Author: Des Grundy

I’ve got about two Scaramuccis left on this hike. Oh, sorry. For the unhip and uninformed, a Scaramucci (also called a Mooch) is a measurement of time: approximately 11 days… so I need to be in Nice 3 weeks tomorrow.

Tick tock. Time flies when you’re disconnected but don’t ask me where I’ve been or what I’ve done or when because it all blends into this one big fast-awake-sleepwalking blur. I can barely remember which day of the week it is, let alone where I’ve been or what I’ve seen. Kinda cool. Trippin’ without the expensive, fashionable pharmaceuticals or the employment risk that goes with those habits – so I’ve been told.

As today was almost a carbon copy of yesterday and the day before and the day before – long boring haul, arriving in butt-fuck-back-of-beyond with a big church and no other endearing features, I thought that I’d have little to say today, but au contraire.

It started badly as I endured the buzz-snore harmony that my five lady roommates were so kind as to provide throughout the entire night. It was a trans-Atlantic, Eurovision affair: 2x German (altos), 1x US (soprano) and 1x Irish (booming, basso profundo). Earplugs were no good. The harmony mercilessly pierced the barrier. Only deafness would have protected me.

However, despite the aural setbacks of the night, early on, I thought it could be an auspicious day because a bird crapped on my foot while I was changing socks and a fly flew straight into my piehole as I gulped for air. On that basis, I legged it about 31km, 7km longer than initially planned.

My first segment was 13km, which I enjoyed in the company of Nancy (English pronunciation, not French). Nancy is “Quebeçois” (DO NOT get that wrong, not French, not Canadian…), a former marathon runner who now only does halfs and 10ks (3 months preparation is too much trouble…), she has 15 and 17 year old kids and has been walking for 44 days with another 50 odd left to go. Her hubby joined her for the first week but had to return to work. She worked as a private wealth advisor but was made redundant so time is her friend. This woman could be mistaken for a twenty-something and moves like a Gazelle. She slowed down for me until after breakfast in Sahagun, and then, with compassion, suggested she move on ahead as she was a wee bit faster. Once again, my self-respect is dented, and my ego-damage somewhere between humbled and humiliated. I did catch up with her a short while after breakfast as she re-packed her pack. We walked and chatted a bit more until she put those legs into second gear, and off she went. Ciao.

The second segment was solo to Bercenios del Real Camino, as was the last segment to El Burgo Raneros. Those legs were 10.7km and 7.4km, respectively. Dirt. Scrub. More dirt. More scrub. Nothing to report. Move on.

I berthed for the night at Albergue La Laguna at about 1300. Pretty good going under the circumstances. 31km in 7.5 hours minus 2x 45 mins rest stops equates to about 5km/h. It became hot and sticky at 0900, not the usual 1000, and my new insoles are giving the 4th toe on each foot utter gip. I need to make some adjustments – either trim the insole or cut off the toes. Right now, I’m indifferent, I just need a solution.

Upon checking into La Laguna, I was greeted by a Jimmy Somerville, Pygmy-like, camp-as-a-row-of-tents, pants-hanging-down-his-bony-ass, demi-dwarf with a twisted smile and only one tooth (visible) in his mouth (lower left canine, I think). A couple of decades earlier, this type of appearance coupled with those mannerisms would have screamed “Gay-Plague”. Well, still the same today. That is one weird little man. Anyway, he took my money, gave me the “tour” and went back into his dark hole. I’ll be sleeping face up tonight and I don’t care if I snore…….

….because my roommates are a bunch of noisy Spanish students from the previous crib. They checked in after me, en masse, and had I known of their intentions, I would not have made this accommodation choice. One in particular, is absolutely rank, like something died a week ago under his armpits or in his crotch. How do I tell him that stinking like rotten fish is NOT a PREREQUISITE for doing the Camino? It can, indeed, should, be done hygienically. The technology exists, and I would be more than happy to foot the bill, if necessary. I also need to speak to his mates:  friends shouldn’t let friends get stinky. The (new) Pilgrim Code.

This shrimpy, beardy piker is in the bunk above me, so at least with hot air rising, I may be spared some of the olfactory offence he carries so well. Dear boy, stinky is NOT cool. Through which gutter were you dragged up? Just because you have a Haysoos-style beard and you’re carrying a guitar, doesn’t mean you don’t have to bath, daily, with soap and preferably Teatree Oil. I’m not sure bleach and a wire brush would get him clean, but it would be a start. I bought some lavender essential oil as part of my defence/revenge mechanism. Hope he gets used to it. This is going to be a long night…and definitely an early start tomorrow!

