Day 31: Triacastella

This is it. The last town I will stay in before Sarria. Sarria is the starting point for 50% of the pilgrims. If you walk 100k and get two stamps every day you can get the compostela, the document that certifies you’ve done the Camino. It’s 117k from Sarria to Santiago, so many pilgrims start there.

The thing that miffs me slightly is I have to do this even though I started in St. Jean. It’s like, in the church’s eyes, everything I’ve done so far is for nothing. But it isn’t.

I’VE WALKED 500 MILES OVER FRICKIN’ BLOODY SPAIN.

I’ve climbed two mountain ranges. I’ve walked across the meseta, ( well, part of it anyway) the part that messes with your head because there’s no trees or water or villages. I’ve walked five miles before breakfast and I’ve walked ten miles after lunch.

I’ve done all of this at 53 with 40 extra pounds (only 20 now), a bad foot and a right knee that needs replacing. I KNOW what I’ve done, whether the church chooses to recognize it or not.

I ditched Judy today. Got up at 5 and was out the door before she got up. While I felt a little badly just taking off, I didn’t really know how to say goodbye to her. But after rereading my blog entries and realizing that I had two days of negativity, where I was processing all the negative things she made me think and feel, I knew we had to separate.

As I walked off into the darkness I didn’t feel badly at all. I felt lighter. The more I walked the better it felt, and I knew this decision was right. And I wondered if I could keep this lesson. Take the negative people in my life, say good-bye to them, and walk away. Or walk away without a goodbye.

The sun was just beginning to be up. I tried and tried to take a picture without flash but I could never turn it off. It always had in the cathedrals, thank God.

As the sun came up I met a group that was laughing and smiling, and I thought, “This. This is what I want. Joy in the trail.” So when they took selfies I joined in. As we were photographing, here came Judy.

I greeted her with a pleased “Hey!” and she said, “Buen Camino.” Then she walked on. She was faster than me today. Maybe now that her dread of O Cebriero is gone she’ll be a faster walker and a better companion. I neither know nor care.

She was there at breakfast when I stopped and it was clear there is no animosity between us. Neither is there closeness, and I’m good with that. Here is a marker I passed. Blow up the picture to see the (what do I say? Mileage isn’t right. Kilometrage?) distance.

I didn’t have food with me when I left O Cebriero at 5:30, and no bar is open that early so no breakfast. After two miles I reached the next village but it was before 7, so no breakfast. Then I had to poop in the woods (not as simple as it sounds) then I missed the trail. Again. A kind Spanish man stopped his truck and let me know I was going the wrong way, but between that and my visit to the nature toilet (as we put it) I didn’t reach the next village until after 8:30. That’s right. It took me THREE HOURS to walk five miles. Don’t do the math. It’s embarrassing.

As I climbed up the last, very steep, hill and around a curve, I heard a rooster crowing. I’ve never been so glad to hear a chicken in my life. Chickens mean civilization. A town was near. Food! The bar is on the very edge of town, right after the hill.

I ordered tortilla patata, cafe con leche, and a large orange juice, which I sucked down immediately. I didn’t finish the tortilla, but put it in a bag for later. (I’m actually having it now as I write.) I don’t remember if I met Jackie there or later.

Jackie is Chinese and from San Francisco. She is with a mission group who are walking the Camino and sharing Jesus with pilgrims. I strongly suspect she is Mormon but would never ask. By a freak coincidence, she also was in a bike accident on September 27th. Hers involved a damaged pancreas and internal bleeding.

We got lost in a cow pasture together (THANK GOD Fred had me get that Trekright app), refused to go under the road together, and now are staying in the same albergue. With Judy, as it happens.

When we got to the albergue the hospitalero held the weight of my backpack as I unbuckled it. I can’t tell you what a difference that small gesture made. Suddenly my pack, that gets heavier when I am tired and hungry, was still mine but had no weight. I could relax. He was taking care of me now. It was wonderful. As wonderful as the morsel of bread with aioli (which I am learning to make ASAP) I was given.

I had lunch around three with Jackie and Sang, who is Korean and lives in D.C. I took a shower, and miracle of miracles, WHAT did I find?

A BATHTUB! I haven’t even SEEN one of those in a month. Unfortunately it would have been too greedy to fill it, but you can bet I put my undies in the drain (there was no stopper) and let SOME water collect from my shower. I shaved my legs and made myself a promise that I am getting in my tub when I get home and I am not coming out till I’m 70. Or until I look like it, whichever comes first.

I washed my clothes and hung them to dry in a space that is open air but roofed with translucent plastic. Called Mom during a break in the rain we’ve been dreading all day. After I was done, it starts REALLY raining. The roof of the outdoor space was a bit drippy so I went to bring in my clothes and just use the dryer. I realize I’m hearing not just rain but hail.

Chunks of ice at least an inch across are thudding onto the skylights. Ice is cold under my bare feet as I bring my clothes in. The building is at least 200 years old, and water is pouring along the beams in the kitchen and dripping onto the dryer, which of course I can’t use now. The hospitalero is frantically mopping. We are saying prayers that there are no pilgrims out walking in this.

The storm finally stops, but I don’t want to go out. I may have to though. Leftover tortilla and an almond cake are not enough fuel to walk 8 miles on. Which is the distance between where I am and my next breakfast.

I went to the nearest bar and got a cheese and pork sandwich. Ate some for dinner and the rest is breakfast. I might sleep in till 6 tomorrow. We’ll see. Gosh I wish that pork sandwich had some aioli.

I’m finishing this entry lying on my top bunk. (Yes, I know, I hate the top.) Cool, fresh, rain-sweetened air is drifting in by my head, carrying whiffs of jasmine and pine. I love Spain.

I actually finished this entry the next morning, in part while I was sitting on the toilet. I’ll be damned if I’m s$&(@ing in the woods again.