R-E-T-Z-N.
And the next set?
Z-H-O-T-N-X.
X-O-T,
F-D-E.
And the next set?
R-E-D,
O-Z-F.
Okay.
Uh, Eunice.
How many of those letters
can you actually see
and how many have you memorised?
I can see all of them, Dr Avery.
Eunice...
Okay. I memorised the last two, Tom.
Only the last two.
If I can't get my licence renewed...
Eunice, you need to wear
the lenses I prescribed.
Contact lenses don't work for me
and glasses give me headaches.
Then we'll change the prescription,
but you know the DMV's gonna
test you again anyway.
I've memorised those charts, too.
Mrs Conrad called and cancelled
her appointment for tomorrow.
Bill Warren wants to know if he can
see you before he goes in for work,
which means you have to be here
at 8:00 a.m.
- Okay.
- Okay for 8:00?
- Yeah.
- Oh.
Roger called while you were in
with a patient.
He said if you miss the 2:00 tee time,
you pay for the beer.
I pay for the beer anyway.
And Daniel called and left a message
here on the voicemail last night.
- What'd he say?
- He said he'll call back.
He said he's somewhere in France
and he sounded good.
I mean, how do you not sound good
if you're in France, right?
Did he leave a number this time?
No.
Everyone on the planet has
a mobile phone except my son.
What the hell's the matter
with that kid?
The world on Daniel's terms.
See you.
Oh, no!
Let me show you
how a real doctor does it.
Since when is Tom
not a real doctor, Rog?
The eyes are the most important organ
in the body, Roger.
- Maybe at your age, Tom.
- They're the windows to the soul.
Yeah? How the hell would Roger know?
He doesn't have one.
Oh...
Looks like malpractice
to me, boys.
- Don't use your foot wedge, Phil!
- I got your foot wedge, Roger.
All right, what do we got, about 70?
Yeah, plus 10 to the flag.
That's what I'm talking about.
You like that?
- It'll play.
- That's good stuff.
I'm over there.
Yeah, I see. It's about three feet away.
You want a ride or what?
I'm old and tired.
- You're old and lazy.
- I don't see you walking this course.
It's mine and it can wait.
Get...
Nice chip.
Not bad.
Go ahead and putt out.
I'll catch up with you. Hello?
Yes, hello?
I'm sorry. I don't speak French.
I am Captain Henri Sebastian
of the National Gendarmerie
in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port in France.
- Is something wrong?
- Are you the father of Daniel Avery?
Yes, I am.
I'm sorry to inform you
that your son has been killed, sir.
What?
What do you mean?
Daniel? Something happened to Daniel?
He was caught in a storm
on the Camino de Santiago, monsieur.
I don't even know where that is.
It's in the French Pyrenees.
He was on pilgrimage.
Tom?
Tommy?
Where you going?
Tommy?
I'm sorry for your loss, Tom.
Thanks, Father.
I'm going overseas to bring Daniel home.
Would you like to pray with me, Tom?
What for?
All the information
for your itinerary is in here.
I cancelled all your appointments
for next week, so...
He wanted to see the world.
And he did.
You should fly with me.
What?
- You should fly with me.
- Yeah, right.
Turn the car around. Pack a bag.
Grab your passport.
Forget your golf clubs.
Come on, a father-son trip.
It'll be fun.
When you coming back?
I don't know.
So you don't have a plan.
We agreed that if I let you
take me to the airport,
you wouldn't lecture me about
how I'm ruining my life.
I lied.
You know, most people don't have
the luxury of just picking up
and leaving it all behind, Daniel.
Well, I'm not most people.
If I don't have your blessing,
that's fine.
But don't judge this. Don't judge me.
My life here might not seem
like much to you,
but it's the life I choose.
You don't choose a life, Dad.
You live one.
- Mr Avery?
- Yes.
We spoke on the phone.
- Captain Henri Sebastian.
- Of course.
I don't know why, I know it's odd, but
I thought it would say something else.
It's the same word back home.
I guess I thought it would be different.
Mr Avery, if you are not ready
to do this,
- it can wait.
- No.
It's fine. I mean, it's not fine.
I mean, I'm okay.
Let's get it over with.
Let's just get it over with.
These are Daniel's belongings.
This is everything he had
when we found him.
- What happened?
- It was an accident.
The weather in the Pyrenees is famous
for being unpredictable
and I'm sure Daniel would have been
warned by the locals.
You were not close with him?
Not since his mother died,
I'm sorry to say.
What was he doing out there?
He was on pilgrimage on the Camino.
Walking the road
to Santiago de Compostela.
People from very different backgrounds,
faiths and generations
have walked the path from here
in the French Pyrenees
to Santiago de Compostela,
on the north-western coast of Spain,
for over a thousand years.
We believers are told
that the remains of St James,
the apostle of Jesus,
are interred there.
And so we make pilgrimage.
This is what your son Daniel was doing.
Why he was alone?
Many people choose
to make the trek alone.
The Way is a very personal journey,
Mr Avery.
This is the shell.
The symbol of the pilgrim
making the journey.
And this...
This is Daniel's passport
for the Camino.
It is to be officially stamped
at every important stop
along the route through Spain.
And the first stamp is here,
in Saint-Jean.
Buen Camino.
When you arrive at the end,
the passport should look like this.
I have walked the Camino
to the Atlantic Ocean three times.
There and back.
I will do it once more,
on my 70th birthday.
God willing, of course.
Daniel was my only child.
We can also offer cremation
if that is a more suitable way for you
to transport the remains back home.
- I'm sorry, I don't speak French.
- Oh, do you mind if I sit here?
Because there's
no other seats available.
Hi. I'm Joost. I'm from Amsterdam.
