A pilgrim walking in front of us wore a full medieval Templar outfit complete with flowing white cape and amulets. Even though Templars were charged with protection of pilgrims in days of yore, this guy could barely muster a "buen camino" as he flapped his white capes in his hurry to pass us. See pic.
We watched two juvenile deer play tag in a mountain meadow as we made our way down from Puerta Irago. Seemed like we had stepped into a painting at the Prado in Madrid.
Sunday night we stayed at a forlorn albergue in a mountain village with only a couple other German pilgrims on bicycles. Our bunkbeds were in tiny rooms with sliding doors. Scott said it was like we were in a sleeper car on a train. The hospilatero (albergue innkeeper) seemed depressed over the lack of business. (We purposely have offset our days to give these smaller places more business and have places almost all to ourselves.) During the night, a very loud bird landed on the roof and made piercing calls (a nightingale?). Very eery. Some time later I awoke thinking someone was in the albergue and was going to rob us. Meanwhile Scott was dreaming all night that he was saving all Spain's feral kitties. I find my dreams to be overwrought here but I think it is sheer exhaustion and the stress of trying not to snore or make noise while you sleep next to strangers. We have been sleeping over ten hours a night now (8 to 6) which goes to show how tiring walking 20 miles a day is with a pack.
We came across someone with a reiki/orange juice stand in the woods Monday not far outside Ponderrada. Not sure what reiki is but the pilgrims looked like they were being prayed over and they looked mighty relaxed. I keep thinking how good a professional massage would be great right about now, especially for my tired feet.
Scott did comb my hair out for me today (Tuesday). I braid it and leave it for days at a time, since I only brought a comb, but it still gets ratty and dirty. I was feeling overwhelmed by my snarls but Scotty gently worked them all out. Heaven! See pic of me sitting on the bridge showing off Scott's braiding mastery.
Hygiene and mirrors seem like luxuries from another life. I wear one outfit walking and one outfit in the evenings. I have worn the exact same thing for nearly a month now! How lovely it will be to wear something cute, to smell good, and to put on a little make up. Yet there is something quite freeing about having everything you need in just one backpack.
Last night (Monday) we tried Pulpo, boiled octopus chopped up, highly prized in this region. Gross! It has a fishy gelatinous skin, then a fishy fatty layer, lots of tentacles, and a white chewy interior. I hated it and I am having a hard time getting the taste out of my head. I try everything I can but there are some foods this time in Spain that I really don't care for. Calamares are still my favorite.
But this morning, a miracle! A bar offered eggs and bacon for breakfast instead of toast and marmalade. And they had wifi (pronounced wee-fee here). Good thing they offered substantial fare because we spent the rest of the day high in the mountains, then in a large chestnut tree forest, and all we had to eat were peanuts and galletas (plain flour and sugar cookies). I am not one to eat at a McDonalds abroad, but a big American bacon and egg breakfast sure hit the spot (see pic). I'm also craving a hamburger off the grill with all the fixings.
Still no wifi at this albergue (wed night) so I will just continue with my random moments.
I loved the walk this morning because we followed a river for miles through ancient little hamlets deep in a valley where everyone was doing their spring planting. Old winter brussel sprout plants were being pulled up or tilled under. Friendly brown cows with bells on their necks reminded me of hiking in Switzerland. Old men were fly fishing. Chickens pecked and clucked. Crumbled castles kept watch high up on the hilltops. Idyllic.
We passed a tiny 11th century church and stepped inside the simple interior and enjoyed the warmth being given off by the votive candles for a few silent moments. Somehow it seems comforting that every little town has an ancient church.
Several houses advertised that they sell local honey but it is too early in the morning for us to buy any. We had bought membrillo though, the local specialty made of quince fruit, best served with nuts and cheese but we chopped it up and mixed it with unsweetened yogurt for breakfast.
It's grainy like pears but has an applesauce taste.
The ailing Spanish economy reveals itself with the many unfinished housing projects we have seen. Grass grows in the piles of sand meant for concrete and graffiti covers every possible surface. It is sad to see so many ancient edifices tagged up and vandalized too, right along with the new stuff. Scott is always commenting on the ubiquitous "tagging."
Now that we are in the home stretch we have encountered our first set of tour-a-grinos (pilgrims are called peregrinos). A group flooded into the bar where we were having our morning cafes con leche and grabbed the stamp without asking the barkeeper and all greedily stamped their credentials without thanking the man. He looked at them with disgust and showed us what he thought of them by brushing the back of his fingers against his cheek several times. He could have been saying "that was cheeky!" but I suspect that gesture means something stronger than that. The tour van acted like a sag wagon and gave tired folks rides up all the hills, but it's all good. Really I am too tired to be too annoyed.
Late in the afternoons, when we've been walking more than 8 hours we just get silly. Wed. afternoon we fell into talking with alliteration: Scott's snazzy, sporty sombrero slipped suddenly as soon as he spotted a smooth smoke-colored snake slithering swiftly up the slope seeking safety. Suffering succotash! A singular snake sighting in Spain!
Yeah, too many miles!
Lastly, Wed. night we ended up in another tiny farming village, Fonfria, and had no choice but to get the 9 euro pilgrim communal meal at 7:30 but it ended up being so yummy and nutritious even if all the people to our left only spoke French and those to our right, German. Spinach, potato and bean soup and stew with red peppers and mushrooms (much different from American stews), almond torte, and sour dough bread and local red wine. I ate until I was stuffed, something I try to avoid ordinarily.
When we returned to the albergue, the halls were filled with songs from a professional chorale group walking the Camino. They ended with gorgeous Gregorian chants.
The cows passed our window on the way in from the fields, the dogs bayed as they were brought their supper, and the chickens clucked as they settled in to roost. A good day in the Galician Spanish countryside.
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