloping pony. ( I used to be a nimble lightweight gymnast when I was younger ).
I teetered and almost lost my balance as I was dragged bodily along for a metre or two, wobbling violently, but I managed to stay upright, and my present 89 kilos weight served as an anchor, and trapped and held the dragging sapling under my shoes, which had the effect of turning its head and bringing the runaway pony to a sudden halt in the middle of the road. Its four legs splayed out, and its hooves clattered and skidded in all directions on the tarmac for a moment...... but it stayed there....... and stood quite still gasping and frothing at the mouth.

We stared at each other.

Just then three more cars came around the bend. They saw us in time and slowed down, and the people inside them saw me stoop down to pick up the sapling and the rope. Unfortunately they mistakenly assumed that the animal was mine, and as they swerved and went past me several drivers and passengers wound down their windows and bellowed insults at me. Some accused me (unjustly) of being drunk in charge of the horse, and others ( incredibly ) shouted two vulgar street words, implying that I did not have any brains, and that I did not know who my father was ......... and all accompanied by a furious cacophany of loud discordant car horns..!
I speak fluent Spanish, but there was no time to make explanations. They wouldnt stop. So I just stared at them, and changed the expression on my face to one of those pityful resigned expressions that you see on the faces of martyred saints in religious paintings by El Greco and statues in churches ..... and quickly gathered up the rope and gently tugged it to turn the horse around. Then I led it to the side of the road. The people in the cars continued to hurl insults at me as they accelerated away, outdoing each other in their invective as they disappeared around the bend still sounding their car horns.
As the blaring klaxons faded in the distance I had a closer look at this beast that I had saved from certain injury or death. It was a magnificent stallion. And he was big as Shetland ponies go. His shoulders reached as high as my belly button...! He had a golden coloured coat of shiny smooth short hair, a flaming long blonde mane, and a long blonde tail. He was very clean and healthy looking, and in superb prime condition. He was obviously a well cared for and much loved animal.

But who loved him...? Where was his owner....? Where had he come from...?

There was not a house in sight in these bleak deserted barren foothills of the Sierra Nevada, a long way south of Granada.

What to do..?

Well ..... I did toy with the idea of leading him into my motorhome through the side door. But quickly dismissed that flawed brainwave, for the same reason that you never take a bull into a china-ceramic shop...! But I had to do something. And I had to do it quickly, for my very wide motorhome was half blocking the narrow road. So I hurriedly led the animal about fifty metres along the road, to a spot where I could see there was a patch of level ground at the side. There I untied the useless sapling and with the rope I tethered the Sheltie to a stout tree trunk. Then I ran back to the van, and drove it on to the flat piece of ground and parked it safely. When I stepped down from the van the horse gave me a little whinny.......as if to say..."Thanks" His eyes were now calm .... but sad...... and they clearly said "What are you going to do with me now..?" Then he hung his head down low. Plainly he wanted to go home.

What should I do....?

