Portomarín

I can't believe I started thirty days ago! Until I go downhill or meet a new starter, and then I can - I feel ANCIENT. Nothing bonds a group like intruders, and we long-distance pilgrims have, in the nicest way possible, closed ranks. Not like Bachelor contestants, we aren't giving anyone dirty looks, but we DO exhale with relief whenever we see someone we recognise. To see them is to see yourself reflected and have a witness to your, very different, experience. They know that you know.

I was feeling grateful enough for this witness that when Rusty and Mando called out "peregrina!" behind me I actually walked with them for a few kilometres. We peeled away from each other when they stopped for a coffee and I didn't, and later I saw them again - Rusty leaning back in a chair, proclaiming to nobody in particular "never let FEAR decide your fate!" as he mashed handfuls of chips into his mouth.

Credit to the man, he's had blisters, a bung knee, food poisoning, and an allergic reaction to bed bugs requiring an injection in his ass and he's still smiling. His inability to participate constructively in a back and forth conversation is now wildly funny to me, and I just indulge him like you might a slightly racist grandmother or a sleepy child. He wants more cash but he won't say it - people keep telling me he's looking for me but whenever he finds me he doesn't ask. I'll check in gently if I see him tomorrow as I do too and if I'm copping a $40 ATM fee it may as well benefit two of us.

Coming to the end of the stage you cross the Belesar reservoir that was created in 1963, flooding the medieval town of Portomarin which was rebuilt on the hill it currently resides - this included the churches, stone by stone. It's pretty impressive really, as much as they surely could have thought about us pilgrims and put it on a barge instead of up a steep set of stairs. It's the most water I've seen in one place since the sea in Biarritz!

Dave had sent word that when he was here yesterday all the beds were booked so on getting to my preferred albergue (naturally, DOWN the hill again) I asked tentatively if they had any beds left, hopeful that because it was about 1.40pm I wasn't too late. Of course we have beds - you're safe at this time of year unless you're in a group, he said, then showed me into the completely empty dorm and told me to pick any of the 32 free beds. I honestly don't know what Dave's on about. We agreed that the far corner was the good one, away from the door, window, and bathroom (the three horsemen of the sleep apocalypse).

I dropped my bag and headed back out, asking him where the supermarket was and if it closed at 2pm because it was now 1.52pm. He gave me directions and confirmed it did, jokingly telling me to run. When I set off sprinting up the hill I heard him burst out laughing behind me. I'd spent half the walk thinking about an egg and tomato sauce sandwich ok. I made it, although they were turning the lights out on me while I searched high and low for the bloody eggs, ALWAYS the wildcards in every supermarket shelving plan.

After lunch I sat around soaking up what's probably the last sunny afternoon of the Camino, before miraculously turning into an employee of the albergue - or at least that's what all these goddamn newbies seemed to think.

The guy running this place doesn't understand English, let alone speak it (which is a big difference by the way, I can pretty well get by listening now but speaking is much harder) and this stupid woman in a stupid hat didn't even try to speak Spanish or even simplify her English. It GRINDS MY GEARS I tell you. She asks him in English if she can stay here tonight because she was going to keep going but she's too tired, he tells her in Spanish he doesn't understand English, they both look at me, I get them both through the check in process then go back to my sun.

Grabbing something from my bag, I see that this woman is dangerous. She, of 31 remaining free range beds, has set up shop directly next to me. I consider barking at her. I go to have a shower and do laundry instead - foreshadowing here, a task I can do because I have eyes. When I come out four new people have joined, and she's set the tone apparently because we're all filling from the back - a practice I encourage on the bus but NOT IN DORMS. One man, inexplicably, has taken a top bunk. World's gone mad.

I'm sitting in the kitchen when my shift really kicks in - two people ask where the laundry is and where they can dry clothes, I point to the facilities and the sign saying where the clothesline is. The woman I will tell my therapist about though, was trying to play pilgrim. It was her first day, her friends were at a restaurant but she wanted to have a cup of soup! How authentic, such slum. She bustled in and made the following queries without hesitation:

- Where are the cups?
- How can she boil water?
- What on earth do I mean she has to boil it in a pan, isn't there a kettle?
- How does the stove top work?
- Can I help her turn it on?
- Can I watch her water and pour it into her cup with the soup sachet when it's done as she's having a shower?

After long enough that the soup was probably cold again (of course I did it, have you met me) she came out, peered into the glass of salt next to the stove, asked me if it was salt, made a face, added some to her soup and then took it into the dorm, breaking more rules. I considered barking at her too. She didn't put the POT AWAY EITHER.

Being new isn't the excuse, none of us were pulling this in SJPP. It's just a different type of pilgrim innit. A dickhead one.Leggi altro