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Traffic is at a standstill
on the Elsinore motorway.

Emergency vehicles have been dispatched.
Please let them through.

We don't know the cause yet.

To Elisabeth, "love thy neighbour"
was not just a phrase.

It was a way of being in the world.

A way to be a pastor.
And a way to be a wife and a mother.

You meant everything to her.

Sorry. Please let me do it.

Will there be something now?
Like coffee?

Hello, Regitze.
Great that we could do this together.

Parsonages are official residences.
The new pastor is impatient.

I've tried to call Jan several times,
but I'm not sure he started packing.

He's not taking this seriously.

A parsonage is an official residence.
The new pastor has to move in.

Jan, we understand your grief,
your shock, but life must go on.

Life still has a lot to give.

I have a little book for you,
Mastering Grief.

- Jan...
- What nonsense.

Stupid wanker!

Dad!

Just... just come out.
Heine has left now.

Great.

So, I'll make some coffee.

There is something we need to open.

My harp is turned to mourning and
my flute to the sound of those who weep.

We have to open this. The two of us.
Now that she is no longer here.

That's what I was told.

Dear you.

My dearest you two.

I stand before the pearly gates.

I'm in my bed, actually,
but you know what I mean.

I'm calm. My faith is with me.
My only sorrow and worry is you.

When you are a family,
especially one as small as ours -

you must work hard
to be there for each other -

regardless of differences
and disagreements.

Regitze, Jan is your father. It's no use
holding a grudge or cutting him off.

He's the only father you've got.

Jan, she's your only daughter.
Pull yourself together.

Even if you have to swallow your pride.

Sometimes you have to go a long way
to meet each other halfway.

Regitze, your father and I talked
about walking the Camino -

from Astorga to the cathedral
in Compostela.

It was a lifelong dream of mine.
I won't make it.

So this is my final wish:
that you two walk the Camino together.

I believe it will do you good.

Take care of yourselves, and each other.

- The Camino?
- Yes, the Camino.

- 260 kilometers.
- Okay.

It'll take 11 days.

11 days?

Maybe there's a shorter route?
Over a weekend?

Don't you miss her at all?

Do I miss her?
She is my mother, of course I miss her.

Then perhaps you'll consider
respecting her last wish.

What are you two going to do?

I don't really know. You know how it is.

You two could finally talk,
if you go on that hike.

Right.

- Where's she buried?
- Common grave.

Hey!

- Don't dump your flowers there.
- My mom's urn was just put down here.

That's just a lawn. The common grave
is over there by the birch grove.

Okay. Here you go.

- It's going to be a long trip with him.
- How about your situation?

- Have you talked with the Dutch guy?
- Do you think this is too warm?

I understand
that it can be overwhelming.

- But have you talked to him?
- I haven't gotten around to it.

Is it my father again?

Now it's something about a stone
in the backpack.

First he never texts.
Now it never stops.

And now something about a stone?

I think it would really
please your mother to see us now.

It's a great cuisine down there.

I'm looking forward
to tasting caldeirada.

- This trip is not about eating.
- Right.

- What's that?
- Your Camino Pass.

- I'm Joaquín. What's your name?
- My name is Jan.

- Welcome, Jan. Your first Camino?
- Yes, it is.

- Wonderful. Buen Camino!
- Thank you.

Please. I'm Joaquín.

- Your name, please?
- Regitze.

Nice to meet you.
It's your first time Camino?

Yeah, my mother just died of cancer,
and this was her last wish.

Great. Buen Camino!

- There we go.
- "The first step."

That's an expression your mother and I
used when starting something new.

- I've never heard that before.
- Well, we did. We said that.

Okay, fine.

- The first step.
- The first step, yes.

DAY 1
260 kilometers to go

Google says we've gone too far!

The first maps were drawn on clay
in 4,000 BC. They still work.

Look, we have to go back there
and then right.

Look, we walked too far.
We have to go back and then right.

Buen Camino!

- Some people take a taxi out of town.
- We could do that too?

To think that pilgrims have walked
here since the Middle Ages.

A 1200-year-old tradition!

Really magical.