The froth around his snout made me realise that he must need a drink of water. So I went into my van and filled a bowl from the tap in my kitchen-galley. I carried it outside and offered it to him, holding the bowl in front of me level with his head. He sniffed it, then dipped his lips in and sucked thirstily. The foam around his snout quickly disappeared.
While he drank I had a long think about what to do next. What I decided to do was to walk this lovable beast into the town of Lanjaron, which I knew was about 2 kilometres ahead .....in the direction from which the Sheltie had come from. So when he had finished drinking, I put the bowl away, locked the doors of the van, untied the rope from the tree, and we started to walk.
It was a pleasant walk. We stayed on the left side of the road facing the occasional traffic coming towards us. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. Passing cars slowed down and gave us a wide berth as they went by. Children in the cars waved at us. The horse obediently followed as I led it along by its long rope over my shoulder. And although the thought did cross my mind that the beast was strong, and probably could bear my weight for a short distance ...... I resisted the temptation to jump on his back and ride him. Bare-back horse riding is for experts only. I have had enough troubles in the past riding horses with saddles, stirrups, and reins. So I - we - walked.
Occasionally I felt a tug of the rope. And when I looked around I saw that my horse was nibbling at some bush or plants. But he didnt linger for long, and we continued. He seemed to trust me and he was happy. And so was I, as I contemplated that Gerald Brennan must have walked this way about 90 years ago, and then wrote his famous book "South of Granada".... which was made into a charming film a few years ago. I also remembered Chris Stewart who lives around here and wrote that best seller "Driving over Lemons".
We passed by many lemon tree orchards, and eventually we came to the edge of the town of Lanjaron. I knew that it is famous as a Spa town. Natural mineral spring water gushes out of the ground there in great health-giving profusion, and hundreds of people are to be found in the many spa hotels in Lanjaron, all of them there for a 'cure' by 'taking the waters'. The first large building that we came to was a 'Balneario' spa hotel. There were dozens of elderly people sitting at tables on the terrace overlooking the road .....all quietly and unenthusiastically sipping big glasses of mineral water. They all stared in front of them.....at nothing. They were silent, sullen and morose, and looked as if they were bored out of their minds. Some were in need of entertainment I suppose, because suddenly a man stood up, pointed, and mockingly called out in Spanish......." Mira que caballo mas peque�ito"....( Look at how tiny that horse is ) and quickly the cry was taken up by many others who jumped to their feet, pointed at my horse, and in ridiculing tones shouted " Que peque�o" ......"Que peque�ito" ..... and other similar remarks voiced loudly in scornful tones..
I felt a tug from the rope, and looking around, I saw that my horse had stopped again. From the look in his eyes I could see that he understood and resented the remarks. He was born in Spain. All Spanish horses are haughty and proud. They are the noblest of all animals, and they know it. Of whatever breed they might be, any Spanish horse will refuse to admit to any incompleteness of stature. Peque�ito indeed...! Then he showed his displeasure and disdain at the insult ....by lifting his long blonde tail and defecating a big pile of steaming droppings in front of the water-swilling invalids....! Then he walked on with his head held high and swished his magnificent tail from side to side. The water imbibers hooted with laughter.....and above the guffaws I heard an elderly lady croak "Muy bien hecho caballito" ......( Well done little horse ) ..... and then she cackled and cackled as the others all continued laughing, as we two disappeared around the next bend in the road.

Soon we were in the centre of the town. I asked some people in the street for directions ..... and quickly arrived outside the Police Station. I tethered my friend to a lampost and went inside. A bored looking Sergeant seemed very uninterested about my wish to report that I had found a lost horse. He started to make some notes, but didnt even bother to raise his head to look out of the window at it. But just as I began to elaborate my story again in the hope that he would do something positive...... a Municipal Guardia rushed in from the street, and with a stern face demanded of me......" Did you bring that horse here...? " And when I confirmed it, his face broke into a smile. Then he said " I have just been speaking to a man who has reported to me that his Shetland pony has disappeared. He lives with his family in a farmhouse on the edge of Lanjaron ......and right now they are all rushing around the countryside searching for the missing animal." The Guardia had the owner's mobile phone number, and quickly a call was made. Ten minutes later a car pulled up, and a man and a lady, and a tearfull little girl aged about ten, jumped out of the car. They were the owners, and they were all re-united with their beloved pony. The little girl threw her arms around his neck... and with tears of joy cried out..."Ay mi Samson...... mi Samson...... como te quiero" ( Oh my Samson.... how I love you)
I was taken to a nearby pavement caf�-restaurant and refreshed with a cool drink, and Samson got another bowl of water. It was lunchtime, and they invited me to be their guest and eat with them right there. While we all ate it was explained to me that the little girl, Carmen, had that morning gone for a ride on Samson to the farm of a friend, tethered her mount to a small young tree in the middle of a patch of long green grass, and took his saddle, stirrups, and reins off. While Samson nibbled the grass Carmen went inside the house with her friend.

Then a big dog had appeared from nowhere and started barking at the tethered pony. Before Carmen and her friend could rush outside and chase the dog away, Samson had yanked the sapling out of the ground..... and galloped away in a panic...... pursued by the barking dog. They were last seen far away in the distance, until they disappeared over a hill. The dog was an unknown wandering stranger, and was never seen again.
After long explanations by me as to where and how I found Samson, and after another cool drink, it was time to say goodbye. We all went out to the car, and the lady gave me a hug and two Spanish kisses on my cheeks, and her daughter Carmen, now with a very happy smile on her face, gave me two more kisses. Mother and daughter then started walking Samson home, and I was given a lift by dad in the car to my motorhome two kilometres away.

