The bus left the sports shop (no mistake) promptly at 0645. €8 and 90 minutes to Santiago and familiar territory.
My pack has begun to smell. Despite being aired out every day, with it’s fabric absorbing 35+ days of perspiration and body oil, it shouldn’t be a surprise, I guess. Have I become that which I abhor…? The left luggage is €3.50 at the bus station and since that’s my departure point to the airport later, that’s where the pack resided for the day. Locker 36 to be precise.
Being previously reliant on so-so maps and without GPS, my recall of detail is much stronger, such that finding my way into town from the edges where the bus station is located was easy. A lot of small things imprinted in my near-term memory, like a remarkably vivid picture.
The weather remained overcast until about 1330, then things got hot.
It seems quieter than when I was here last week. Think I’m also aware of more tourists than Pilgrims. Can’t quantify it, just a hunch. Maybe it’s nothing and just my own headspace.
Sanitariness aside, you just need to look at gait, footwear and gear to identify tourists or pilgrims. Pilgrims walk as if they’ve been vigorously fisted; tourists float along comfortably. Pilgrims typically have dirty, worn boots/shoes or Tevas with filthy, crusty socks, both in darker, earth tones. Tourists’ footwear is typically bright and pristine, sporting trendy colours, and if they do have a pack, it looks very unused. The “Quechua” brand is also a give-away. It’s good-looking gear, though I can’t speak to its robustness. Oh, then there are the wooden walking poles with the metallic ends, tack-tack-tacking along the sidewalk, serving no purpose whatsoever other than to annoy. I can’t tell you the number of sticks I have seen with price tags still on them. They are useful in the mountains (particularly 700km ago) or as elevations change, but they are totally redundant in the city. Duh!
It was delightful to meander through the old part of town when it’s quiet and only the cafes open. You get to the end of the old part, come upon noise, traffic and different architecture and just turn around, looking for some more streets to get lost in. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. The overcast weather must have also deterred earlier starts because it only become busier by noon. I sat in the main square, and to my point earlier, I didn’t see the influx of hikers that I had expected. I guess it ebbs and flows.
The Mercado de Abastos de Santiago feels like it’s hidden away, but it’s not. It’s right off the main drag, but its location and sounds are obscured by buildings. Thirty seconds and a quick left down a tight side-street followed by a right, and there you are: a completely different world with real people and real businesses, yet still in the old part of town. Google Translate says that “abastos” means “supplies”, which makes sense because I found rows of butchers and fishmongers, sellers of frozen salt-fish, vegetable stalls and of course, wine. Very picturesque.
Off to the bus station and airport shortly. I’m not going to walk.
Still need to figure out where to stay in Barcelona tonight. Flight arrives 2240 (then there’s luggage to come off and transit to hotel) and tomorrow’s leg boards at 0640 for an 0720 departure. That means to be safe, I need to be back at the airport by 0600 to check-in my smelly-pack. My grey matter is processing the possibility of roughing it in the airport for the night, more for convenience than cost. Maybe we’re going into overload mode.
… and here at the airport, it’s a painful world of contrasts.
Galacia has erected a modern, overbuilt, impressive White Elephant of a terminal through some sort of EC subsidy with Frau Merkel’s Euros. Outside there’s enough vacant parking space for a fleet of combine-harvesters and a couple of aircraft carriers. On the tarmac there are four aircraft: departing Veuling Airbus for London, a DHL cargo jet, a Cessna 172 (Lovely old high-wing jalopy. I was flying one when my Dad died. Those events are unconnected) and a Citation CJ4. Hardly bulging at the seams.
There’s virtually no one in the airport itself. I count 47 people in departures including cafeteria and ground staff, but… they won’t let me drop my baggage off until two hours or less before the flight. A pudgy, unhelpful check-in jockey with a very suspicious moustache, Mr. “I Don’t Give a Shit”, managed to snort “two hours before” and turned away, disgusted I think, at my being so presumptuous. I am already checked-in, I have boarding passes (plural) and I have seat 11D allocated. Why not take my baggage?
It’s not as if they lack capacity or are swamped with passengers. They have three check-in desks open for two flights this evening – Gatwick and Barcelona – and almost zero waiting time to check in. Aargh!
Why, oh why Spain, relapse to third world behaviour yet again? You were doing so well… I think it comes back to the unionised, red tape mentality, a ‘things only getting done as they’ve always been done’ mindset and an in-bred inability to multi-task (previously observed ad nauseam). Check-in jockeys are no different to baristas.
Still no resolution on accommodation.
Manaña.