- You haven't brought a lot?
- We're in Spain.

It's sunny and warm.

260 kilometers in those tennis shoes?

I don't think you understand
what this walk is all about.

The Camino enlightens and elevates
its pilgrims. Screw the footwear.

If your mother was here, she'd sing
"Praise All Things That God Has Made".

- She had such a fine voice.
- You would have asked her to be quiet.

Why do you say that?

Because you always did
whenever she sang.

I did not! We often sang together.

Buen Camino!

- Buen Camino.
- Hello.

Did he cry?

It's okay, Dad.
We just remember things differently.

You probably sang
when you two were alone.

I wouldn't know about that.

Buen Camino.

Well... we still have
16 kilometers to go, right?

Do you need a break?

Oh no! They need to be popped.

- Buen Camino! Blisters?
- Yeah, big ones.

- I think you're wearing the wrong shoes.
- Oh, you think so?

Yeah, and I think you must poke
a hole in those.

- Yeah, I just told him.
- I have this one.

- I can do it myself.
- No, no, no! It's okay.

- Hold on.
- Nice you have everything!

Okay...

Better?

- Thank you!
- I'm Mirna. I'm from Croatia.

This is Jan,
and I'm Regitze from Denmark.

Buen Camino! See you.

- How nice of her.
- She was bloody annoying.

- Are you done yet?
- Yeah, yeah!

- Hurry up.
- Hey!

- Norway.
- Denmark.

- I'm from Oslo.
- Copenhagen. Hi.

- You're walking the Camino alone?
- I'm walking with my dad. Yeah.

I was supposed to walk with
my girlfriend, but it didn't turn out.

Okay, sure.

- Right.
- Didn't work that way.

We talked about buying a house,
an electric car, having a child together.

Oh, wow.

Yeah.

Then she fell in love
with her fitness trainer.

Oh, shit.

Her Brazilian trainer
tattooed from head to toe.

- I'm sorry.
- It's fine.

It's just...

- Tattoos, fitness, Brazil.
- It's a lot.

Well, it's probably good
to think about something else.

- You have the same hair color as Liv.
- Oh, that's funny.

- Bring me some toilet paper!
- Yeah. Sorry.

- Hey, Copenhagen!
- Hey, Oslo.

I'll check us in.

Hello again! I was just thinking
of your father and his feet.

- Oh, really? That's nice.
- Take these to your father.

I'm a woman with big feet,
and they can be adjusted to fit him.

- No, we can't take them.
- Yes, please. I have my boots.

- Really?
- All good!

- Thank you so much!
- Yes.

- Bye!
- Thank you!

- We've got a room.
- Great! And look.

Mirna gave you her sandals.
They're perfect.

Your mother hated men
with socks in sandals.

Well, she's not here now.

Just take them.

"Thanks, Mirna. Thanks, Gitze.
You're welcome, Dad."

- Hi.
- Hi.

Well, we're talking a little, but...

About anything?
Are you talking about anything real?

I'm really trying.

I don't know if I want to tell him
I'm going to be a mother.

I would also find it difficult
in your situation.

My breasts are really sore.
It hurts like crazy.

- Did you have that in the beginning too?
- No, Henry. Stop that.

Mads, please take him.
No!

I'm sorry. It's crazy right now.
I'll call you back. Hey!

Their shellfish is delicious,
don't you think?

What did you eat as a child?

Why?

I just don't remember very well.
I don't really remember Grandma.

There sure aren't many shellfish
in this damn soup.

I do remember Grandpa.

The smell of his pipe and his deep voice
I used to be so scared of.

Did he talk a lot?

- Grandpa?
- Yes. Did you get along?

He would best be described
as an arrogant asshole.

- And otherwise?
- I don't want to talk about him.

- Good morning, Copenhagen.
- 'Morning, Oslo.

20-kilometer hike and yoga?

Those mattresses
are really hard on the back.

It would suit you to control your dick
on the pilgrim's route.

That's my daughter you're drooling over.

She placed herself in front of me.
I was here first.

People are seeking insight,
comfort and wisdom here.

What are you doing?
The guy was minding his own business.

