Day 35: Ribadiso de Baixo

I’m not as far behind as I thought; this was yesterday. I carried my pack that day, but it is getting heavy. My knees hurt more and more. I sent it on today. Here is the morning picture.

I’ve walked mostly alone for the last two days. On the trail I met and talked with Nikolai for a bit. He is from Denmark. He is NOT the Nikolai who gallantly offered to sleep with his girlfriend so I could have a dry bed. (She said no. Quite clearly.) But he knows him.

Nikolai said some things I’ve been feeling. He also resents the sin mochillas and the way they rush past. I guess I should explain what a sin mochilla is.

Your mochilla is your backpack. Many, many, possibly even the majority, of pilgrims who start in Sarria send their packs on. Five euros a day for four days is nothing. Five euros a day for 34 days is something completely different. “Sin” means “without.” So a sin mochilla is someone without a backpack.

Those who started earlier have carried 10% of their body weight for days or weeks, more if there was little water. These pilgrims carry small day packs or nothing at all. You can do that when there is rarely more than three kilometers between bars. And even then some of them are followed, or preceded, by support cars.

I know, I know, I was a sin mochilla today and the day before yesterday. It’s still different.

I could forgive the sin mochillas their speed, and their lack of fortitude, but it’s harder for me to forgive the way they say “Buen Camino.” Nikolai mentioned it, with no prompting from me.

I’ve heard the phrase a thousand times, said it a thousand times. On the lips of a fellow pilgrim it is an acknowledgment. “This journey is hard. May yours go well.” On the lips of a hospitalero it is a well-wishing, a “Godspeed.” On the lips of a priest or a nun it is a benediction. And the villagers along the way say it with respectful admiration. You are clearly someone valuable to them.

But the sin mochillas mutter it perfunctorily, their eyes straight ahead. It is as pallid and meaningless as an American “Have a nice day.” I thought it was just me until something happened that said it wasn’t, and then Nikolai confirmed the feeling.

I’m slow, and I got a late start coming out of Gonzar, so when I straggled out of Palas del Rei on my way to Ponte Campana (I think it was that day. I had my pack, and I didn’t get where I was going till 6:20.)

Anyway, as I walk I hear “Hola!” over and over. A family was sitting on their porch, and there was a toddler, practicing and playing with language as toddlers do. So as I drew near I waved and said, “Hola!” “Hola!,” they answered with wide, open-hearted smiles. “Buen Camino!” And the words were rich and full and as satisfying as the artisanal bread the sign on the gate said they made. And the insipid phrase the sin mochillas had been throwing at me all day was white bread with Velveeta. I hate Velveeta.

Market 59Not all churches are elaborate.Should all bathroom signs be this honest? Marker 49

The rest of today’s pictures The view from Albergue Milpes in Ribadiso. Here I met Liz from Chicago. We both agreed it is sometimes a relief to be with someone who speaks your native language. The two guys from Barbadelo are also here. They don’t speak much English. (Sigh.) They don’t need to.