The day was all about the morning and the morning was all about the start of the day…
It’s been getting colder in the mornings and today it really turned. It was colder than a witch’s titty. I had the prescience to buy a pair of €4.50 gloves yesterday, and this morning to look out my (limited) cold-weather wear (err, Spain, middle of Summer…), but it wasn’t enough. No good having warm under-layers if your outerwear doesn’t breath (that problem taken care of by shopping at my alternate destination, today). You retain perspiration, which then evaporates when the wind blows or you stop moving.
And the wind blew. A lot.
That said, it was quite magical.
I started off at 0600 intending to complete the 26km leg to Molinaseca by about noon. The vestige of yesterday’s full moon remained, so there was a lot of soft light. Quite yummy. To begin with…
I was first out of my albergue (cyclists and tourists are later-risers) but I soon saw others from other nearby albergues with a similar idea. Today was a mountain stage (up down, up down), and I was looking forward to it after the turgid, linear, road-hugging stretches of the past couple of days.
It was quickly an uphill hike, and weather conditions changed significantly about 30 minutes after departure, still well before first light. As I ascended, the mist quickly came in and the wind began to blow. It began with a soft “whooshing” whistle that made the high-voltage wires hiss in tandem, but soon turned to a much lower, reverberating hum, like the extended “m” at the end of a yoga “omm”.
It was pretty dark, the ambulant mist flashed past the moon, hid it, gave it back, hid it again, and we had changing sound-effects. I wasn’t worried because the route was clear, I had done my homework beforehand and I had Mr Petzel (surprisingly others had nothing, so I became a temporary Pied Piper).
I reached Foncebadón at about 0700, so 5.5km uphill in an hour in inclement weather. Decent pace. Alas, despite the genius of the iPhone, it still can’t capture what the eye sees. These photos are intended to try and convey the visual obscurity that I encountered, but they don’t do it anywhere near justice…
I decided to re-layer, despite the impeding sunrise and (usual) increase in temperature. I came up to the semi-open door of a non-descript brick building and just went in. This was the albergue, “Monte Irago”. I was smitten for reasons I just don’t know. I wasn’t in duress. I didn’t absolutely have to stop. I could have quickly and comfortably re-layered on the street; no biggie. I just walked through the door, though.
This is what I found, and once again the iPhone (or any camera) can’t convey how special it was. It was tangibly, palpably different to ALL of the other albergues. Inexplicably tranquil, yet bustling at the same time.
There was something about the music they played, the arrangement of the tables and the host who looked like a more muscular Roger Daltrey in his better years.
Above the fireplace, were nailed all number of thanks, messages, encouragement, quotations and photos. Some were there a very long time. The place had a spirit. The Daltrey-doppelgänger hustled and bussed tables in a yogi, tie-dyed top and khaki, army fatigue shorts. He knew what he was doing. Clearly had front-of-house experience. He even chided an older customer for leaving too much food on his plate, and pointed to a sign saying ‘Minimise food waste. Only take what you will eat.’ The client remonstrated, embarrassed. Daltrey gave no quarter. Bitch-slap that mutha, Rog!
I had an entirely unplanned buffet breakfast for €3.50, several hours earlier than my usual reward: strong coffee + muesli + granary bread + great Karma.
For reasons I cannot logically articulate, this place got to me. So happy and peaceful. So far, the best experience of the trip. I would have happily just sat there and greedily absorbed more of it, but only 30 minutes, then onwards.
That’s an ambience and business model I’d love to replicate, Doris…
And, what a difference 30 minutes makes…
The sun was now up. You could see. Sort of. The wind abated and the mist swirled less, though it still languished, intentions and directions unclear. It was cold though. Almost on cue, the package holiday (faux) pilgrims sidled out from their digs with their new, unsullied gear and tentatively, looking for the way. Mostly Italian. Most wearing “Quecha”. All completely clueless, but stylishly clueless nonetheless. All noisy. STFU.
I caught up with the Lithuanian lads at Acebo, the next stop at +11.2km. They’re a funny duo – great friends but very different. Luke and John – I finally got their names. How Biblical. More like Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble the way they play off each other.
So, I hiked with Luke to Molinaseca and John thereafter to Ponferrada. Collectively, we solved a lot of the unsolved mysteries of the Universe. Luke is encyclopaedic about philosophy and psychology; John is equally imbued but less loquacious. Definitely Yin and Yang.
Luke looks like Ed Norton with an out-of-control beard (more Rasputin, actually) and John… like a quietly-intellectual Barney Rubble with black, mirror, Aviator Raybans. We split as we entered Ponferreda. They wanted an albergue with a kitchen as they’d been hauling food, and I wanted an albergue nearer the center of town. I have no doubt, we’ll cross again. Introducing excessive alcohol into this social equation would be a hoot. That’s the plan. My plan, at least.
I’m tapping this out in a bar off the main drag, having done all my laundry, bought a breathable outer layer and now being subjected to multiple Demis Roussos tracks. WTF with any self-respect or taste, plays Demis Roussos – in the 21st century, except his relatives…
Hold on…
Piperis… are you here, with your extended peasant family, spying, messing with my noodle…?
Stick to overnighting with your own, personal travel pillow when you have an “away fixture…” with a new lady. A bad, indelible memory for her, I’m sure. Like a drunken tattoo. I have a long memory, G.
My albergue, Guiana, is on lock down until 0600, so it will be a later start. No choice there. But, after an inadvertent 34km day, tomorrow will be shorter, unless something comes up.
Today was a good day. Nighty-night.