As I continued my journey I was feeling very pleased about my 'good deed for the day' ...... and I wondered where I might find a travel companion who will share my travel adventures with me...all over Spain and a lot of Europe....???
If you know a lady who might be interested..... please put me in touch with her.
John Francis..... age 68

Dear reader

Here is a true story, describing an incident that happened to me when travelling in my motorhome here in Spain. This little incident happened a few months ago, and will be another chapter in the book that I am (slowly) writing about my travels..... and I hope to have my book published..... one day.
It might give you some ideas about my character, and what it might be like for a travel companion who might travel with me in my motorhome. I am looking for a mature lady as a future travel companion. If you know of one.... please tell her about me.

One day I was driving my 7 metres long motorhome along a country road approaching the town of Lanjaron in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, south of Granada in southern Spain. As I drove around a bend I was startled at seeing fifty metres in front of me, a Shetland pony galloping towards me in the middle of the narrow twisting road....! The road was only about 7 metres wide, with steep banks rising up at each side at that point. Fast moving vehicles were rushing past the pony, and the callous uncaring drivers were sounding their car horns and scaring it. It was in a panic. Something had to be done, immediately, or there would be a tragic accident. I love all animals, especially horses, and I didnt want to see this one hurt. So I stamped on my brake pedal, skidded to a halt, and jumped out. As it came nearer towards me, I saw the probable explanation for the pony galloping along there by itself. It had a length of rope trailing from its head bridle, and at the end of the 5 metres long rope was tied a small broken sapling fir tree, which was being dragged along the road behind the frightened animal. It was obvious that it had been tethered to the sapling, somewhere far away, and something had frightened it and caused this tough little horse to tug and uproot it. It had then bolted and galloped off .......and now found itself in danger of being hit by a car or a lorry on this twisting narrow road.
I ran towards the pony waving my arms stretched out wide and shouting "whoa....whoa". It slowed down a little, but it started to swerve to one side to avoid me. As its head came close to me its eyes were open wide in panic and its mouth was foaming. I tried to grab the rope, but it dodged and threw its head up and I missed it. Then as its rump and tail went rushing past I leapt sideways, turned halfway around in mid air, and landed with both feet on top of the trailing sapling...... with my shoes either side of the knot around the stem........ and then I was facing the rear of this galloping pony. ( I used to be a nimble lightweight gymnast when I was younger ).
I teetered and almost lost my balance as I was dragged bodily along for a metre or two, wobbling violently, but I managed to stay upright, and my present 89 kilos weight served as an anchor, and trapped and held the dragging sapling under my shoes, which had the effect of turning its head and bringing the runaway pony to a sudden halt in the middle of the road. Its four legs splayed out, and its hooves clattered and skidded in all directions on the tarmac for a moment...... but it stayed there....... and stood quite still gasping and frothing at the mouth.

We stared at each other.

Just then three more cars came around the bend. They saw us in time and slowed down, and the people inside them saw me stoop down to pick up the sapling and the rope. Unfortunately they mistakenly assumed that the animal was mine, and as they swerved and went past me several drivers and passengers wound down their windows and bellowed insults at me. Some accused me (unjustly) of being drunk in charge of the horse, and others ( incredibly ) shouted two vulgar street words, implying that I did not have any brains, and that I did not know who my father was ......... and all accompanied by a furious cacophany of loud discordant car horns..!
I speak fluent Spanish, but there was no time to make explanations. They wouldnt stop. So I just stared at them, and changed the expression on my face to one of those pityful resigned expressions that you see on the faces of martyred saints in religious paintings by El Greco and statues in churches ..... and quickly gathered up the rope and gently tugged it to turn the horse around. Then I led it to the side of the road. The people in the cars continued to hurl insults at me as they accelerated away, outdoing each other in their invective as they disappeared around the bend still sounding their car horns.
As the blaring klaxons faded in the distance I had a closer look at this beast that I had saved from certain injury or death. It was a magnificent stallion. And he was big as Shetland ponies go. His shoulders reached as high as my belly button...! He had a golden coloured coat of shiny smooth short hair, a flaming long blonde mane, and a long blonde tail. He was very clean and healthy looking, and in superb prime condition. He was obviously a well cared for and much loved animal.

