Palas de Rei to Calle - part three

Another piece of advice Michel had given me (repeatedly) was that none of the towns after Arzua had a supermarket so I pit stopped and my stomach directed some decision making - brown carbs and sugar seems to have been the brief. Sour lollies secured in the breast pocket, I continued, only for the rain to miraculously yield after about three kilometres. Thank you St James! I made it to the albergue in the 38km town (Calle) at exactly 5pm and sat in the one good chair. I deserved it.

After a shower and laundry, I came out to feast on both my food and wifi - I was tired, my bones were wet, I was hungry, I wanted to talk to my people. This Australian prick wasn't having it. "Erm, you'll sit with us if you don't mind" (...the young lady was silent). He continued to make a thing of it over the next 15 minutes, obstinately engaging me in conversation across the room, intermittently directing me to join the group at his table, and generally making me feel small and powerless.

On a normal day I'd have rolled my eyes at this but it came at the end of a long, hard, cold, wet one where I'd already been bothered by my octopus waiter (don't call me baby, don't talk about my eyes or my smile, just get the fucking bill) and a bunch of men leaving Melida (honk honk) and spent a small stretch quite concerned about a guy behind me. On the latter, men - if you are completely alone in a forest with a woman please DON'T WALK TWO METRES BEHIND HER FOR KILOMETRES SILENTLY.

In what I consider a demonstration of great progress in my people-pleasing deprogramming, and just general restraint, I neither acquiesced or headbutted the guy trying to boss me around. I just went red, and sat, verge of tears, shaking with indignation. GO AWAY.Read more