- Tom.
- Hey, Tom.
I saw you on the train this morning.
We came from Paris.
We were on the same train.
You're not a pilgrim, are you?
A pilgrim? A trekker? A peregrino? Huh?
You're not here to walk
the Santiago de Compostela.
- No, I'm here on family business.
- Ah.
Well, it's not for everyone, you know.
In fact, somebody died
on the Camino this week,
only one day into the trek.
Yeah, such a tragedy.
Yes.
But it's no mystery
why I'm doing this trek.
You see this gut?
My older brother is getting married
in Rotterdam in December
and I want to fit into my old suit.
You could just buy a new suit.
No, but it's the third time
that he's getting married.
But wedding or not, I mean...
A bit leaner, a bit lighter.
It would make my doctor
and my wife a bit happier.
No? Ah!
Oh!
It's for energy.
Listen.
My doctorate...
I'm not gonna finish it.
You mean this year?
I mean ever.
I can't learn about the world in school.
You're not just
in school. You're at Berkeley.
Take a semester off, sure,
but don't throw away
the last 10 years of your life.
When was the last time
you travelled abroad?
And I'm not talking about for business.
Nepal. Morocco.
India. Papua New Guinea. Europe.
I gotta go to these places.
I gotta go. I gotta go.
- Captain.
- Mr Avery.
I want to cremate the body.
I'm gonna walk the Camino to Santiago.
Mr Avery, if you pardon me, please,
you are not prepared to go on this trek.
- You have no equipment or...
- I've got Danny's backpack
- and all his stuff.
- But you haven't trained for this walk.
And no disrespect,
you are more than 60 years old.
So it'll take me a bit longer than most.
You will be lucky if you finish
in two months.
Then I'd better get started.
We're leaving in the morning.
"We"?
Both of us.
Okay.
Here we go.
Came to give me
another pep talk, Captain?
I came to wish you buen Camino,
Mr Avery.
And to give you this.
- Is this a good-luck charm?
- Something like that.
You'll know what to do with it
when you get there.
- Get where?
- Cruz de Ferro. It's on the Camino.
You'll be there a month from now.
You can read about it in the guide.
It's a place of much significance.
Mr Avery, do you know why
you are walking the Way?
I suppose I'm doing it for Daniel.
You walk the Way for yourself.
Only for yourself.
Well, then, I guess
I don't have a clue, Captain.
Mr Avery,
I have also lost a child.
I wish you a buen Camino.
Enjoy your pilgrimage. Both of you.
Thank you.
Tom.
This is the way.
Peregrino! Shh!
Sorry.
- Are you American?
- Yes.
Americans are always late.
Well. You speak English.
So do you.
It's my first time in Spain.
You are not only in Spain.
You are in the Basque Country.
We are in Navarra.
Well, is there a room
in the Basque Country in Navarra?
A room? You mean a bed?
A bed, a room, it's all the same.
I'm very tired.
But it's late, so no food.
No more cooking.
No food, but still 15 euros?
- Yes.
- Okay.
Shoes here.
Bathroom there.
You're here.
Welcome to Roncesvalles. Buenas noches.
Pardon me, sir.
Do you have any Grey Poupon?
I followed the same route as you
to a point,
but then I detoured at Valcarlos.
And that's why I got here
a couple of hours before you.
My guidebook didn't say anything
about any detours.
Yeah, but that's because you haven't
got the Dutch guidebook.
- The Dutch guidebook?
- Yep.
Because we Dutch, we're always trying
to find the quickest way
to get to the next party.
Because you know what they say,
"If it ain't Dutch, it ain't much."
- Did the old woman feed you?
- No.
Well, you're lucky.
The meal was as grim as the beds.
Here. Have this.
- No, I can't take your food.
- Yeah, you can.
- Thanks.
- You're welcome.
Pamplona in a couple of days.
Hemingway, running of the bulls,
all that.
- I think I might stay there for...
- Peregrinos!
No drugs here! I know what I smell!
I will call the Guardia Civil!
- Yeah.
- I will call the police!
- Yeah.
- Yeah!
- Yeah, yeah.
- Yeah!
What did she mean, drugs?
Oh, nothing.
Well, nothing by Dutch standards.
Just a little tobacco booster.
To help with sleep.
- You want some, Tom?
- No. Thank you.
Sure?
I'm sure.
Here.
I also have these options.
Ambien, earplugs.
I know you've got a thing
for Dutch men, senora.
Have you ever walked the Camino, senora?
No, never.
When I was young, I was too busy.
And now that I am older,
I'm too tired.
Buen Camino.
Hey, Tom, we should get a coffee here
before we go.
Just to get our motor running, no?
Yeah, we'll have a quick coffee.
Oh, look! A cheese maker, Tom!
Fresh goat cheese, my man!
Come on, Tom!
You haven't lived until you have
goat cheese from these mountains.
Are you gonna make it, fat man?
Don't you worry about me, old man.
Hey, Tom. When we met in Saint-Jean, you
said nothing about going on pilgrimage.
I wasn't going on pilgrimage.
But here we are.
Yeah.
You said you were on family business?
I am.
But you have all the equipment
for the walk to Santiago.
Yeah.
Tom, that box with the ashes...
My son.
I'm done for the day, Joost.
I'm staying here tonight.
- Here? In this village?
- Yeah.
But Pamplona's a stone's throw away.
My feet are killing me.
I gotta get out of these shoes.
I'm sorry, but not me, man.
- Pamplona beckons!
- Okay.
It's been a pleasure, Tom.
Hey, uh, buen Camino.
Ah!
- I don't speak Spanish.
- We were expecting you.
Expecting me?
- You are a pilgrim, s?
- Yes.