But who loved him...? Where was his owner....? Where had he come from...?

There was not a house in sight in these bleak deserted barren foothills of the Sierra Nevada, a long way south of Granada.

What to do..?

Well ..... I did toy with the idea of leading him into my motorhome through the side door. But quickly dismissed that flawed brainwave, for the same reason that you never take a bull into a china-ceramic shop...! But I had to do something. And I had to do it quickly, for my very wide motorhome was half blocking the narrow road. So I hurriedly led the animal about fifty metres along the road, to a spot where I could see there was a patch of level ground at the side. There I untied the useless sapling and with the rope I tethered the Sheltie to a stout tree trunk. Then I ran back to the van, and drove it on to the flat piece of ground and parked it safely. When I stepped down from the van the horse gave me a little whinny.......as if to say..."Thanks" His eyes were now calm .... but sad...... and they clearly said "What are you going to do with me now..?" Then he hung his head down low. Plainly he wanted to go home.

What should I do....?

The froth around his snout made me realise that he must need a drink of water. So I went into my van and filled a bowl from the tap in my kitchen-galley. I carried it outside and offered it to him, holding the bowl in front of me level with his head. He sniffed it, then dipped his lips in and sucked thirstily. The foam around his snout quickly disappeared.
While he drank I had a long think about what to do next. What I decided to do was to walk this lovable beast into the town of Lanjaron, which I knew was about 2 kilometres ahead .....in the direction from which the Sheltie had come from. So when he had finished drinking, I put the bowl away, locked the doors of the van, untied the rope from the tree, and we started to walk.
It was a pleasant walk. We stayed on the left side of the road facing the occasional traffic coming towards us. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. Passing cars slowed down and gave us a wide berth as they went by. Children in the cars waved at us. The horse obediently followed as I led it along by its long rope over my shoulder. And although the thought did cross my mind that the beast was strong, and probably could bear my weight for a short distance ...... I resisted the temptation to jump on his back and ride him. Bare-back horse riding is for experts only. I have had enough troubles in the past riding horses with saddles, stirrups, and reins. So I - we - walked.
Occasionally I felt a tug of the rope. And when I looked around I saw that my horse was nibbling at some bush or plants. But he didnt linger for long, and we continued. He seemed to trust me and he was happy. And so was I, as I contemplated that Gerald Brennan must have walked this way about 90 years ago, and then wrote his famous book "South of Granada".... which was made into a charming film a few years ago. I also remembered Chris Stewart who lives around here and wrote that best seller "Driving over Lemons".
We passed by many lemon tree orchards, and eventually we came to the edge of the town of Lanjaron. I knew that it is famous as a Spa town. Natural mineral spring water gushes out of the ground there in great health-giving profusion, and hundreds of people are to be found in the many spa hotels in Lanjaron, all of them there for a 'cure' by 'taking the waters'. The first large building that we came to was a 'Balneario' spa hotel. There were dozens of elderly people sitting at tables on the terrace overlooking the road .....all quietly and unenthusiastically sipping big glasses of mineral water. They all stared in front of them.....at nothing. They were silent, sullen and morose, and looked as if they were bored out of their minds. Some were in need of entertainment I suppose, because suddenly a man stood up, pointed, and mockingly called out in Spanish......." Mira que caballo mas peque�ito"....( Look at how tiny that horse is ) and quickly the cry was taken up by many others who jumped to their feet, pointed at my horse, and in ridiculing tones shouted " Que peque�o" ......"Que peque�ito" ..... and other similar remarks voiced loudly in scornful tones..
I felt a tug from the rope, and looking around, I saw that my horse had stopped again. From the look in his eyes I could see that he understood and resented the remarks. He was born in Spain. All Spanish horses are haughty and proud. They are the noblest of all animals, and they know it. Of whatever breed they might be, any Spanish horse will refuse to admit to any incompleteness of stature. Peque�ito indeed...! Then he showed his displeasure and disdain at the insult ....by lifting his long blonde tail and defecating a big pile of steaming droppings in front of the water-swilling invalids....! Then he walked on with his head held high and swished his magnificent tail from side to side. The water imbibers hooted with laughter.....and above the guffaws I heard an elderly lady croak "Muy bien hecho caballito" ......( Well done little horse ) ..... and then she cackled and cackled as the others all continued laughing, as we two disappeared around the next bend in the road.

