Uneventful passage following an 0620 departure and 23.5km hike through mostly vineyards.
I stopped in Fuentes Nuevas for breakfast because of a cute dog sitting outside Bar La Ermita – see photo.
Don’t make my mistake.
Luke and John came by as I was finishing up and I ushered them off to another gaff; this place only offered dry toast and so-so coffee.
My next stop was Cacabelos, a lovely little village with a number of interesting bars and cafes, and varied architecture. Next time, it would make a good stopping point. Martín Códax sells a decently-priced Albariño through Waitrose, and has a Bodega here so I assume they also have operations nearby. I’ve attached some photos.
I stopped at “Pulperia Compostela” because of their extensive menu and very cool, wood-carved sign out front. I hoped for some Karmic, culinary recompense for my canine deception and crappy breakfast. WRONG. They advertise an extensive, attractive, eclectic menu from 0900 but only serve from… 1300. Something wrong with those advertising standards, methinks. Coffee and croissant was still an improvement though.
I arrived at destination at a very leisurely 1230 and had targeted a private hostel, de la Piedra, because it was on the other, outbound side of town, at a higher price point and private. When, I arrived, there was a sign:
“Cleaning the albergue. Please make yourself comfy. Help yourself to tea and coffee. Back soon”.
So, I took off my pack and boots. The proprietor soon returned.
“Sorry. We are full. Can I call the next nearest albergue for you..?” he said, as he pulled out his phone.
“Not to worry. That’s how it goes. Thanks. That would be great” said I, deflatedly, as I pulled my boots back on…
“Where are you from..?” he asked.
“Originally, Scotland.” I said, one boot done up.
“Ah, Scotland……….. You know, I may have one single room left. No bunks. It’s €20 including linens and breakfast. Let me show you…”
And so, I got a private room for €8 more than a dormitory bunk, with linens and breakfast.
Now, I’m not sure if it was REALLY because I said “Scottish” as opposed to “English wanker” or “condescending British cock” or “loud-mouth American know-it-all”, or because I was polite and didn’t complain, but something worked. Wish I could bottle it. And, I will continue to unashamedly used that race card. For as much as I despise (deliberate choice of words) what my region (deliberate choice of words) has become, I still identify with it (as convenient).
HOWEVER, this is the first time in 23 days that I have encountered a potential problem, and no coincidence that in the corner of the albergue sat a large number of bags that had been shipped in for the faux pilgrims. Lots of tags.
BTW, I arrived at 1230. The albergue opened at 1230. Later, nearer 1400, two people from my same albergue of the prior night (Sarah the English-lady and Kim-Jong-Un, the NK doppelgänger) tried to check in and were politely rebuffed, though with the same polite offer of telephonic assistance (I don’t think you’d get that in London or NYC… Just sayin’), which KJU declined, puzzlingly. I really felt bad, sitting there. No room at the inn… I got lucky, and I don’t take it for granted.
Lessons learned:
- Use “Scottish” at all times. It may be as effective/impactful as “impaired/disabled”.
- Faux pilgrims and their lackeys are better at pre-booking and choose well-rated, private albergues
- Going to a private albergue, even early, is no guarantee of a bed
- Perhaps a “strategic pivot” to only stay at the municipal albergues, as a rule, going forward
- Probabilities of “habitacion” success are still more favored by early arrival at destination
I’m sitting in the Plaza Major, eating at the Seville Compostela, a large, outdoor covered cafe with a cheap pilgrim menu (€11). The squid was overdone. The Hake was tasteless and bony. The salad, insipid. The service surly and slow. My coffee’s sitting there getting cold. Should I? Shouldn’t I?
Today has not been a successful food-day. Pretty ghastly, actually.
However, the sun is shining (sorry Londoners), I got lucky with habitacion (btw,the albergue has a 2 year old Retriever called André. I sucked up to him, and he to me, to positively reinforce the proprietor’s prior judgment), I have my own power-sockets to charge from, I don’t need to do laundry today, the farmacia was open so I could replenish my foot lotions, my cold-weather layering worked very well this morning (6 degrees Celsius) and I can still put one foot in front of the other and focus completely on the present.
I really shouldn’t complain. Nuff said.
Stop Press: Friendly, goateed, tattooed, Spanish dude that I met at Hospital de Orbigo just came up to me. We spoke, Star Trek-style, via our “Google Translate” universal translators. He, too, is headed for O’Cebreiro tomorrow, but said there were “few beds” so he’s off at 0400. Ugh. Not me. Hope that wont be a regret. Manaña banana…