Thursday, May 31, 2012
Queridos amigos,
Another fine breakfast in the parador, then out the door by 8:15 a.m.
On the outskirts of the city I see some 25 day packers milling around. Could this be the bus stop my Camino guru told me about? The bus whisks people 4 or 5 kilometers past the gritty industrial outskirts of Leon, past the car dealerships. No, they are simply getting a seal on their pilgrim passports from a little cafe. They are all Germans. They move as a mass, and I walk in the street to get ahead of them.
I pass a few other groups, all Asian, and finally an older man who seems to be confused. Except for a few cyclists, no one will pass me for the rest of the day. Alone, alone, alone.
The landscape is Central Texas. Greener, just barely.
I pass through a small town and see older people buying fruit from the back of a truck. I take their picture. An old man spots me, and stands stiffly at attention as a joke. I tell him he will be a movie star. He gives me animated directions for the Camino. I cannot understand his words, but I understand his kind, friendly meaning.
Some 60 feet farther I step into a small fruit shop. I'm dripping sweat all over the floor. The proprietor, a wistful man in his 50s, comments on the heat. I tell him about last summer in Austin. Then he asks about what is really on his mind: is there work in Texas? I assure him there is, and Texas is doing much better on job growth than probably any other state. He says sadly what every Spaniard and every European banker knows: there are no jobs in Spain. I buy bananas and dried apricots and leave. I eat the bananas as soon as I see a bench in the shade, sitting but not taking my pack off.
At one of my earlier stops I realize that I miscalculated the distance today. It will be over 21 miles.
I come to the halfway point, Villadongas del Paramo, and stop for a glass of real orange juice and two small bottles of mineral water. There is a computer for use in the bar. I sign on and discover that all my emails from American friends have been translated into Spanish! I’d never seen that before.
This is usually the point where I’m in the shower thinking about the cold caña (draft beer) awaiting me a shady table outside. Not today.
I check in with the team.
Toes?
--Pain, but manageable.
Knees?
--All firm.
Shoulders?
--So far, best day in weeks.
Back?
--No new pain.
So, what do you say, guys?
They answer as one: “Let's do it, boss.”
Real troupers, every one.
The umbrella's shade is dark and deep,
But there's a reserva I must keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
And miles to go before I sleep.
I promptly lose my way, twice. On one lonely, unused trail there is a cacophony of mating frogs. The absence of boot prints on the path concerns me. I wander around for more than an hour before making it back to the path.
Next I come to tiny San Martin del Camino. There's a shady spot on the side of an albergue. This is last stop before my destination, Hospital de Órbigo.
I slip off my pack and buy a Coke and a bottle of water. The only spot left in the shade is at a picnic table with a woman sitting there. I ask her, in Spanish, if I may join her. She answers, in English, sure.
She's 45, from British Columbia. She wears braces on her teeth, and sunglasses, even though we're in the shade. She has been a housewife and mother all her married life. Now her youngest child has left the nest and she is walking the Camino to decide what to do with the rest of her life. So far, no brainstorms.
I tell her that staying at home with her children is the greatest gift she could have given them. A happy, secure childhood lasts forever. She appreciates that. She offers me peanuts, I offer her dried apricots.
Her husband, 50, is a potato farmer. He could retire but prefers to keep farming.
I point to her day pack; she points to her bandaged right calf. She was carrying a full pack, but took an orthotic from her boot because it was bothering her. Twelve kilometers later she had shin splints. She will continue to daypack it until she heals.
I tell her I’ve encountered few people who actually dropped off the Camino. She has seen several. A companion of hers developed heat exhaustion. After three days in the hospital led to no improvement, he packed up and headed home.
She says she traveled some distance with an 80-year-old woman who was walking her fourth Camino; the first was in 1974. She said she had no need for a guidebook while walking with this woman, with whom she could scarcely keep up.
I tell her Susan's story and show her Susan's dark brown locks. She's impressed; she herself is starting to go grey.
She says there will be a big medieval festival tomorrow in the town I’m headed to, with flowers covering the streets.
She is staying at this albergue. She says if I'm ready for a stop, there are semi-private rooms here. Semi-private isn’t private.
The peanuts and apricots gone, I give her my card and tell her if she ever decides to go into politics, I can help with speeches.
Another four or five miles and I arrive. The town is festooned with medieval flags. I walk over a long bridge. Below is a greensward with several round tents erected, the kind you see in medieval illuminated manuscripts. There is a grandstand, also decked with coats of arms. And there is a jousting fence. Knights will charge each other on either side of the fence and try to unhorse each other with their lances. These folks are really into it. But I quickly learn that the big celebration is June 2, not June 1. [Not taking a rest stop here and participating in the medieval celebration is my biggest regret of the Camino.]
The Approach to Hospital de Órbigo
Ready for the Jousts
The place where I’m staying is right on the main highway. It is part bar, part restaurant, part hotel, and part gas station. Next door is a shop selling medieval gowns. I know if Susan and I were doing this trip by car, we would have to stop and buy ourselves one. They are really cool.
Medieval Gowns for Sale
My room is spartan, but for the first time a hotel has correct bathroom lighting that illumines my face, not the top or back of my head as has been the case. I shower, comes downstairs for my reward, a cold caña and a plate of peanuts.
My heart leaps up when I see two for-pay computers, one with a web cam, one with a camera card reader. I’ll try to send pics later tonight.
Tomorrow I have an easy 12-13 mile walk into Astorga, an old Roman town, which looks like an interesting place.
Twenty-six days on the road, 24 hotels.
That’s all, folks.
Un abrazo para todos,
John
| NEXT: Hospital de Orbigo===>Astorga