In the US, almost every small talk conversation begins with the inevitable: “What do you do for a living?”
My favorite response so far is, “I’m an escaped prisoner.”
That response can make conversations very short or very long.
Here, on the Camino, no one one asks your profession. . . or your incarceration status.
They just all want to know where you are from.
Right now, the Germans are winning. Honestly, they have a history of strong starts but usually finish poorly.
Behind them are the Australians (24 hours of flying time – blimey). Of course, they have to fly 24 hours to get anywhere, except Bali, so big whup.
Neck and neck are the Czech, Croatian, and Swedish backpack ladies. Almost exclusively, women.
Bringing up the rear are the Singaporeans and, wait for it, yup, the Americans.
In fact, the only American I have met so far literally lives down the street from me in our little town.
What are the chances?
I ran into him about day three into the Camino.
It’s funny the camaraderie you develop for your country and countrymen when you are outside of it.
Just by listening to us talk, it was like if you had sawn either of us in half, a bald eagle would have flown out.
After chatting a bit as we are hiking through a lovely seaside village in Portugal, I turn to him and said,
“So what do you do for a living?”
Damn it!
Old habits die hard. Viva la America!
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