It was zig-zagging though woodlands and then more woodlands with multiple, unremarkable villages along the way. I don’t have a lot to say about today, so it’s going to be mercifully brief for you.
I did about 30km to berth in Lavacolla which is really little more than a truck stop, just off the Camino. I think the “lav” part of the name is a clue to the character of the place. I missed that… It’s about 10km from Santiago, meaning less than 2 hours walking tomorrow to destination… meaning a bit of a lie in…
I’m in the Hostel San Paio at €38 for the night. On strong advice, I booked a day ahead on booking.com. When I arrived, I offered my passport which they legally should note, but the old woman at the front of house wasn’t interested. I tried twice. Fuck off, I’ve got your money. The crone must have been a “Gertrude” or a “Gretchen” because she oozed the impatience of an angry scorpion trapped in a human body. This gaff is on the most primitive side of basic. The shower is tiny and designed to spew water across the entire loo floor. However, I don’t need to open the door to soap legs or ass… because the ill-fitting shower curtain already accommodates such limb movements… which is why water spews everywhere. Design flaw or accommodating those of us with “bigger bones”? That said, it seems clean, the power-sockets work, the towels are almost three grades up from sandpaper and the water was hot.
I plan to attend the Pilgrim Mass at noon in Santiago, not because I have a pressing inner need, but rather, it’s part of the whole “Camino thing” – and if I don’t, I’ll get the endless questions about why not, so it’s just easier this way. To attend, I need to obtain a Compostella. To obtain a Compostella, I need to queue up somewhere, present my Credencial to be validated. Then, I’m in the “club”, off to the bells and smells, the ringing and the singing and of course… the priests and their catamites.
I just had what looks like a huge and unhealthy lunch comprising a double burger and salad at Bar de Comidas, Botana.
Botana doesn’t do “terrace” service (i.e. out to the car park), so after I placed my order with a very friendly hostess and her chubby five year old in tow, I was eventually summoned via muffled Tannoy (yes, no lie, big trumpet thing) when slop was up:
“Numero dos. Numero dos.”
Truth is, the patties were more like pressed sausage, there was one egg, two thin rashers of bacon and the lettuce was uber-super-sized in both salad and burger, making both look obscenely large. They really weren’t. This was a good example of food waste created at point of preparation (versus point of consumption at Albergue Irago) – unless lettuce has now become the staple of hungry truckers across Spain…
Nothing more to add this end. Tomorrow will be interesting. Need to do a bit of homework now…