We are always expecting pilgrims.
Come, we have plenty of beds
and your food is still warm.
Hey, the Americans are here!
Bueno, bueno, bueno!
Come. Vamos. Come on.
The truth of the matter
is confused.
No, Charlemagne had other ideas.
To extend his empire.
He crossed the Pyrenees,
but nothing worked out as he intended.
This is Spain!
This is Basque Spain!
He tortured the Basques of Pamplona
and allowed his men to have
a little too much
rest and relaxation with our women.
When the Basque shepherds,
who lived around here,
heard what happened in Pamplona,
they slipped into the woods,
and we, we Basques, killed them.
Sorry, monsieur,
but based on what I have read here,
that is complete crap. D'accord?
You won't find much truth in this book.
Charlemagne. Roland.
Not "Rolan", Roland.
This is part of French history, okay?
No, not Basque!
The French don't want to admit
that the death of Roland
was because of Charlemagne's
un-Christian intentions.
Come on! Allez!
Wait a minute, wait a minute.
- Night.
- Wait a minute. Senor, senor.
I thought it was the Arabs
that killed Roland.
One of the guys said you're Canadian.
Don't spread it around, eh?
So how's it going for you out there
on the road, Boomer?
I'm Tom.
You know, as in "baby boomer".
You got all those horrible signs
of that desperate generation
taking its final breath,
trying to screw the rest of us over
one last time.
Only thing missing from you, Boomer,
is one of those stupid-looking ponytails
and a collection of James Taylor songs
on your iPod.
I like James Taylor,
but I don't have an iPod.
Well, that's pretty amazing. What?
No iPod, no cell phone
or computer to keep you connected?
Isn't it written somewhere
in the Baby Boomer Code Book
that you must own a certain percentage
of anything Steve Jobs makes?
So what is it?
On pilgrimage to change your life?
- Something like that.
- Wait. Don't tell me.
Just getting over a nasty divorce
and she took it all?
Or maybe you're out
to meet some young chicks
and relive your college glory days.
Believe me, I've seen plenty
of that nonsense.
Oh, I got it. You're seeking penance
for screwing over your company retirees
in some stock market scandal.
You sound really angry.
Yeah. Sure. I'm angry.
I gotta quit these
and I'm really, really angry about that.
And when we get
to Santiago de Compostela,
it's all over for you, my little friend.
You're a goner.
The end of the Camino
is the end of my addiction.
Spoken like a true addict.
Spoken like someone who took 10 days
to get this far.
Well, at that pace you should get
to Santiago by the end of the year.
He's onto our plan.
But, you know...
I wanted to be a bullfighter.
My father wanted me to be a lawyer.
I became neither.
Coffee is in the common area.
Bonjour, Americano!
I thought you might be staying
at least a few more days here, eh?
Funny.
These European guys are starting
to get a little familiar.
I want to get out of here while they're
still sleeping off their hangover.
Besides, I got all the friends I need.
Don't want any tagalongs, so...
Well, be safe out there.
You too, Boomer.
- Good luck with the quitting.
- Yeah.
Good luck with whatever it is
you're doing out here.
We're all just taking
a really long walk, I suppose.
That's one way to look at it.
Oh!
I do have a cell phone.
Yeah, well,
me, too.
And an iPod.
Sorry for being such an ass last night.
I'm out here to get away from everything
and you just...
Reminded you of it.
Yeah, I get it.
Well...
You're all right, Boomer.
Even if you do like James Taylor.
I'm gonna need you to cancel
all my appointments
for the rest of the month, Doreen.
Oh, no!
Buen Camino.
Tom!
Tom, it's me!
Tom, it's Joost! From Amsterdam!
It's cordero.
Spain is famous for its roast lamb. Mmm!
- Here. You should try some.
- No. Thank you.
Much to my dismay,
Pamplona is just an ordinary Spanish
city when the bulls are not running.
So much for being a party town.
But I've made reservations
to return here in July
during the week of fiestas.
The Sanfermines!
I would like to propose a toast.
'Cause we Dutch love to propose toasts.
That we agree to meet here in July
and run with the bulls, like real men.
Like real crazy men.
Well, I'm gonna come back.
- Wine shots, huh?
- Yeah.
What are your plans?
To move through Pamplona quickly,
and as long as I'm sitting here,
I might just order some tapas.
- Senor!
- They're called pintxos.
I beg your pardon, Joost.
In Pamplona they're called tapas.
Here in Pamplona, it's "tapas".
I just read that.
You see, unlike the Dutch guidebook,
which may be directing you
to the nearest party,
the American guidebook is designed
so that you don't look like a clown
if you order "pintxos" when you
really mean "tapas."
- Senor?
- Tom.
Senor? Algo ms?
Tapas, por favor.
Tapas? Aqu no hay "tapas".
- No hay tapas?
- No, no, no.
"Tapas" es ms de Madrid, del Sur.
Aqu estamos en Navarra,
en Navarra, son los pintxos.
Quiere pintxos?
Oh, look!
It's Tom Quixote and Sancho Panza.
And that would make
you Dulcinea.
Buen Camino, fellow pilgrim.
Buen Camino. My name is Joost.
I'm from Amsterdam.
Dutch, huh? Got any drugs?
- Oh, I love this girl!
- It wears off quick, I promise.
- You know each other?
- Sort of.
- What are you looking to score?
- Something for sleep.
I've had trouble sleeping for the past,
I don't know, couple of years.
Do you folks mind doing this drug deal
while we walk?
I've got some Ambien.
Or something stronger
if that's your pleasure.
I love this guy!
It wears off quick, I promise.
- Come. Come with us.
- Oh!
Tom, wait.
I tried to quit once.
