June 1, 2012
Queridos amigos,
I'd like to blame it on fatigue, but honestly cannot. In Leon, for the second time, I brushed my teeth with shaving cream.
This morning I got out of bed and went to the bathroom to splash water on my face. Probably would have been more refreshing had I removed my glasses first.
It would be nice to blame old age and the stresses of the Camino, but in fact, ditziness and I go back a long way. One Christmas when I was home from college, I opened a can of peanuts in the kitchen. It was a metal can, opened with a key that rolled back a strip of metal. I held the can upside down; when it was opened, the contents fell to the ground.
My father was watching all this. He told me later he didn't know which concerned him more, the fact that I would open a can of peanuts upside down, or the look of astonishment on my face when everything fell out. And so it goes.
Not sure if I have communicated recently how happy I am to be here. The silences and the shopkeepers, the birdsong and the solitude.
I finished my account of the woman from Canada too quickly. There was more to tell.
She asked where I learned Spanish. I explained about Mexico. She wanted to know all about what I did in the embassy and was particularly interested in my speechwriting for the ambassador. I say this to explain why it wasn’t really cheeky of me to offer to help with speeches should she run for office.
She said the only part of Mexico she knew was the beaches.
After she told me about the semi-private lodgings at the albergue, I explained that I was using hotels to get a good night's sleep. I told her about the guy who snored so loudly a woman had recorded him. I thought it outrageous that one man could ruin the sleep of a whole room full of people every night he was on the Camino.
She said she knew him; he was famous on the Camino. His name is Mauro. She said one night she had the bunk below him. She had her earplugs in tight and sleep soundly all night, although many in the room were disturbed.
She said one thing she had learned from the Camino was how little you really need. Food, water, clothes, a place to lay your head at night, and a good companion to walk with. I go along with everything except the last. Alone is better.
This morning the bartender told me there was no breakfast. Had to settle for real orange juice and coffee. I know this will not be enough to keep me going. When I returned to my room I discovered one large pocket of my pack and all its contents were finely coated with 85% cacao Lindt dark chocolate. I tried eating it off an envelope, knowing that would be breakfast until I could find something more substantial. The take-away: high-octane chocolate does not do well in the sun.
There are several routes one can take on the Camino. One follows the highway. It's relatively flat, runs parallel to the highway, and is therefore ugly. No silence breaks possible. It is often the shortest way and you can´t get lost on it. It is marked on my map in grey.
Another way is through a natural area, much more tranquil. It is marked in yellow. A third, not always available, is through especially scenic nature. This way, marked in green, has few waymarks.
I choose the yellow brick road this morning because it has several villages along the way where I might grab breakfast. The second village has a bar and a I have a bocadillo de tortilla and a liter of water.
Another bright, clear, warm day. No one passes me except bicyclists. Natural beauty again, and wonderful silence breaks. Rich birdsong.
The road is rocky, which makes the going harder. Many rocks the size of large russet potatoes. Imagine walking down a street loosely paved with russet potatoes.
A few miles outside Astorga there is a lone building on the plain. Signs are framed by hearts. It is called The Face of the Gods.
The experience is straight out of Middle Earth in Austin in the 60s. A young man wearing nothing but black shorts walks up to me and says, ‘Welcome to paradise. Help yourself to anything.’
Nada is lo que parece -- Nothing is as it Seems
He is good looking, has long hair pulled into a pony tail, dark tan with various tattoos on his body; on his back are tattooed wings. I wonder if this is the guy who turned on the South African women.
On a table are perhaps 12 different kinds of tea, and at least 12 kinds of fruit juice, baskets of fruit. I take a banana, some cherries, a glass of water and a glass of some kind of nectar. A number of pilgrims are having watermelon. All he asks is a donation. I leave a big one; his colleague rushes to the donation box to remove it.
A tall, quite thin young woman walks up, removes her pack and sits down on the hammock opposite me. She opens a box of cigarettes and pulls out the slimmest, longest cigarette I've ever seen. It exactly mimics her body. She says she from Russia. I ask if I may take her picture and she says fine. She wears low hiking shoes and unbelievably skimpy short shorts that barely cover the case.
A Russian Pilgrim
Two women ask me to take their picture with the man in charge. I do, and ask them to do the same. He throws his arm around me and the picture is taken.
With the Proprietor of the Face of the Gods
There's an older Spaniard standing next to me, a cyclist. I say, This is incredible, no? He says, ‘It's like a Western movie where people are out in the desert and then there is a bar.’ I take a few more pictures of this place and push on.
French Pilgrim Cyclist and the Proprietor
A Resting Place for Weary Pilgrims
I come to a spot overlooking Astorga. There has been a large cross erected on a base of concentric circles. Pilgrims have covered the circles with rocks. I leave a lock there on the top circle and cover it with rocks.
Justo de la Vega in the near background, Astorga in the far background
On the way into Astorga, I pass through a tiny town on the outskirts, San Justo de la Vega. There is a card table in front of a candy store with a sign: Share your Camino story and get a free cup of tea.
An Offer I Couldn't Refuse
I stop and an attractive young woman with a big splotch of red on her hair emerges and offers me a cup of tea. I tell her I have stories, but pass on the tea. She offers ice water instead and I cannot refuse. She brings a cold, unopened half liter of bottled water.
There is a legend written on the wall. I take a picture of it. She comes in and I ask if I may take her picture also. She poses dramatically.
Spirited Girl Who Gave Me Water, a Lapel Pin, and a Hug in San Justo de la Vega
I try to pay for the water and she refuses. I write my appreciation in her guest book, then ask how business is. She says it is slow. But there are so many pilgrims on the road, I say. Yes, she allows, many pilgrims, but at this point they are clutching their money, saving it for Santiago. I explain that I am not trying to save money, and leave a few euros in the guest book.
She responds by giving me a pin. It is the image of the cross where I have just left a lock. Trying hard not to break down, I explain why I’m on the Camino and why the pin means so much to me. She embraces me, sweat and all. I kiss her on both cheeks and leave. A few blocks later I think about all this and rush back to the shop to leave 10 more euros. Again she refuses. I explain that there is no crisis in Texas, and press the bills into her hand.
Nice place, Astorga. Good, unregimented, non-bureaucratic feel here, as in much of the country. Spain is decentralized, and there are many more ethnic and identity groups than the ones we hear about.
After a saving shower, I have lunch in the hotel. A fine lunch, only one other diner there. Nicely appointed dining room with the wall dominated by large panels of tufted fabric.
After lunch I visit the striking gothic cathedral across from my hotel, and the adjoining museum. I leave a lock in a confessional and one below a statue of St. Michael.
Confessional in Astorga's Cathedreal Where a Lock Now Resides
In the upper reaches of the cathedral one stills sees beautiful stained glass. Lower down it is new and bland, just nada.
I ask the docent if the windows were lost in the Civil War. No, she says, in the War of Independence. This was around 1808-1814 or so when Napoleon tried to dominate Spain. This is known to us as the Peninsular War. Quite a story, but suffice it to say that this where guerilla warfare began. By the end of the war, Spanish peasants were killing 100 French soldiers a day. Retribution was fearsome. Goya has a group of etchings about the war. One shows a battered tree with dismembered body parts dangling from it. He titled it simply, “Lo vi.” (I saw it.)
In the museum I learned that there is an ethnic people in this area called the Maragatos. There appears to be some connection with the people in Mallorca, strangely enough. Similar costumes, similar musical instruments. Need to explore this when I get home.
I found a really cheap for-pay computer in an albergue around the corner from the hotel and that's where I am now.
But not for long. More sightseeing and an early bedtime.
Un abrazo para todos,
John
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