And you flirt and practice an Eastern
religion on a Christian pilgrimage route.

Relax. I'm stretching.

And yoga is not a religion.

You have a good speed today!
God's speed, maybe.

The sandals are perfect.
Thank you so much!

Right, Dad?
Thank you!

- You want to join me?
- That would...

Oh no, no, thanks.

Some other day then. Buen Camino!

- Why can't we walk with her?
- I'm here for your mother's last wish.

Not to rub shoulders with some lovesick
Bigfoot who thinks it's all just for fun.

DAY 4

145 kilometers to go

Cruz de Ferro, the Iron Cross.

The highest point of the Camino.
It's a very important place.

- You can take out the stone.
- The stone?

- I texted you to bring a stone.
- I thought it was a joke.

- A joke?
- Well, I didn't get it.

The stone represents the burden
you want to free yourself from.

By placing this stone,
you put away your sorrows.

It probably only works
if you're a believer.

I don't think it's a coincidence
you came without a stone.

- You're afraid of real feelings.
- I didn't understand your text!

Let the waters under the heaven
be gathered together unto one place.

And let the dry land appear.

And God saw that it was good.

"The Creation."

That's what your mother said
when she saw a stunning view like this.

Do you know what my favorite story
from the Bible was?

The one where Jesus is born.

- The Christmas Gospel?
- Yes.

Mother and father at home with
a bunch of guests. Sounds very nice.

That's a rather bourgeois reading
of the New Testament.

Well, maybe it is.

I was jealous of Jesus.

Imagine living in that stable
with both your parents, and animals.

You wouldn't last
two minutes in that stable.

- Vamos!
- Calm down!

- Go away!
- What are you doing?

Vamos. Vamos.

- What's wrong with you?
- It's got scabies and fleas.

What if I threw stones at you, huh?

What?

- You can't throw anything at anyone!
- Yes, I can!

You're afraid of
any kind of confrontation.

- What did you say?
- You don't like challenges, Regitze.

You just avoid them.

- What's that supposed to mean?
- You never stick with anything.

Veterinary studies, tennis, cooking
and whatever else there was.

I couldn't handle veterinary school.
Did you forget I'm dyslexic?

Or maybe you just aren't tenacious.

Just like that fancy catering firm
you busied yourself with.

Ever heard about Covid?
It's not my fault everything closed.

Ow!

When life is hard and unfair,
you have two options:

You either run away...
or you fight back.

Stop. Ow, stop!

- But nothing can hurt, right?
- Stop. You're so annoying.

Do you just go along,
or will you stand your ground?

- We talk about the things that matter.
- You're so...!

Hello, what are you doing?

Hey!

- Hello!
- Buen Camino!

Come on. Let's get going.

Hey! How are you doing?

Really bad!
I want to go home. I'm bailing.

- Gitze, you are not...
- Huh? Stupid connection.

Hello? What did you say?

Don't come home until you've been
to that cathedral and lit that candle.

Yes.

DAY 6

118 kilometers to go

- Would you like milk?
- Yes. But I like fresh milk.

Leche fresco? Fresco?

Fresco, yes. Hot milk...

No, no. Fresh...

This milk lasts forever.
I want fresh... straight from...

- Gitze, it's coffee. Calm down.
- Coffee like this in the land of cortado?

- Caliente. Hot. It's okay?
- Okay.

Thank you.

I can't stand UHT milk.
It has that aftertaste.

Your mother made bad coffee.
Good grief, it was awful!

Lukewarm water and too few beans,
but I drank it without complaining -

because it's not about coffee.
Everything is about who you drink it with.

I was lucky to drink it with your mother.

Dad, can we have half an hour
when we don't talk about Mom?

What about you and love?

Still no one else in your life?

There are lots of people in my life.

I have a really close friend.
Her name is Lisa.

But you don't have someone who loves you,
and don't have someone you love.

Love takes courage. Nothing else.
You just have to dare to do it.

Dare to make yourself
vulnerable and defenseless.

Maybe it's the courage that's lacking?

I don't want to talk
about my love life with my dad.

I have my friends for that.

And by the way, friends are love too.

And it's not like you share
a whole lot about yourself.