But then I thought, "why?"
My grandmother, she drank
and she smoked her entire life
and she lived to be 103 years old.
Now what does that tell you?
It tells me that everyone
who is trying to quit something
always has an ancient relative they use
as an example of why not to quit.
- I suppose that makes me a clich, then.
- You said it.
But I'm not the one trying
to quit anything.
Yeah, well...
We keep walking at this pace,
quitting isn't gonna be the problem.
Surviving will be.
Doesn't this guy ever stop
to smell the flowers?
- This isn't a race.
- No, it isn't.
Then why does it piss me off so much
that I haven't seen him
stop to take a break?
Why does something that should be
inspirational make me so
angry?
Totally irrational.
The same could be said
for this entire journey.
- Wonder how old he is.
- Older than us.
Hey, Tom!
You think I'll look like this
by the time I get to Santiago?
Yeah, sure, Joost.
Just keep eating that cordero.
Nothing like a few pounds of lamb
to help shed the excess weight.
But it's part of
the Camino experience, no?
I mean, you can't come to Spain
without having their roast lamb.
"Where the path of the wind
crosses that of the stars."
What do you think the waist is
on this guy?
More like a 25 or 26.
Well, a man can dream.
What? You can do this on a bike?
Why the hell are we walking?
Oh, that's ridiculous, man.
Try that. It's super strong.
I brought it from Amsterdam.
It's really good. You do smoke up?
Hey, I'm Frank. New York.
Tom, California.
Nice to meet you, Rabbi.
Oh, actually I'm a priest.
You can understand my confusion.
Yeah, a lot of people make that mistake.
Brain cancer. The surgery left me
with a terrible scar.
I wear this yarmulke to cover it up.
They didn't get it all, you know?
The cancer.
Said it'll probably come back.
Who knows about these kinds of things?
Only God.
Anyway, they say that miracles happen
out here on the Camino de Santiago.
Do you believe in miracles, Father?
I'm a priest. It's kind of my job.
- You a Catholic?
- I don't practise any more.
You know, Mass at Christmas, Easter.
That's about it.
Here. Take this.
- No, I can't take your rosary, Father.
- No, please, take it.
A lot of lapsed Catholics out here
on the Camino, kid.
Besides...
Thank you.
Fore!
Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness!
I'm sorry! Sorry!
I didn't mean to do that!
Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
I thought I was out here all alone.
- You thought wrong.
- Oh, yes.
Hello! I'm Jack from Ireland.
I'm Jack from Ireland.
How long you been out here,
Jack from Ireland?
On the Camino
or in this particular spot?
- You pick.
- On the Camino, well, jeez...
It's hard to say. This spot, well...
It's hard to say that, too.
But I think this place means something.
"This place means something"?
This place is brimming
with significance!
That's the problem
with this whole damn road.
- Problem?
- Metaphor, man!
You're out walking all alone and
suddenly in the middle of nowhere
you see a dogfight near a cheese farm.
What does that dogfight mean?
And despite its literalness,
the idea of a pilgrim's journey
on this road is a metaphor bonanza!
Friends, the road itself
is amongst our oldest tropes.
The high road and the low.
The long and winding.
The lonesome. The royal.
The open road and the private.
You have the road to hell.
The tobacco road.
The crooked, the straight
and the narrow.
There's the road stretching
into infinity,
bordered with lacy mists,
favoured by sentimental poets.
There's the more dignified road
of Mr Frost.
And for Yanks, every four years,
there is the road to the White House.
There is the right road.
Then you have the road
which most concerns me today.
The wrong road.
Which I fear I must surely have taken.
Well, Jack, maybe a dogfight
near a cheese farm
is simply a dogfight near a cheese farm.
Ah!
Okay!
That's good. That is very good.
Dog fight near
a cheese farm...
Maybe there's no such thing
as metaphors.
Maybe I should adopt
a more conservative attitude
instead of trying to trickle meaning
out of every curve in the road.
Christ, I haven't had
an original thought in months.
Writer's block.
You know what that is? Any of you?
Writer's block?
And I...
- I'm a writer.
- Okay, so...
The reason I'm out here
walking the Camino. Writer's block.
I figure the sooner we get the
small talk out of the way, the better.
Now you know why I'm on pilgrimage.
Great.
Hmm...
Mailbox full.
- Ah!
- You have 35 unheard messages.
All from my editors,
who probably think I'm drinking again.
Which isn't a bad idea.
Well, they'll get their book.
Maybe not when they want it,
but they'll get it, by God!
Ooh! Can I bum one of those, please?
Oh. Uh, yes, sure. Sure.
Thank you.
So, uh,
what's your book about, Jack?
- The Camino, of course.
- Of course.
- What about all of you?
- What about all of us what?
Why you're doing the Camino.
Most of the pilgrims I've polled
say their walk to Santiago
is for religious, cultural
or historical reasons.
- You're taking a poll?
- Aye, informally,
though I have been keeping track of most
of the pilgrims I've met along the way.
So far,
less than 15 percent said
they were doing it for health.
Fewer than five percent said they were
out here looking for a miracle.
Miracles are in short supply
these days, Jack.
Well,
if you don't mind,
I'd like to include you in my poll.
I do mind.
Very much so.
Oh, uh...
Would it be all right if I
walk with you for a bit?
Well, I don't know about them.
Oh, okay.
But it's okay. It's cool with me, man.
- Really?
- Yeah, sure.
I'm Joost. I'm from Amsterdam.
Joost? Right. Hey.
I mean, I'm not here for God or miracles
or any of that stuff.
I'm just a fat Dutchman
trying to lose a few pounds.
So you're doing it for health reasons?
Yeah, you could
more or less say that. Yeah.
