Un Poquito Loco in Pieros

I know I haven’t written much lately, but it’s hard to find time when you work twelve and thirteen hour days seven days a week. This is a great life, but it is pretty unrelenting. I told Mar I was going to take Monday as a “me” day. I was going to take the bus to Ponferrada and do some shopping there for things I cannot get in Cacabelos. “Was” is the operative word here.

The only reason I was going to be able to do all of this was because George would be here, so I have been anxiously waiting for him to arrive. Well, George arrived. He found out he would be sleeping with pilgrims for a few days so he left. Mar tried to offer him La Casita, but there isn’t a bed there, just a couch. Other hospitaleros have slept there, but not George. She offered him Martin’s caravan; Martin was willing to sleep in La Casita. Nope. He left. There went my “me day.”

Two of the albergues in Cacabelos closed on the 22nd, so we are getting the overflow. We had eighteen pilgrims tonight. Eighteen! We’ve been running nine on a good day. We had already prepared four extra beds, but we very quickly got four more ready. One man, Gunther, paid for a bed but after about 30 minutes decided to leave. He said something to the woman who made the reservation but nothing to us. He didn’t even ask for his money back. I don’t know what the problem was.

Anyway, I have practically met myself coming and going today. I told Mar that “en la noche, bebo much vino,” but I actually didn’t drink much more than usual. But “usual” here is about two glasses a night. All the longevity quizzes I have taken said I would live longer if I drank more. At the rate I’m going, I’ll live till I’m 100.