Sometimes
it feels like you're giving a lecture.

Well, we don't have to talk
any more about it.

Dad?

- Hi.
- Hello.

- What's he doing?
- Dad!

- Hey there...
- What are you doing?

- Dad, what are you doing?
- Is he diabetic?

Dad, look at me!

- Don't...
- Wake up!

- He's hypoglycemic!
- Violence has no place here!

- Where are you going, Dad?
- Listen to me!

He's clearly diabetic.
You're his daughter. You must know!

Do you have a cookie or juice?
He needs sugar.

- He isn't diabetic.
- I'll fix this.

- He needs sugar, now!
- Wait up!

We'll take care of it. Don't worry.

He'll be fine now.

- It's important that he gets sugar.
- Yes.

Dad? Drink.

You can't go on a hike without supplies.

- Sit in the shade.
- Are you all right?

Do you have diabetes, Dad?

Yes.

And you didn't think I should know that?

It's not something you flaunt.
It's old man diabetes. Really charming.

We have to make sure
that you eat and drink.

Make sure you take your insulin.
It is not a joke.

It's type 2, and so far
I don't need any insulin.

I'm a grown man. I can take care
of my own crackers and juice.

Clearly you can't! The Swedes did.

You tell each other these things
when you're a family.

Just like I would have liked to know
when Mom first got sick.

- We didn't want to worry you.
- Bone cancer, stage 3!

There was every conceivable
reason for me to worry.

Yeah.

Some things are hard to say.

Hi.

Monasterio de San Julian de Samos -

burned down in 1558
and was later rebuilt.

It's a place of enormous symbolic value
for the Camino.

There's Gothic, Baroque
and Renaissance architecture.

Dad, diabetes!
You need to eat and drink something.

I'm trying to open the world for you. To
give this monastery historical resonance -

- and you want to talk about crackers?

Well, I'm just trying to...

We always prepared for a trip,
your mother and I -

- learned about what we'd see on our way.

Saint Benedict founded many monasteries.
Most importantly, Monte Cassino in Italy -

where he was buried at the same place
as his sister, Scholastica.

Hey, sweetie.
It's not a great time right now.

- Lisa, it's not a good time.
- Por favor. No phone.

I'm getting scolded by a monk.
I'll call you back. Bye.

- Why do you even pick up?
- Relax. I hung up, all right?

This is a monastery!
It's not your local hipster café.

You need to lower your voice. This is
a monastery. People live in silence.

Show respect!

We're walking and walking.

- And?
- I mean...

We just don't get along.

And what about the Dutch guy?

I don't think he wants to know
he's going to be a dad.

So, how are your blisters?

- The sandals helped.
- Oh. Good.

A pilgrimage is a ceremonial movement,
that goes for the distance, behavior.

It's all established,
not just freestyling or cruising around.

- The pattern is the foundation.
- Yes, it's a rite, an elongated ritual.

And, it offers the pilgrim
a religious renewal and change of mind.

- A rite of passage.
- And it includes the state of separation.

The liminal phase. Pilgrims repeat what
mythical persons were taught in the past.

Repetition again and again,
and then a certain pattern will appear -

and at that moment
the pattern arrives to even more...

Exactly. You should walk
the Via Francigena at some point.

- It's such a beautiful pilgrimage.
- Maybe I will.

- Okay. Buen Camino!
- Bye.

That's the kind of man you should chase.

- I'd be bored to death.
- Bored?

With someone of such intellect?

- You look beautiful.
- I have to pee every 15 minutes.

- Oh really?
- But being pregnant is wonderful.

- And the father? Is he here?
- He's a piece of shit.

I'm walking to find the strength
to leave him.

Nice weather.

I don't care so much about the weather.
I'm here to honor my late wife.

- I'm here for the third time.
- The third time?

First time, I walked the Camino because
my husband died in a car accident.

52 years old.

Second time I walked the Camino
I had the cancer of the breast.

Now I walk the Camino because my best
friend died from leukemia last year.

I miss her, a lot.

But it's good for me to walk.
You know, move forward.

And I think I survived cancer.
No promises, but I have hope.