Yeah, well, would it be all right
if I put you under the category
"doing it for health" for my poll?
- Yeah, man, sure. Whatever. Yeah.
- Really?
Joost.
Dutch.
Health.
Ah. Thanks.
Would you like to try some of this?
It's Turkish.
I hear it's good for writer's block.
You may be right, Joost.
Yeah, man.
Tom! Hey, Tom!
Everything all right?
Yeah, sure.
So what's her story?
Tom met her in a refugio.
Walking the Camino to quit smoking.
That's all I know about her.
She's sexy
but complicated.
He seems like quite a stiff.
I met him in Saint-Jean.
He's an ophth... Um...
An eye doctor from California.
An ophthalmologist.
He didn't come here on pilgrimage.
Seems like it was more like an accident.
I started my pilgrimage in Paris, Joost.
Three months ago.
And if I know one certainty about
the Way of St James,
it is that no one walks this Camino
by accident. No one.
He carries the cremated remains
of his son.
He got caught in a bad storm
over the Pyrenees, first day out.
- Oh, you're kidding me.
- No.
He carries that box in his backpack.
He leaves little piles of ash
all along the Camino.
That's brilliant!
I mean, tragic, of course.
But brilliant.
Um...
Do you think he'd want
to talk to me about it?
I think he'd sooner shove
that walking stick down your throat.
- You're sick.
- What?
The reason you're out here.
- You're ill and dying.
- Not even close.
That's good.
But I will get it.
No, you probably won't.
Next town is Torres Del Ro.
"Towers on the river."
Your Spanish is pretty good.
Yeah, well, the guidebooks stress learn
as much of the language as possible
before you start the walk, so...
I thought you said something
about not wanting any tagalongs.
I did.
And if the last 15 kilometres
are any indication,
walking the Camino with you is kind of
like being alone, so...
But hey, you want me to buzz off,
that's cool.
The next town, I'll go my separate way.
But it's not like there's
a thousand routes to get to Santiago,
so you might have to suffer bumping
into one of us from time to time.
I'll take my chances.
Torres del Ro, then.
He's in a bad mood.
He's been in a bad mood
ever since I met him.
Well, death has a way
of doing that to you.
What do you mean, death?
She doesn't know?
She doesn't know what?
She doesn't know what?
What doesn't she know?
This town is so short of water
that the locals store it up
in winter for use in summer.
I don't see anything about bars.
There's an albergue called
the Casa Santa Barbara.
Oh, yeah. It's the only one,
but it has five stars.
I don't care how many stars
it has as long as it's got a toilet.
- S?
- Hola.
- Peregrinos?
- S.
Hi, welcome.
- Bienvenidos.
- Hola.
- Hola.
- I am el Ramn.
I'm Joost. I'm from Amsterdam.
Nice.
Good, good. Come, come.
Come with me. Come along.
Come along, please.
Passports? Please, passports.
- Now?
- I need passports.
Passports, everyone.
Yes, thank you. Passports.
- Passports, please. I need passports.
- Is there a...
This is my very own and very special
el Ramn stamp.
You won't find a stamp like this
anywhere else on the Camino.
Could I use your...
This is the Ramn stamp.
I will stamp your passports
with the Ramn stamp.
The Ramn stamp.
The Ramn stamp.
Perfect! This is the proof you have been
with el Ramn.
Yes, as I was saying, could...
- You must be hungry, yes?
- Yes.
Yes, you are tired, of course.
Oh, but you have come to
the best refugio in all of Spain!
Is there a bano I could use, please?
Oh, yes, yes, of course.
It's there.
Uh...
It's a bit more serious, let's say.
One moment.
Good? Good?
- Yeah, good.
- Good.
I think we're the only pilgrims here.
- The only ones alive.
- Tom.
Should we stay?
It's a bed, a meal, a few hours' sleep.
Obviously, we've interrupted something.
Well, that was, uh,
interesting. A bit cold out there.
Who's next?
Maybe we should stay.
Did anyone ask how much
he's charging for the night?
Because if it's more than
a couple of euros, it's too much.
- Yeah, I second that.
- Aye.
All right. When he comes back down,
I'll ask him about the fee.
But I don't think we're gonna get
a straight answer from el Ramn.
Well, it could be a while.
Okay.
I'll go up and ask him.
Them.
I'll go with you.
- Yeah, me too.
- Let's all go.
What are you all, five?
No, just scared.
Ay, Ramn!
Whoo! Ramn, Ramn!
Oh, man.
It's four and a half hours
to the next albergue.
Really? Well, we gotta think
about setting up camp for the night.
- No way.
- It's getting dark.
Hey, Boomer. Tom?
We're gonna camp out.
Now this,
this is a true pilgrim experience.
Cheers to that.
Even though I hated camping as a boy.
"A true pilgrim experience"?
What do you mean by that?
Well, I'm talking about tradition
in the purest sense.
A true pilgrim walks the Camino
with nothing.
He has to live off the land.
He has to accept the kindness
presented to him,
and he has to carry
his goods on his back.
A pilgrim is poor,
and must suffer.
It strikes me as extreme to say
the only way to be a true pilgrim is to
imitate what we like to think
a true pilgrim is.
Should a pilgrim dress himself
as a beggar even if he isn't?
Do we honour the poor by imitating them?
I don't think that pilgrims
ignored the creature comforts
of the road any more than we should now.
Yeah, and what about pilgrims
on bikes,
or pilgrims that do the Camino
on horseback?
Now, tradition would dismiss bikers,
at least.
Biking or riding requires
less suffering and less work.
The difficulty of the walk is inherent
in walking.
But I don't think we have to
artificially add more hardship
than is already there.
