I am doing better and am probably well enough to walk but was just a little worried because the guidebook warns that this is one of the most remote stretches of the Camino, with no town, no stop, no water fountain, NOTHING, for almost 30km, and I lost everything I ate for two days so wasn´t feeling hugely energetic. And I thought well, if I do get sick en route, that won´t be so much fun. So at least tomorrow if I walk to Leon and find I´m not doing so great, I can stop in one of the towns on the way. Nonetheless I do feel a little guilty and found myself crumpling a little when the taxi driver kindly wished me buen Camino and asked if I wanted to sleep in an albergue. I clung to my honour and, like a good martyr, insisted on paying for a hotel (on the plus side, the loo here really is very pretty. it has the smallest bathtub I have ever seen - the size of your average shower. an adult can more or less sit down in it).
Something I am finding is that as the Camino route goes on, it helps to be flexible about where you stay, and also where you stop. More and more pilgrims join the route at its later stages, which means that if you are following the standard 33 stages in the guide books, you are more than likely to find that entire towns are booked out without a single place to stay. So it helps either to stop at places that aren´t recommended, or to be willing to pay for anywhere that will give you a bed. That said, you should be careful how you phrase this last bit; I found out the hard way that it can be taken as an attempt at bribery.
Two towns ago I arrived fairly early nogal, and not only were the albergues all booked out, the town´s hostels were too. The third hostel I stopped at suggested an alternative hostel on the other end of town; I walked there and it, too, was full. So I wandered around until I found another hostel, where the receptionist took pity on me and said although they were full, she would phone around. So she did, found a place that have space gave me directions, I followed them...and ended up at the same jolly hostel that sent me away in the first place. I was livid. The receptionist again claimed they were full and I tried to get out of her why she then told the *other* receptionist on the phone that there was still space.
I then asked if there was anywhere else I could stay, explaining that I did not care what it cost; the receptionist seemed offended by this and said that I should ´please not say that, it is lowly.´ By this time I was so frustrated I sommer burst into tears and was THIS CLOSE to asking her how she would feel if someone lectured her about dignity after she´d walked 30km and been chased in circles for an hour, when in mid-tantrum, a woman came driving past who happened to offer private accommodation (she had another two exhausted-looking pilgrims in the back seat). I leaped into her car and it was the best thing I could have done. The accommodation turned out to be absolutely *gorgeous* self-catering apartments with everything that opens and shuts, fully equipped kitchen, lounge, balcony, the works, and *right* on the Camino route...for 30 euros per person. I danced a little jig all over the apartment and cooked and laundered till the cows came home.
Other random observations that need a home:
* There are literally hundreds of small worms on the Camino route. I have tried very hard not to step on them. This is because I find them weirdly poignant. It struck me early on that all these worms are walking horizontally *across* the Camino pathway, and that in worm-kilometres this means the poor little buggers are doing a Camino all of their own each day plus they have hundreds of enormous boots to avoid in the process, and that maybe it is important not to be careless with them.
* Less affection-inspiring are the millions of miggies that have a special talent for flying at speed into the exact place you do not want them, for example your mouth or, more painfully, your eye. The funny thing is that when you put sunglasses on, the same phenomenon occurs as when bugs hit the windshield, and the end of the day finds one wiping your glasses clean in the same way you would your car window after a long journey.
* The day the earthquake hit Spain, some old men in a one-horse village trod on my toes to check if they were real and actually did fill my boots, then debated animatedly how I had grown them so large. I was tempted to steal J´s joke and say, Look I have big feet okay, it´s not my fault I took my boots off and caused an earthquake. I *said* I was sorry.
* After tomorrow, I will officially no longer be in the back end of nowhere. This stretch of the Camino inspires some madness and a little sniggering in pilgrims and is known by some as ´the valley of death´ (or some similarly ominous name). Before I got the stomach bug, the great event of my day, 18km in, was when I passed a bench. The day before, at six, a horse whinnied. A Brit soldier I met said darkly: ´You were lucky to get that. We missed it.´
* Every time I travel, I am reminded that South Africans really do live in the most beautiful country on earth. No matter how beautiful the countryside in other places, I always love it the most when it reminds me of home.
* The Spanish are currently in the midst of an election drive. In practice, this means a giant party bus goes careening through the villages in the evenings, blaring carnival music and propaganda. Interestingly, the posters for the various parties all look identicial except for the face of the candidate (barring one adventurously branded hot pink party) - all in variations of red, grey and blue, looking solemn, dependable and reliable (except the pink party, which just looks gay). These rather dreary posters are not only almost impossible to differentiate, they are also in utterly bizarre contrast to the antics of the evening party bus. I´m telling you, someone needs to teach these fellows about branding.
* Speaking of careening. The bakers here could give our minibus taxi drivers a run for their money. In one particularly tiny town, where the streets are all narrower than in Obs, I was nearly run over by a spiky-haired man-lady-person whose hooter went bellowing through the streets. I was about to start swearing at him/her when doors in the neighbourhood started opening and little old ladies came pouring out in their droves. I risked a peek into the bus and saw - to my fascination and slight dismay - that it was piled chock-full of bread. I don´t mean the bread was wrapped and stacked neatly. I mean uncovered breads were bouncing around in the van and when I say they were lying everywhere I mean *everywhere*. Breads piled on the passenger seat, breads toppling over onto the floor. And all the little old ladies rush out, mingepla, and fondle the various breads to decide which to take. Leaving the losing breads in a lovely hygienic pile on the floor of the van.
* My experience of the history here is patchy. The guide books offer some insight, but despite being quite touristy, the Camino isn´t really geared towards people who don´t have a solid understanding of Spanish. All the signs and plaques are in Spanish only, except in Viana, where I had my first real experience of *feeling* the history of the place. This is partly because the village proudly announces its history in multiple languages, but also because the medieval quarter of the village itself is largely unchanged, and it shows. The albergue is an ancient, draughty monastery - you are literally staying where pilgrims have stayed for thousands of years before you (I did think drily that I could tell by the mattress).
As you wander through the village Viana, you become aware of a fierce pride that the area has in its association with the Borgias, announcing proudly that to this day, many of the faces of Jesus in artwork are modelled on the face of Cesar Borgia. This disturbed me a little, not least because as I remember it, the Borgias were a bunch of nasty bastards who ruled through a gruesome cocktail of bribery and poisoning their enemies, but also because I seem to remember that by his thirties, Cesar was severely disfigured by the scars of violence and numerous venereal diseases (not to mention strong suggestions that he murdered his brother and had an incestuous affair with his sister, who, like him, was the illegitimate child of Pope Alexander XI). Actually, the Borgias were a fascinating bunch - I also seem to remember, vaguely, that Alexander had a rather patchy allegiance to the laws of the Catholic Church, choosing, for example, to have two of his daughter´s husbands murdered because the Church frowned on divorce. I would have liked to explore Viana more if there had been time.
Now it is time for me to be off again. I met a fascinating hospitalera in Caldazilla (the same place I caught the stomach bug for my sins - or it *might* have been the egg sandwich I carried in my bag for two days...) who gave me a foot massage and diagnosed all my personality problems to three decimal places into the bargain. She said, among other things, that my feet indicate an unwillingness to go with my intuition, and that I try too hard to feel what I think I´m supposed to feel, instead of just feeling what I *actually* feel. This is true of most people, I think; we should all try to remember the lesson as, according to her, the flaw in feeling impacts our stability (literally and emotionally).
So, following my nose, I´m going to spend the afternoon exploring Mansilla de las Mulos. It is a small village, so this should not take very long. Ha ha.
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