Soon we were in the centre of the town. I asked some people in the street for directions ..... and quickly arrived outside the Police Station. I tethered my friend to a lampost and went inside. A bored looking Sergeant seemed very uninterested about my wish to report that I had found a lost horse. He started to make some notes, but didnt even bother to raise his head to look out of the window at it. But just as I began to elaborate my story again in the hope that he would do something positive...... a Municipal Guardia rushed in from the street, and with a stern face demanded of me......" Did you bring that horse here...? " And when I confirmed it, his face broke into a smile. Then he said " I have just been speaking to a man who has reported to me that his Shetland pony has disappeared. He lives with his family in a farmhouse on the edge of Lanjaron ......and right now they are all rushing around the countryside searching for the missing animal." The Guardia had the owner's mobile phone number, and quickly a call was made. Ten minutes later a car pulled up, and a man and a lady, and a tearfull little girl aged about ten, jumped out of the car. They were the owners, and they were all re-united with their beloved pony. The little girl threw her arms around his neck... and with tears of joy cried out..."Ay mi Samson...... mi Samson...... como te quiero" ( Oh my Samson.... how I love you)
I was taken to a nearby pavement caf�-restaurant and refreshed with a cool drink, and Samson got another bowl of water. It was lunchtime, and they invited me to be their guest and eat with them right there. While we all ate it was explained to me that the little girl, Carmen, had that morning gone for a ride on Samson to the farm of a friend, tethered her mount to a small young tree in the middle of a patch of long green grass, and took his saddle, stirrups, and reins off. While Samson nibbled the grass Carmen went inside the house with her friend.

Then a big dog had appeared from nowhere and started barking at the tethered pony. Before Carmen and her friend could rush outside and chase the dog away, Samson had yanked the sapling out of the ground..... and galloped away in a panic...... pursued by the barking dog. They were last seen far away in the distance, until they disappeared over a hill. The dog was an unknown wandering stranger, and was never seen again.
After long explanations by me as to where and how I found Samson, and after another cool drink, it was time to say goodbye. We all went out to the car, and the lady gave me a hug and two Spanish kisses on my cheeks, and her daughter Carmen, now with a very happy smile on her face, gave me two more kisses. Mother and daughter then started walking Samson home, and I was given a lift by dad in the car to my motorhome two kilometres away.

As I continued my journey I was feeling very pleased about my 'good deed for the day' ...... and I wondered where I might find a travel companion who will share my travel adventures with me...all over Spain and a lot of Europe....???

The Day that I forgot my good manners.
I live in south east Spain. The tectonic plate that supports the continent of Africa, and the tectonic plate under Spain meet under this region. Seismic movements occur quite frequently. Most are so gentle that they are rarely felt, but now and again a strong earthquake shakes this area. In May 2011 a strong quake hit the town of Lorca not far from where I live, causing much damage, many injuries, and nine deaths. Nearly 200 years ago a big quake caused devastation and hundreds of deaths in this area. And one sunny day in June 2013, when I happened to be in Ciudad Quesada public library doing some research, suddenly, an incredibly loud deafening rumbling noise roared up from under the floor, the walls shook, the windows rattled, the chair I was sitting on threw me off sideways, and I gasped with fear and panic.
Armaggedon ..... The End Of The World.... had struck.
As I leaped to my feet I was aware of shouts and screams from the many other people all around me. I HAD TO GET OUT.... my mind only focused on the DOOR..... and my feet didnt seem to touch the floor as I raced to the exit, bashed the swing door aside with both hands, and a moment later breathlessly I reached the street. Then slowly the roaring ceased, the ground stopped heaving, and my heart stopped thumping. I calmed down, and gradually I became aware of the crowd of people who had followed me out to safety. I glanced up and saw that the building appeared to be undamaged. Then we all started speaking at once ..... excitedly expressing to each other our relief at being alive.... and some were even hugging and kissing each other. Then I noticed that the two people who had been the closest people behind me as I rushed out, were two frail little old genteel ladies. Thats when I realised..... with shame .....that I had totally forgotten my usual good manners. In my selfish desire to save my own miserable worthless life .... I had completely forgotten to hold the swing door open for those two old ladies.
If they ever set eyes on me again.... I hope that they will forgive and forget the day that I forgot my good manners.
A true story..... by John Francis...... TorreviejaJohn.