That, in my opinion, is being
a false pilgrim, not a true one.
If you were a man,
I would challenge you
to pistols at dawn.
What do you think, Boomer?
Finally! An American without an opinion.
Take a picture.
- Morning, sunshine.
- Oh!
Hey.
Where are the guys?
Out gathering some provisions
from the local farms.
- Like true pilgrims?
- Yeah.
So you weren't even
gonna say goodbye, Boomer?
Yeah, well...
What are you doing out here, Tom?
Besides taking a really long walk.
Why do you care?
Joost told me you're a doctor?
- Yeah.
- What do you practise?
I'm an ophthalmologist.
- An eye doctor.
- Yeah.
Oh! So,
you help people see the world
a little better, huh?
Yeah, that's one way to put it.
- I got it.
- No, no.
I...
Sorry.
Three cheers for the true pilgrims!
Hot bread and coffee for everyone!
Oranges, apples, see?
We're living off the land.
This is the way it's supposed to be.
- Hey, Tom.
- Hey.
How about one?
- Sleep well?
- Yeah.
- No, gracias.
- Do we have knives?
We don't need knives. Just rip it apart.
Orange, Tom? Hey? Orange?
No, thank you.
We'll have this coffee on the go.
You okay, Tom?
Yeah, I'm fine.
Tom.
I'm sure the last thing in the world
you want to do
is have a conversation with me.
You'd be right about that.
Tom, your son...
Joost told me.
I'm so sorry. I had no idea.
Joost told you, huh? That figures.
I don't know what to say, but...
The way you touched me,
grabbed my arm, just...
I mean, in my other life,
my life before the Camino,
I was married.
I was married and I was pregnant.
My first, my only.
But my husband was not
a kind man,
so I terminated.
I got rid of my baby girl, Tom.
I didn't want the son of a bitch
to have two of us to beat up on.
Sometimes I hear her voice.
My baby.
I know it sounds crazy because she never
got to take her first breath,
but I imagine what she would have
sounded like.
And sometimes I hear her, Tom.
Sometimes I swear I can hear her.
I'm sorry about your baby.
I'm sorry about yours.
My son was almost 40.
Yeah, but he'll always be your baby.
Well.
Pilgrims, we have arrived.
I'm gonna get us a bottle. Or three.
Oh, here. You'll need
an extra hand for that.
Look, Tom, I want to apologise again.
I'm really sorry...
Can we talk about
something else? Please?
But I hit you with everything I had
and you took it.
My mother taught me
that only a coward hits a woman.
How'd she do that?
She whipped the hell out of me
every time I hit my little sister
till I finally got the message.
My ex could have learned something
from your mother.
Smoke 'em if you got 'em, eh?
I'm gonna smoke across
this whole damn country, Boomer.
So you said.
There's a whole world out there
to beat you up plenty.
You don't need to go looking
for people to pile on.
Glad you became an eye doc
instead of a head shrinker.
First consultation is free.
Let there be wine!
Let the drinking commence!
... whereas Paolo Coelho examined
the spiritual on the Camino,
was inspired to write his first book
afterwards.
So, I said to them,
"The last thing in the world
you need to publish,
"and the last thing
I am willing to write,
"is another bloody guidebook
on the Camino."
I mean, how does one follow
the Codex Calixtinus anyway?
The what?
Codex Calixtinus.
Liber Sancti Jacobi.
Devotees of the Way regard it
as the first tourist guide.
That's right. It is the source
attributed to the writings of
Pope Calixtus II in the 12th century.
It is a work of wonder
divided into five folios.
Book 1, "Anthologia liturgica".
Book 2, "De miraculis sancti Jacobi".
Book 3 translates
the writings of St James.
Book 4, the lesser known,
banned by the church in Rome,
detailed Charlemagne's vision
of St James instructing him
to destroy the Moors.
But it is Book 5, Folio 5,
which most concerns us.
Historians believe it is the first book
ever written on the pilgrimage.
So, the dilemma for me
is to come up with something
that feels contemporary yet pays homage,
or hommage,
to the ancient traditions of the Way
and what it means to be a true pilgrim
in the modern age.
Christ, you're a bore!
I beg your pardon?
An arrogant bore.
Well, there you have it.
Proof once again that Americans
can't hold their liquor.
Says the man
with the Aston Villa patch on his bag.
Oh, dear. I think this pack's
getting ready to eat one of its own.
That's just it, Jack from Ireland.
You're not one of us.
You think you're better than us
because you're writing a book.
- "True pilgrim." "True pilgrim."
- All right, all right, okay...
Like you would know? What did you use
to pay for this wine here, huh?
How many credit cards do you have
in your wallet, Jack from Ireland?
How many true pilgrims
used their credit cards
to get out of a true jam along
the Camino back in the Middle Ages?
You jackass from Ireland.
You are a true fraud.
That's what I think you are.
Fraud!
Over here, everybody!
This man is a fraud!
Police! Hey!
Over here, gentlemen!
Arrest this man for being a fraud!
Tom, we're just talking, man.
Yeah, we're only talking.
You're good at that, Dutchman.
Let me ask you something.
Is there anything
in that Dutch guidebook
about having some common courtesy?
Keeping your mouth shut about
other people's private matters?
What the hell are you talking about?
You know what the hell I'm talking
about, Joost from Amsterdam.
Or maybe you've smoked so much hash
and popped so many pills
you can't remember anything
you say or do any more.
Hey, what do you think
of the Boomer now, eh, Sarah?
Whoever the hell you are.
So, friends,
the question is,
what does it take for someone to become
a true pilgrim on the Camino?
Is that right, Jack?
How about death?
How about dying on the Camino?
Would that rate?
Would that make someone a true pilgrim?