- I need a little rest.
- Oh, sure.

- Bye!
- Bye-bye.

- See you.
- Yeah, bye.

Are you all right?

- Do you want juice or crackers?
- I just need to sit for a bit.

- Dad, I think it would be good to...
- I'm not a child, okay.

I'm just trying to help you.

- You look like you need this.
- Thanks!

- Welcome to La Senda.
- Thanks!

Hello, señor.

- This coffee is very good.
- This is how we make coffee in Spain.

No, it's not. Believe me.

This is not how you make coffee
on the fucking Camino.

There are religious people here.
Bad words might offend someone.

Oh, of course. I'm sorry!
I really don't usually...

The girl has her head up her ass.

- Señora, scusi for the...
- No, no, no. That's Italian.

- Right.
- My mother doesn't understand English.

She seems bonkers.

But thank you.

- Mom, what are you doing?
- What's wrong with that crazy girl?

- You play?
- Yeah. Is it okay?

Oh, you want to play?
Yeah, okay, why not?

Okay.

One-zero.

Sorry!

- First time on the Camino?
- Yeah.

And last time, probably.

Walking with my father
to please my mother, it's...

It's a bit... It's complicated.

No, no more play for me.

You win. I need to go to the kitchen
and help my mother to make dinner.

- For me?
- For you and 20 other people.

- But I win!
- Yeah, you win.

- Maybe play later?
- Bye!

Hi.

Table tennis.

They make good coffee.

This is called meeting friends.

Did it hurt?

- Did what hurt?
- Talking to Mirna today.

You could try again.

If you have a need to speak
with someone, then do it.

I'm here for your mother.

Sure, what else?

What else?

- I don't like your mocking tone.
- It's not mocking.

Everything has just always been
about you and Mom.

Mom and you, you and Mom.

I don't know what you're talking about.

It has always been about you two.

About being smart,
about what you had read -

and endless debates about faith,
existence and academic stuff.

So now we are against
literature and spirituality?

It just hasn't always...

It wasn't always easy
not being able to read in your company.

You had your own interests.
You were good at tennis.

God tempers the wind to the shorn sheep.

Tennis didn't win me a lot of points
back home, now did it?

Being a family
is not a competition, Gitze.

There was room for all types of people
at our dinner table.

You never came to my matches.

Mom always had a sermon to write,
or a grief support group to gather.

You always had papers to grade.
You had no idea if I was any good.

- Sports doesn't mean anything to me.
- The parents didn't come for the sport.

They came for their children.

If you want to whine about your
childhood, find somewhere else to sit.

Hello.

Alcohol and type 2 diabetes?
Is that allowed?

Relax. I come in peace.

- A Coke, por favor.
- Una cervesa for her.

Maybe you should get drunk?

Get out of your head,
not care what everyone else thinks.

I just want a Coke, okay?

Your mother...
We got very drunk together sometimes.

We talked, we made love.

Dad, please don't. I get it.

I understand
that you're grieving and that...

No, I'm in torment, goddammit,
to my very core!

I've lost my life witness, my soulmate.

You're nothing without love,
nothing when you're alone.

You're still something
although you're alone.

What are you if no one hears you,
if no one sees you?

You're yourself,
and that's still something.

- I'm doing fine on my own.
- Oh, come on!

- What is that supposed to mean?
- You're not happy. Anyone can see that.

- You don't know shit.
- You have no love, honey.

"Everything is sweetened by love."

I'm still not talking
about my love life with my dad.

There's not much to talk about,
so it doesn't really matter.

Okay, so now we're here,
and we're just two times nothing?

Nothing at all, is that it?

- Your mother is with me.
- I know she is.

And you carry her in your heart,
but I'm here too.

Is that her...?

Is that her ashes?

In your fanny pack?

You told me Mom's urn
was placed in the common grave.

- You lied to me?
- No, I just couldn't let go.

The thought of Elisabeth's ashes
down in the dark...

This can't be real!
I don't know what to say.

- You just don't do that!
- You don't know grief!

You don't know real grief, real longing.
It's a knife to the heart.

Who takes their dead wife to a bar
in Spain and lies to their daughter?