It’s now hotter than a Bedouin’s nut-sack (I’m reliably informed) and yet the Pilgrims continue to stream into town post 1600. The Albergues here are now full. I don’t know where they go, other than further. I think the next stop is Reliegos at about +13km. That’s 2.5 hours at my morning pace (not in the sun) and 4 hours’ pace per the guide book estimate. That’s a LONG way away, late in the day. It perplexes and worries when I see this. An early start has the advantage of lower heat and higher probability of accommodation. My personal rule is finish no later than 1400, preferably 1300. It’s easy to be critical from a comfy chair with a cold beer. I hope I don’t fuck up.

Manaña.

Day 18 Photo Gallery

BEDBUG Alert: Reported at Guacelmo Albergue in Rabanal del Camino and/or Miriam’s Albergue in Las Herrarias/Herreria Albergue near Acebo. STEER CLEAR.

The smelly-Spaniard will wake up surrounded by aromatic-Lavendar wanky-hankies as well as strategically placed daubs on the bed frame and at the foot of his bed. He was one of the few to air his towel out indoors as opposed to outdoors. I think that accounted for much of his lingering, musty aroma. Sunlight is the greatest disinfectant, a lesson our friend has yet to learn.

I left the Albergue at 0530 and arrived at destination at 1245 after a 45 minute and a 60 minute break – I was in no hurry as the crib in Arcahueja opened its doors at 1300 and I was going nowhere once I arrived.

My first lesson of the day was at about 0545. Darwinism categorically doesn’t work. DOES NOT. Disappointingly. I came across group of five middle-aged Italians who were walking across the entire left side of the road, in the pitch dark, with no reflective clothing and one head torch that had a beam as powerful as a dying fairy light. I heard their jibber-jabber ahead of me, rather than saw them. That bad. There was a path to their left (on which I strode with my conspicuous friend, Mr L.E.D. Petzl…) but before the path, there was a three foot deep ditch between road and path. The Eyeties were to all intents and purposes BLIND and almost INVISIBLE to oncoming traffic. Cars were few but they came at pace – driving in that third-world, cavalier/oblivious way, not anticipating dumb, ambulatory flesh strewn across the highway in the dark. At least these window-licking, knuckle-dragging pedestrians were on more towards left side of the road – so they could tumble into the ditch and snap their necks if they had to move quickly…. What possesses adults to do things they would vilify their children for doing? I remain baffled. Incidentally, I haven’t seen them, but then again, I heard no sirens…..

The landscape changed today. More green vegetation, less scrub. A lot of corn and sprinklers, but still a straight shot paralleling the main road. I hiked alone the entire time, though I did see some familiar faces. Most of my comrades are bound for the big city, Léon. I chose a different approach.

It was another 31km today. A strategic decision. Léon would have been easy but I’m berthed about 8km outside, and it will be my next stop tomorrow. I did this so I would have a short day today, a very much shorter day tomorrow, so I can avoid what seems like a large influx into the City today and can enjoy Léon and rest my legs for what will be another two or three 30-35km days to harvest yet more time in Finisterre. If I do this, I’ll arrive at Santiago on the 17th, do the Compostela bells and smells blessing thing on that or the next day day (rude not to, despite not being of the Feinan dogma), then have a further 4 days of walking to Finisterre and Muxia.  That hopefully gives me 2 days of downtime in either location or a reversal to Santiago. That’s the plan as it stands.

As I near Santiago (still a very long way off), I’ve been told that accommodation becomes more scarce because the aged, the wealthy, the pretentious, the pikers and the frauds all come and “do” the last 100km so they qualify for the blessing. “Doing” means getting someone to carry your pack, serial pre-booking of accommodation and arranging a sumptuous meal while the subject plods along the Camino and gets his Platinum Card out afterwards. Shame on you!!  Money cant buy class, happiness or good taste, but it can buy convenience.