Would that qualify for your damn book?
Hey, Tom, that's my pack.
That's mine. Tom...
Tom, come on, man.
- Get off of me!
- Tom, that's my pack. It's my pack.
For Christ's sake! Get away from me!
Get your hands off me!
Get away from me!
You know I don't speak Spanish!
I'm an American!
I speak American!
God bless America!
Joost, call the American embassy!
Tell them I've been kidnapped on
the Camino de Compostela!
My pilgrimage has been compromised!
God bless America! Everyone!
# God bless America
# Land that I love
# Stand beside her, and guide her
How do you say "I'm sorry" in Spanish?
Lo siento.
- Lo siento, senor.
- Buen Camino.
Gracias.
Adis.
I don't really remember very much.
That might be a good thing.
Thank you for bailing me out.
You can thank my credit card.
I intend to reimburse you.
You agree to let me use
the story in my book,
- we can call it even.
- Not a chance.
Well, I could still include it anyway.
Change the names.
- You wouldn't.
- I would.
As far as anecdotes go, it's one of
the best from my journey so far.
My friends, you know, my patients,
they're gonna read your book,
get the wrong impression of me.
Do you honestly believe that your mates
from the country club
would waste their time reading my book?
Good point.
What was your son like?
Daniel's story has got nothing to do
with any deal.
I have to explain why you're out
on the Camino, Tom.
I can't just introduce some crazy,
drunk American into the narrative
- without giving him purpose.
- "Crazy, drunk American." Thanks.
I can read his obituary
at any Internet caf along the way.
But I can't imagine it would
shed any light on
who he was
or what he meant to you.
He was my son.
What do you think he meant to me?
Daniel was a lot like you.
Smart. Confident.
Stubborn.
Pissed me off a lot.
May I?
Thank you.
Sarah! Hey! a va?
Hey! Carlo!
Hey! Ciao, bella.
- Hello.
- I'm Jack.
- Jack. How are you? Good to see you.
- Carlo.
Hola!
- Tom!
- Father Frank.
- Are you just getting to Burgos?
- This very moment.
Hey, listen, you've gotta stay
at least a day.
Tour the cathedral.
El Cid is buried there.
The Chuck Heston film.
Let me buy a weary traveller a drink.
- They've come in handy.
- They usually do.
Maybe a couple tapas, too,
here, sir.
I don't have to tell you, but this
Spanish coffee is really strong.
- Yeah, I know.
- I can't drink it in the afternoon.
Otherwise, I don't sleep a wink,
no matter how far I've walked.
Isn't this weather beautiful?
He plays the banjo.
Hey, that kid took my bag!
That kid stole my bag!
Hey! Hey!
Come here, you little bollocks!
- I'll go door to door if I have to.
- No, no, Tom. Not here.
- Why not?
- It's Gypsies, Tom.
- So what?
- It's all Gypsy housing.
- So what!
- Listen, you start knocking
on the doors here, you might not
be happy with what you find behind it.
Having your backpack stolen
will be the least of your worries.
Then we have to file a police report
or something.
No, cops hate Gypsies.
They don't want anything to do with it.
Not in Amsterdam, not here,
not anywhere in Europe.
Sorry, Boomer.
Can you hear me, son?
I know you're here!
- Just give me the box!
- Tom.
Just give me the little box!
You can keep the pack!
Just give me the box!
What are you doing?
Oh, this is great stuff, Tom.
What you're saying, I gotta get it down.
You can't give up now, Tom.
It's a big city. We can...
We can get you new gear.
I'll take a bus to Madrid
and fly home tomorrow.
Come on, Tom.
This whole thing was stupid.
Bloody thieving Gypsies!
I understand your anger, senor.
My name is Ishmael Villalobos.
My son stole your property.
He wishes to return it and apologise.
It is as you left it.
Everything is there.
Everything.
My son has dishonoured himself,
his family,
and yours as well.
This is the problem with how Europeans
see the Gypsy people.
As thieves and beggars!
Not a proud community.
Well, your son is not
helping your cause.
A very dark day for me.
I wish to extend an invitation to you
and your friends
to be my guests at my home this evening.
I insist.
It will be an intimate gathering.
You will not be disappointed by the food
or the company.
This is what you call
an intimate gathering?
By Gitano standards.
A Gypsy wedding will sometimes
have 2,000 guests.
All close personal friends?
Actually, yes.
Of course, you are taking your son's
remains to Muxia.
No. To Santiago de Compostela.
You go to the Cathedral in Santiago
for the pilgrim's Mass and the blessing.
You must continue across Galicia
to the sea.
There is a shrine in Muxia.
La Virgen de la Barca.
Go there.
Place the remains of your son
in the water.
It is for him and for you.
Ishmael, I'm not a very religious man.
Religion has nothing to do with this.
Nothing at all.
Ishmael, please.
I can take it from him now.
He will carry it
to the very edge of town.
Not one step less.
That is his punishment.
For now.
But he couldn't have known
what was in the bag.
Don't you think you should
cut him some slack?
And what if it were your son?
Stealing is bad enough, and wrong.
But what my son did
could have brought more than shame
to our community.
Oh, yes. You mean like a curse?
Please.
The simple mention of it.
Give me that.
Our children,
they are the very best
and the very worst of us.
Ishmael.
Adis. Ygracias.
Buen Camino.
No, no self-respecting pilgrim on
the Camino would ever stay in a parador.
The decadence of it
is absolutely appalling.
My treat.
Really?
For all of us?
- Hola. If you could just put it here.
- Hola.
Uh, yes, um,
I need to have some laundry picked up.
Some clothing needs to be washed.
Such a crisp morning air, which just
heightens my sense of acute loneliness.