She dreamed of the Camino,
she dreamed of that cathedral -

and I intend to make sure
she experiences it.

She doesn't dream anymore!
She can't experience anything!

She is dead! Get it into your head!

Leave me alone!

- No, goddammit! Elisabeth!
- Don't breathe! Don't breathe!

Nobody breathe, please! It's my mother!

- Let me help you.
- I can do it myself!

There's a hole in her.
Keep the bag closed.

- I'm going home.
- No, Gitze, stop!

I'm not myself, you know?
I feel like shit, all right?

You hit me!

I'm sorry. I'm totally drunk.
Drinking is really bad for me.

- I'm still going home.
- No, Gitze. Fuck. Goddammit. Stop!

Don't touch me.

You have to hit me! Then we're even.

- I don't want to!
- Yes! Don't be such a doormat.

- What did you just call me?
- Come on, doormat!

You know what, Dad? We're done.

We're just no good for each other.

We misunderstand each other,
we hurt each other...

Well, you're hurting me,
so now I'm going on to Compostela -

and then I'll fly home.
But you can walk your Camino.

Gitze...

It's over! You don't call me,
and I don't call you.

Well, Buen Camino.

Hey...

There's one thing
I thought you should know.

I'm pregnant.

What?

And I'm really looking forward...

And I do believe
I'll be a pretty good mother.

- How about wait and go tomorrow?
- No, thank you!

It's Lisa. Please leave a message.

Hey, it's me. I left him.
I don't want to be with him anymore.

He fucking hit me!
He's such an arrogant asshole.

I just want to go home.

Hello, this is Martjin.
Hello? Who is this?

DAY 9

36 kilometers to go

Buen Camino, Copenhagen!

Not very talkative today?

We could walk together,
be silent together?

- What did you say?
- We can walk and be silent together.

- You're seriously hitting on me?
- Excuse me?

You are hitting on me on the Camino!

I just thought we might walk together,
now that you and your dad aren't...

This is a place where pilgrims
have hiked since the Middle Ages!

It's not a place to pick up ladies
to stay warm in your sleeping bag.

I'm pregnant.
Did you hear that, huh?

Yes, I'm pregnant!

I'm not just some bimbo!

Show some respect, Norway!

What?

- Hello.
- Hi, I need to go to Compostela.

- Compostela. Of course.
- In a taxi, right now.

Yes, but we have a problem.
We have no taxis here.

But maybe I can call one taxi
from Compostela for you.

- Yes, that would be great.
- Three hours, two hours. I don't know.

- As quick as possible.
- I need to look for the phone number.

Gitze, I've been looking
all over for you.

- Oh, hi!
- Hello.

What are you doing here?

Your father,
he acted quite strange this morning.

Then he fainted, fell and hit his head.
Maybe he had a concussion.

The doctor saw him. He needs rest.

- Yeah?
- I thought you should know.

I don't know. Maybe you want to go back
and see your father?

No, I don't want to go back.

I just can't.

Listen.
My father wasn't a very kind man.

We had our fights, him and me.

Politics, ethics, music, society,
refugees, everything really.

Now he's gone, and I miss him so much.

Every day.

All the stories you have together.
I could say:

"Remember the funny dog in Almeria?"
and we would laugh -

because we once saw
a funny dog in Almeria.

But now I...

That was only for him and me.

Now I'm stuck with the image
of that dog, all alone.

I can't even remember one single
funny story with my father right now.

But I think you will.

- Thank you.
- Claro.

Hi, Dad.

- Hi!
- Hi.

- So you're really pregnant?
- Yes.

That's fantastic!

Well, sure.

But it's still very new.

I'm only at ten weeks. So, yeah.

So, there's still some way to go.

So, who's the father?

There is no father.

- There's always a father.
- Not really in this case, no.

So you don't know who got you pregnant?

Yes, I know how I got pregnant,
but there's no boyfriend.

It was just some Dutch guy -

- who I saw very briefly.

He doesn't know any of this.

- You could find him?
- I don't think so.

He has a wife and two children.
I can't do that.

But you can't have a child by yourself.

Why not?

