Pilgrim's Spotlight: Danny the Pram-Pushing Pilgrim

What is a pram, you ask?

Well. 

A pram is Queen's English for an old-fashioned stroller, known in the common tongue as a baby carriage. 

I've known about Danny since Roncevalles when, in a hushed tone, someone leaned over to me and said "have our heard about the guy pushing the stroller to Santiago? He started in London!" 

Anyone's first reaction would be like mine--Dear lord, another cracked pilgrim on the Camino. What kind of a bonkers Limey would push a baby carriage over the Pyranees? Better steer clear of this old codger. 

But Lauren and I ran into Danny and his pram in Pamplona.

"Hello chaps! Do you happen to know where the route is for today?"

He stood in the door, pram loaded in the background, in jauny hat with sun-battered skin and a sort of mahatma Gandhi meets a turnip look. Lauren immediately brought out Brierley to point out the Way for him, and Danny was off with just a few more cheerful words. Slightly perplexed by how not cracked he seemed despite the sun-wrinkled skin and wide grin, I filed this away, thinking I'd seen the last of him. 

I would discover much later that Danny began his pilgrimage (this time) at his front door in London, walked to Canterbury, then took a ferry in Dover to Paris, where he found his pram. Loading in his camping gear, Danny walked down France through Bordeaux to St Jean Pied de Port (where he got the wheels replaced) and crossed the mountains by the road. The pram made it all the way to Estella, where Danny discovered he didn't need it anymore! He donated the old carriage to the albergue run by special needs volunteers and went on with a rucksack, set free! 

Lauren and I reunited with Danny in Hornillos, sitting on a bench with a bottle of wine, and he greeted us like dear old friends. "Girls! How are you? Now where did I see you last? I just love the meseta, don't you? Great big sky! You can drift into a dream for an hour and come back and nothing has changed at all!" 

It turns out that Danny the pram-pushing pilgrim is charming, interested and a fascinating conversationalist. Lauren and I kept a pace with him for four or five days--he always starts late, takes breaks, and let's life happen. We caught him for a few great chats, he offered to share his wine, told us the story of when he drank beer and shaved his head. 

He'd met Angie and tried to avoid her just like us though of course he thought she had a heart of gold (she doesn't, but he does). He has a wife of many years and is a specialist in musical instruments and museum education. The museum where he used to work has one of Paul's Hoffner basses (though according to Danny the Beatles were a girls band and he hung out with the Stones before they were famous). He's an adventurer and a thinker and an unflagging optimist despite the heat and the sun and the physical difficulties. He always walks alone but is happy to sit and visit when he gets where he's going (not that he usually knows where that is before he arrives). 

So is he cracked? He walked all the ways from London pushing a carriage! Well, yes. A tiny bit cracked, yeah. But aren't we all out here? Anybody who decides to do this crazy thing is a little mad in the same way. But our little run ins with the eccentric, incredibly sweet pilgrims like Danny is what makes this trip worthwhile. Today he gave me his business card and said to look him up when I move to London. That's one more friend in London than I had. And a good one! So cheers! And lucky me.