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 a
nd 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.