Because that's very selfish
and incredibly sad.

Have you even considered how great
a responsibility having a child is?

It is, really? You don't say.
Of course I know that!

- You can still get rid of it.
- What did you say?

If I remember correctly
the limit is 12 weeks.

Hey! You're not supposed to have
an opinion about me and my pregnancy -

and definitely not
about having an abortion!

We can talk about things.
It's my right to say what I think.

You need to be quiet and close your eyes
because you have a concussion.

This... this is my decision.

You don't need to have anything
to do with me and my child.

Not at all.

And I never ever
want to discuss this with you -

- ever again.

Hi! Finally you pick up.

- We're in the same time zone!
- But I really need to speak with you.

When it's night in Spain,
it's night in Denmark too.

Sorry.

This has to wait until tomorrow.
The time is...

Okay, bye.

- Hi.
- Hi.

- Hi.
- Watch out. The crazy girl is back.

- What does your mother say?
- An old Spanish greeting.

Oh, okay.

Gracias! And buenos días.

I will make you another cortado.

No, I just...

- About the cooking.
- No, no, no...

This is Galicia,
and we have the finest kitchen in Spain.

- Of course.
- My mother was a great cook.

But she's old now, okay?
Has a bit of dementia.

- We do the best we can.
- Of course!

I just wanted to ask you
if I could help out in the kitchen?

- You?
- Yes, I can cook.

And I really,
really need something to do.

She asks,
if she can help cooking dinner.

Of course. It's a pleasure
eating dinner made by naughty girls.

Sí?

- Sí, sí.
- Means "yes"?

Gracias, señora!

Let me see...

I could make these artichokes
with the jamón?

Alcachofas con Jamón.

- It's very good.
- It's fine.

Hi.

Here you go. Eat.

And no, I don't want to talk about it.

Eat your food.

Your mother seems like
she has a very... big personality.

You don't say!

It's actually six weeks ago today
that my mother died.

It's strange when they disappear.

They were always there,
and suddenly they're not.

I'm actually starting to miss her
a little bit.

Yeah.

I felt like a really cold person -

- not missing her.

Cold? You?

No, I don't think so.

Tito!

Ask the girl
if she wants to prepare the food.

My mother asks if you would be kind
and help us with dinner?

Yeah, I would love to!

- How's the concussion?
- The headache is gone.

- And I'm starving.
- Great. Then take a seat.

- Should I take that?
- Yeah.

- The food was nice.
- You're welcome.

I can't believe that you...

I can't believe...

Dad, come on. Please stop.

Can you please turn down the drama?

Dad, I'll figure this out on my own.

All right?

Lots of women manage
as single mothers, you know.

Did you know that your mother
dreamt of having a grandchild?

Imagine if she could have experienced
becoming a grandmother.

She was tormented by our relationship,
that you and I didn't get along -

and that it had gotten to the point
where we stopped seeing each other.

- Do you even remember?
- Remember what?

You don't remember
why we haven't seen each other at all?

Do you remember what you called me?

Well...

You called me -

- the disappointment of your life.

- Yeah.
- Yeah.

- I had a little too much to drink.
- Yeah, you probably had.

It didn't hurt so much that you said it.

It was more the fact -

- that you really meant it.

That's how you feel about me.

I think you gave it too much importance.

Is that even possible?
Can you give it too much importance?

But, Gitze, look at you now.
You nourish people's bodies.

Sure, but...

- Your mom nourished people's souls.
- I really don't need your praise now.

But, Gitze...

I once had myself convinced
that I was a great thinker.

I was sure I was going to write
important books that changed the world.

But I became a high school teacher.
Your grandfather didn't respect that.

He mocked me
every time we were together.

And made sure I knew that I was
his biggest disappointment.

I felt like a huge failure.

That's how I've ended up.

Someone who can show off
and cite Kierkegaard.

Well, that's still something.

At any rate, it's too late
to do anything about it now.

And now I've ended up throwing
all my disappointment at you.

- That's not okay.
- No.

And I also drink too much.

- I screwed other women.
- I don't need to know.

- Your mother and Heine screwed too.
- No, no, no!

Yeah.