My strategy so far, has been to go to the Albergue that is either above the lowest price point or is furthest out of town, so that the more slothful (or youthful and of more limited means) default to the easier/cheaper options. Viz yesterday, it seemed like half of Tokyo was sitting in the gutter at the very first Albergue off the Camino. They all barely had facial hair and an Adam’s Apple. Is judgment inversely related to age? Let’s see at the end of this. I wont pre-judge as I may fall flat on my face…

This whole preamble is a coy precursor to say that I am contemplating a couple of pre-emptive, strategic bookings to assure my creature comforts towards the conclusion of this hike. No need to act now, just thinking. No need for you to judge now either…

Lastly, I am currently sitting in as a cultural and intellectual minority within a little Lithuanian enclave in our rather peculiar Albergue. I’ve spent much of the afternoon discussing BF Skinner, Thorndike, Amos Tversky, Daniel Kahneman, cognitive/behavioral psychology, MK Ultra, compliance and persuasion techniques through aggressive body language and other tools.  I’m completely out of my depth with these 25-30 year olds who have a much more diverse education than myself (and most people I know in the City/Wall Street, for that matter). The Lithuanians have by far the best English vocabulary and most neutral accents of any of the Europeans I have come across. Once again, humbling.

They also regret sacrificing their domestic currency for the €uro. Smarter yet, but bullied/Shanghai’d by the Bosch and Les Hexagones, so damage done. I maintain the view that Europe is still teetering on the brink of collapse, it’s just very well-concealed by an inner-cadre of unelected, self-interested Apparatchika and acolytes. Come on, Mr Erdogan, rescind your immigration agreement and let’s see what happens to the faux show of this love-in. Tick tock.

Later.

Day 19 Photo Gallery

Today, everything is in reverse. Deliberately.

I’m writing this before I’ve checked in, before my laundry. Before my shower. Before any alcohol. My pack is in a locker at the Albergue San Francisco, and I will check in about 1200 with laundry facilities open at 1500, apparently.

Yesterday was a valuable rest day. I had my feet in a basin for 2 hours which helped no end. I didn’t leave the Albergue because there was nothing at all to see (this I knew beforehand). I bought a couple of rounds of drinks for other Pilgrims – the budget of the voluntarily unemployed is still a budget, but it is larger than that of the struggling student. I got a solid 10 hours of uninterrupted sleep. No snoring. No noise. I woke up late, at 0700 and was out at a leisurely pace by 0830 including a shower (usually at destination upon arrival, not prior to departure), two coffees and an agua con gas.

The walk to Léon was less than 8km, easy and, as expected, uninspiringly through an industrial estate. Today is effectively another rest day. Part of the grand design…

Léon is a large town with a lot of visitors and shopping amenities (maybe I can get some new earphones, at last). There are a lot of chav-tourists – women sporting sturdy, tattooed lower legs, saggy bingo-wings, pronounced underbites, lobster-red faces and bad shoes. SUCH BAD SHOES.  Once again, I find myself feeling like just a tourist, something I don’t really like.

 

 

Despite it’s size, it’s 1030 and the town is only just beginning to develop a pulse – away from the various church masses that seem to be going non-stop, I’ve already come across a number of bums with a San Miguel in hand who are sporting trashy, shiny Adidas tops that are more “Dubai-style” than Loewe. I was just assailed my a middle-aged woman working the tables for cash. She didn’t want food, just cash. Same everywhere, except on the Camino.

You can get your fill about Léon from the guidebooks, but let me summarise a couple of factoids, to give you some flavour. There main features for visitors are the Cathedral, the Basilica of San Isidoro and the San Marcos Monastery. There is also a Gaudí museum and a host of other, impressive attractions.

Léon Cathedral has been likened to Chartres Cathedral for its sheer scale and magnificence. It has 125 windows, and 57 oculus that total 1,200 sqm of glass, enough to raise concerns that with so little wall, there is elevated danger of collapse…

The Basilica is built into the old city walls and contains some 12th century frescoes illustrating the New Testament and hunting and pastoral scenes.  Check please… Next…

The San Marcos Monastery has a 100m facade that is majestic yet does little to prepare you for what’s inside. The monastery is one of the top five hotels in Spain.  I haven’t looked up the tariff because I am but a lowly Pilgrim on a budget.

In 1293, Sancho IV decreed that Jews could not own land, and 20 years later, they (les Juifs) were forced to identify themselves by wearing a yellow badge on their clothes. History repeats itself.

Léon has had a colorful history but has declined in relevance over time, particularly from the 14th century when the royal courts moved south, and with them, political influence. Famine and bubonic plague in 1349 didn’t help.

There. A potpourri. Move on… Which is exactly what I plan to do right now…

…I’ve now checked into my €12 crib. I’m in a room with 4 beds that has an ensuite loo and shower. Not bad as things go. I snagged the lower bunk with the two power-points! Ha! They do your laundry here for you, for free, but from 1500. For a modest €5 “thank you” donation, they took my load at 1300 instead of the mandatory 1500, to be returned at 2000. I’ve also scoped out my exit route tomorrow as one of the books and a couple of fellow pilgrims said it could be quite tricky – made more so in the dark.