I often write short true stories about my travels, and they have sometimes been published in various magazines and newspapers, in England, and here in Spain.




I have walked 800 kms of the Camino de Santiago across north Spain several times in recent years. And sometimes I have returned there with my motorhome, and then I become one of the many ex-pilgrims who return there with a vehicle as an unpaid volunteer helper..... to give First Aid, help and assistance to any pilgrims who need it. Over 400 a day pass by any one spot in mid summer, and many of them get blisters, tendenitis, insect bites, scratches, abrasions (when they trip and fall ), bruises, sunburn or sunstroke ( if they have no sun hat ) or simply run out of water to drink .... and they all get very thirsty under the Spanish sun.


One day, when I was in my motorhome parked on a rough track at a very lonely place on the Camino de Santiago on the sun scorched Meseta some distance west of Burgos in central north Spain, amongst the throng of passing pilgrims a woman and a man arrived together. In fact they were very close together, for the man was blind - and his wife was leading him by the hand. They were in their late twenties - early thirties, both had heavy backpacks, and they had already passed over the Pyrennees and many other mountains in north Spain. Now they were enduring the many days laborious trudge under the blazing Spanish sun, trecking over the desolate scorching undulating treeless Meseta. But they were slowly and determinedly making progress towards Santiago.
As they sat under the shade of my motorhome side-awning and sipped the glasses of ice cold drinks that I had offered them, I thought with admiration of the extra arduousness that these two loving pilgrims must endure before they reach the Cathedral at Santiago, still 450 kms away. And then I realized with sadness that when they get there, the man would never experience the breathtaking magnificence and grandeur of the enormous building that is the focus and the terminal point of the long Camino. He can touch and "see" with his sensitive hands the outer walls of the Cathedral at ground level. He can enter, and he can touch any part of the inside. But no blind man can feel the thrill of vertigo when confronted by the awe-inspiring soaring spires and towers, nor can he experience the emotion and everything else that the rest of us feel ( even non-religious people like me ) when we see that enormous structure with our seeing eyes for the first time....... after walking hundreds of kilometres for many weeks to get there.
Then I remembered something that I have had for some time in the rear locker of my motorhome, ever since it was "unloaded" onto me by a passing pilgrim some time ago (because it took up valuable room in her backpack) and I hurried to get it out. It is a plastic model of Santiago cathedral, the kind that you see for sale in the touristy shops in Santiago city. It is only about 20 centimetres high, but almost faithfully correct in all its miniature details. (see photos) Even the zig-zag staircase at the main entrance is faithfully reproduced in this inexpensive "souvenir" toy model (probably made in a toy factory in China) and as I placed it into the hands of this sightless pilgrim, I saw a look of rapture on his face, as his searching sensitive "seeing" fingers slowly traced every minute detail of the zig-zag staircase, the entrance, the nave, the towers and the spires of this simple toy plastic model. There, next to my motorhome parked in the rolling parched landscape of the Meseta, blind Geoffrey from near Sidney in Australia "saw" the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostella in far away Galicia, and smiled and sighed with contentment.
Soon it was time for these two very unusual pilgrims to walk on. I helped them to shoulder their backpacks, and as Eileen his wife began to lead Geoffrey away by the hand, I saw tears in her eyes as she gave me a smile and a silent nod of gratitude.
There are some days when I get extra pleasure from helping pilgrims.
That day was one of them.


John Francis .

I will return to the Camino again soon....... and wish that I had a walking - travel - helping companion.... who will go there with me.

Please send me the secret code ..... or just 'unblock' me.