There are sorrows and losses.

And there's the shame and guilt
about what we did to each other.

Shame and guilt God may heal.
That's what your mother would claim.

But sorrow and loss?

I'm alone with that now.

Hi.

- Thank you for the music!
- Great dinner.

- Dinner.
- Oh, yes.

Bellissima! Buena.

Everybody can taste your joy
and passion for cooking.

I don't know.
It was just some oil and onions -

- your beautiful vegetables.

Yes?

I'm pregnant.

Embarazada.
You're with child?

Yes. There's no father.
There's no dad, but I'm with a baby.

- A small one.
- Congratulations!

Thank you. Yeah, I'm...

I'm happy.

I think.

I have... my mother.
I have to help her to bed...

Otherwise,
she forgets to go to bed and...

I have to lay the table for breakfast
and prepare before I go to bed.

One.
It would be great with a one.

Two.

I'm tired.

Let's go home.
Maybe your suitor could drive us?

He's not my suitor.

What about the cathedral
and candle we were lighting for Mom?

We have time
before going to the airport.

DAY 11

5 kilometers to go

- The cathedral is beautiful, no?
- Yeah, it's beautiful.

It's amazing!

Are you coming?

Actually, I'm not.

- What's wrong?
- I just don't see it anymore.

See what?

I'd rather just sit
and drink a cup of coffee.

That's what your mother and I
always did. We would just sit.

Drink coffee and look at people
and life as it passed us by.

- I'd much rather do that.
- I want to bring Mom.

Okay.

My mother.

- Hello!
- Oh, hello!

You've been inside the cathedral yet?

No, I've seen lots of churches
and cathedrals in my time.

You're a believer or an architect?

Thanks!

Well, my wife was a believer.
She was a priest.

Or a minister!

And you?

Right now, I'm a coffee drinker.

We have a very beautiful cathedral
in Zagreb, you know.

I haven't heard about it.

Yeah. If you ever come to Zagreb -

you should give me a call,
and I'll show it to you.

- That's what we do, isn't it?
- What's what we do?

We drink coffee. We meet new people.

We walk on. We move on.

Well... bye!

Bye-bye.

Does it make sense to light a candle
for a living person?

You can light a candle
for someone you have lost -

- or for someone you wish well -

- for a newborn child, for everybody.

This is for my baby.
This is for my father.

And where are you?

I don't know.

- Thank you.
- Thank you for taking care of me.

Any time, Papá!

So... yeah.

For me, it was this summer's pleasure
to meet you.

Really.

For me too.

Yeah. Well, goodbye!

What are you doing?
You can't just let him leave!

I told him I'm pregnant.
It's a turn-off for most men.

No, Gitze! You're just a single mother
at a very early stage.

If you let him leave, then you'll
never know what this could be.

Listen, Gitze, now is now.
And suddenly it's too late.

Are you okay?

- Don't look!
- Right.

I... It's because...

I'd like to see you again. Yeah.

I'd like to... get to know you
a bit better.

Maybe come back and, you know...

Make some food and...

Yeah, see what happens with us.

- I know. Pregnant. Turn off.
- No, it's not that.

I cannot have a woman in my life.

Not any woman.

Oh, you like men, or...

No, I've made a commitment
to enter the Monastery of Samos -

- on the 1st of August.

What? Why?

- Because I believe in God.
- Yeah.

- The Monastery of Samos is the biggest.
- I know. I was there.

If it helps, I really had to question
myself again when I met you.

- Really.
- That helps, a little.

I'm so sorry, also for myself.

You go do what you have to do.

And if you and God ever break up
at some point, then call me.

You will be the first I call.
And my mother will be number two.

Okay, but I'm serious.

I am too.

Okay.

Thank you!

Why be a monk? What an idiot,
when he could have had someone like you.

Was that a compliment?

If you can cook for 100 people -

- you can surely handle a single child.

And there are no grandparents
on the father's side.

And no grandmother on the mother's.

But there sure as hell is a grandpa.

Or a kind of grandpa, if you want it.

Don't look at me when I cry.
I look like a little rabbit.

- This isn't too bad?
- It tastes awful!