 

 

As I checked in, I noticed a couple of “pilgrims” hobbling in, triumphantly. Before they paid, they did some serious stretches and then they picked up their rucksacks. Each rucksack had a baggage tag “Roma delegacion” (or some thing similar, but definitely Dago), “Deliver to Albergue San Francisco”. Pikers. Frauds. Pseuds. “Faux-Pilgrims”. I guess, in mitigation, there is that they’re slumming it with us lowlife. Then again, what’s worse, pretending not to be a fraud by sleeping in an Albergue, or ‘coming out’ and checking into the Four Seasons/San Marcos Monastery…? Answer unclear. Deception crystal clear.

I’ve got the wind to my back here… and I don’t like these people. Let me tell you why. They “qualify” as pilgrims just as someone walking because they have a credencial that gets stamped. So, if they get to an Albergue earlier than “proper” pilgrims who may be knackered and barely put one foot in front of the other, they get a bed. Now if that Albergue is full, and the “proper” pilgrim is late, he/she gets no bed and has to walk on. That’s not right.  Technicality obscuring fairness. The faux-pilgrims should be subject to a wait list and only be allowed admission post 1800, a reasonable time to assume most proper pilgrims have completed their labours. No system of rules will ever be ideal, but the faux have an unfair advantage. More on this, no doubt.

As I was looking for shops that sell headphones, I bumped into Nancy (Quebecois Gazelle from earlier post). We walked a little before going in different directions. She seemed to have a good time with two days here, and we’re heading towards the same destination tomorrow. No doubt I’ll see her briefly as she storms past me, me in top gear and she idling in second or third. Wish I had longer legs. And greater lung capacity. And 20lbs fewer. And the list goes on and on… My parents have a lot of genetic issues to answer for… and then there’s the question-mark lingering over my maternal Grandfather’s service in the German army. More another time… and no, that is NOT fiction, embellishment or a joke.

It’s now 1400 and this place (well, the central area) is heaving with tourists. Hordes. Throngs. Droves. Add your own superlatives, you can feel me. I’m having lunch away from the central area because I can’t be faffed with the noise and the constant movement of bodies around me. It’s unpleasant and anything but tranquil. I came to switch off, not get amped up. Note to self: maybe avoid the bigger towns despite their historical significance?  

Sitting next to me is a boring, solemn, older French couple. They’re barely exchanging words and the man seems to have great difficulty with anything but a detached, disinterested expression. She’s fanning herself with a fan, and he’s looking over his specs at her, in silent disparagement. I guess being pussy-whipped does that to you. Get a life people! Enjoy it while you can.

They just served me a succulent pork tenderloin prepared on the rarer side (as I like it), with CRISPS! Never had that combination before, but the Albariño is delicate and complements it nicely. Thibaud, Jenny and another face just passed by. We’re all staying in Albergue San Francisco, it seems. I guess this is some form of reversion to a mean at work, or lowest common denominator.

Davide walked by to say “Ciao”. I just found out his name. He’s the policeman from Italy that I mentioned previously. I found his phone a long time ago now, and managed to return it. He gave me the Camino pin. His Camino ends today. He’s been an endlessly-friendly face on this journey, consistent bon-homie, never anything but a broad grin and genuine love of life. He just oozes it. I’m sad not to see him again. And so it goes…

Is doing something, assistance or interference?

These two photos are of a blind man grooming his guide dog. They’re not great as they don’t really tell the story in full. He took the leash and steering apparatus off the hound and used a brush and glove to groom him and remove fur. Kind and practical in this heat. He then pulled the fur off of the glove and brush, and put it in the garbage can. He was on familiar territory. He obviously had a method, tapping this and that and pacing out this and the other, but he did misplace the leash and collar – though hound was clearly going nowhere. I watched quietly for about a minute, until I was clear that my assistance was not interference. I introduced myself in my pigeon-Spanglish and handed him the leash. He was grateful. No offence. No interference. I removed myself to a discrete distance and watched in case further assistance was needed, but none was. It’s difficult to know whether you help or interfere or even insult. I always prefer to err on the side of insult, albeit with different delivery for different audiences…

Time to get the photos and Vince Cable rant to Doris, mix with the touristas detritus and try as best I can to hide my derision. Tomorrow is an early start and long walk.

“Buen Camino”as we say.

Day 20 Photo Gallery