There is traffic on the Camino today,
pilgrims queuing up to bear witness
to the anxious state of a writer
who's forgotten how to...
A writer who has
lost his way.
The child, a youth,
not yet a man, no longer a child,
could not have known
that of all the bags at his disposal,
the one he artfully made his own
contained the most precious
cargo of all:
The remains of Tom's only son, Daniel.
We all have a quest.
Sarah's is clear.
Tom's is becoming clear, but Joost,
for whom kindness is an instinct,
is further away than ever.
Joost...
Armies march to war.
Pilgrims march towards
a new kind of peace.
Is that its purpose?
Hi.
Hi.
You gonna invite me in?
Sure.
I couldn't sleep.
Me neither.
Where's Joost when you need him, eh?
Make yourself comfortable.
Didn't know you were expecting company.
I'm not.
Hi. Could you direct me
to the nearest albergue?
Oh. I seem to have
interrupted something.
Please, come in.
Speak of the devil.
Et voil!
I've brought some liqueur de Orujo.
It's from Galicia,
and it's made of 18 different herbs.
And they're so secret that they
have to be squeezed by blind monks.
- Ugh!
- Thank you.
God save the Queen
and her fascist regime.
Is there any room at the inn?
You're kidding me.
Oh, hello.
Oh, lovely.
This is so similar to my room.
Hmm!
- Voil.
- Thank you.
You're welcome.
Buen Camino!
Buen Camino!
"Dear Lord,
"may this stone,
"a symbol of my efforts
on the pilgrimage...
"A symbol of my efforts..."
"Dear Lord,
"may this stone, a symbol of my efforts
on the pilgrimage,
"that I lay at the feet of the cross
of the Saviour,
"weigh the balance in favour of
my good deeds that day
"when the deeds of all my life
are judged.
"Let it be so.
"Amen."
It's a beautiful church, Jack.
Have a look.
Where I come from,
the church has a lot to answer for.
Temples of tears, Tom.
I don't go in them any more.
You've been taking
an awful lot of notes.
That's right.
End of your writer's block?
Thank you.
Glad to be of service.
I trust you will treat us all kindly
when the book goes to the publisher.
Oh, you know, the darker it is,
the bigger the sales.
That's what my editors will surely
be asking for.
I understand.
You know,
when I was an undergraduate
at Trinity College, Dublin,
I wanted to be W.B. Yeats.
Or James Joyce.
But good writers usually die broke,
so after I left college,
I wrote for travel mags.
Thought I'd do that for a while,
put some money away
and then get down to the novel.
Twenty years later, here I am
still writing for travel magazines.
I'm not feeling sorry for myself.
It's the life I chose.
Jack, you write whatever you want
about all this.
What you saw, how you felt.
You write it like it happened.
You write the truth.
I'll do my best.
And after Santiago? Home?
- Back to the real world?
- Lf you wanna call it that.
You know, Ishmael said
that after Santiago,
I should take Daniel's ashes to Muxia.
What do you think about that, Boomer?
I don't know. He seemed to think
it was very important that I go.
Oh, it's all Gypsy hocus-pocus, man.
Well, you're on your own, Tom.
Santiago is as far as
this Dutchman is going.
Me too, mate.
I've been away for three months.
I gotta get back.
Santiago de Compostela for me, Tom.
It's the end of the Camino for me, too.
And at the foot of St James, I shall
put these down, once and for all.
Uh, I'm sorry?
- I swear!
- Well, good luck with that. Yeah, yeah.
# It's a long way to Santiago
# It's a long way to go
# It's a long way to Santiago
# To the sweetest saint I know
Oh, well, I'm here now.
It's the Portico of Glory.
Ah! It's him. St James.
"Tradition commands that pilgrims
approach the statue on their knees.
"El Cid, St Francis, van Eyck,
"kings, queens and millions of pilgrims,
"they all collapsed to their knees
out of gratitude."
- Hola.
- Habla espanol?
Ah, no. English.
- Can I have your passport, please?
- Yeah, sure, sure.
Here you go.
Your name is Joost DeWitt?
- Joost Michael DeWitt.
- Joost. Okay.
Sarah Marie Sinclair.
- Jack Emerson Stanton.
- Thomas Avery.
- Where did you start the Camino?
- In Saint-Jean.
- In Saint-Jean-Pied...
- Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, okay.
- In Paris, at Notre Dame. Mmm-hmm.
- Really?
Canada.
- Have you walked the whole way?
- Yes, we did.
I did.
Unfortunately, yes.
Unfortunately? You didn't enjoy it?
Oh, no, no! It was fantastic!
So what is your reason
for walking the Way?
What are your reasons
for having done this pilgrimage?
I mean, do you have some kind of
religious or spiritual motivation, or...
Religious, yes.
I mean...
Leprechauns. I was looking for
leprechauns at the end of the road.
I needed to lose weight.
Um, well...
It's also because my...
My wife didn't want to sleep with me
any more but it's because I'm too fat.
I thought that I...
I should probably travel more.
I was a writer. I stopped writing.
And now I'm writing again.
Your passport, with the official stamp
of the cathedral.
And this is your compostela.
It's in Latin.
It's written in Latin because this
document dates from the Middle Ages.
Uh...
I'm terribly sorry. Uh...
I gave you the wrong name.
Yeah, but I've already entered it.
I see that, but, um...
Could you please change it?
Okay. As you wish.
Name, please?
Daniel Avery.
Okay. Here you are.
Okay.
Thank you very much.
Writers.
They always want the last word.
But this?
This was never about
quitting these things.
But you knew that.
I needed a new suit anyway.
You made it.
Yeah.
I came here to bring you home.
I don't have anything to take back.
Yeah, you do.