I stumble around gathering my bags and my sweater and my cell phone and my Betsy around 5:37. Drag it all out the door to not disturb my roomies. And especially to not awaken greasy, short Spaniard. Don't need none of that at six in the morning, now do we?
Organize my belongings, brush the teeths, then head down to the kitchen to prepare a small breakfast for my Camino fam using the bread, jam, coffee, and sugar I have. They trickle down within the next 15min-45min. We enjoy breakfast on the balcony that overlooks the backside of Astorga as we listen to the faint Vesper music being played on a track over the albergue speaker system. Glorious. This is all-together lovely. Can't believe it's not a dream.
I organize, as planned, for my pepper spray to be in my hip pocket of Betsy and my utility knife to be on my shoulder strap. We've heard horror stories about the 15km that leaves Astorga, better to be prepared than jeopardized. Everyone's ready. Out the door we go. While we walk through the city--Lainey, Chris, Olya, Julia, and I--we take pictures of the cathedral and the museum in passing. Marching forward. Being cautious. And eating some citrus rock candy (looked like pebbles) from the chocolate store that other pilgrims left behind in the kitchen.
Next town we come through, we stop for breakfast. Olya and I split a coffee, a Spanish tortilla, bread, and a side of Spanish ham I asked for (P.S. flirty son of the owner wants me to tell you that they treat pilgrims very well in Santa Catalina. He gave me the side of ham on the house. The bar/albergue was called either San Blas or El Caminante, in case you ever go). Flirty son of owner was playing some kind of game on the patio where we eating in which you toss stone pucks into the mouth of a metal frog. Any ideas? I tried it twice and failed miserably.
I tuned my uke as we walked out the door. I mostly practice walking my fingers around the uke. It can sound pretty when I go slow. I basically rotate between four distinct ditties, so I'm sure I'll hear other pilgrims humming my tunes in no time. Ha
We arrived to the final town before our destination. El Ganso. The Goose. We snacked on oranges and almonds and used the restroom at the Cowboy Bar.
Last stretch 7+km til touchdown. I mostly walked with Lainey and we had good, meaningful conversation. I feel like we have a lot in common when it comes to our upbringing and character, and it helps that we're the same age. I can always count on Lainey to finish any song I start singing. She's the perfect mix of sweet, old souly, and sarcastic. As we got to the the last 2 kilometers of the stretch, our terrain finally changed from dry fields to funny, lanky oak trees and pine. Which means more shade. Which means happier pilgrims. Shade makes all the difference, especially since the air is drier.
We made it. Hello Rabanal! We're so glad to see you.
Small town. Less than 100 population. Closer to the entrance we were greeted by a friendly man with a mullet who invited us to stay the night in the 6+ tents he had set up in his garden. It looked majestic. Complete with an awning, a hammock, and a cherry tree. We promised we'd be back, but we already had our hearts set on staying at the parish albergue. As we made our way up the hill, I stopped in a small store looking for hazelnut butter. None. It's all I wanted in life at that moment.
We made our way to the top of the hill and into the albergue. Two British gals greeted us with, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! There are still plenty of beds to go around. So take as seat and have a rest." Not exactly a warm welcome, but a rest sounds nice I guess. I still had a hankering for some hazelnut butter. I abandoned Betsy and jet back down the hill to another store. They had single serving hazelnut butter. Perfect. A bag of gummy strawberries sounded good, too. And to drink... coke or tropical juice? I took the coke out of the fridge and returned it twice. I eyeballed the tropical juice. Sizing it up. Imagining the taste. Which would refresh me more after a hot walk like today? Coke wins. Every time coke wins. If I were more of a beer fan, that could've won, too, but alas... I'm a beer snob. I devoured the hazelnut butter on my way back to the albergue. I shared my strawbery gummies and coke with the others. We were settled into our room. This one has 8 bunks/16 beds in one room. Not too bad. Someone is puff snoring, like my Pa does, as type this on my bunk at 10:30 at night.
Anyway, settled. Rather than start our routine right away, we chilled in the library where Chris found a guitar. He and I took turns fiddling around. One of the British hospitaleras came in and said, "I'll be back with a bucket of cold water to throw over then two uh'ya." I wish I knew what that was supposed to mean, but British humor is over my head and around my ears. A few minutes later, another hospitalero slammed the door shut. I guess they don't like our singing here, we insinuated to one another with our snickering.
Our next venture was made into the kitchen. The fridge precisely. The hospitaleros had an anniversary party of the albergue the night before and gave us permission to eat any left-overs in the fridge. There were two big salad bowls of strawberries and cream dessert. We each had some. A full bowl. Maybe two. Fine, we had three full bowls each, okay? No regrets though. Okay, maybe a few. Maybe a tummy ache. But worth it.
Lainey and I were waiting for one of the two showers to be unoccupied. While we waited the Catholic bishop of the area came by for tea with the Brittish gals. Which actually ended up being coffee, because what the bishop wants, the bishop gets. He was a portly fellow. We eavesdropped on their tea(coffee)time chat. Whilst waiting and listening, we both fell asleep on the wooden balcony benches. I awoke to a freshly showered Chris sitting at Lainey and my feet, French Grandpa pointing to my butt and saying something I wouldn't even be able to guess in French, and then walking away. I'm a little crabby when I wake up. Not a fan.
Lainey and I both showered. I used my new peach shampoo I'd bought in Astorga. It smells amazing. This will
Be my regular shampoo for Madrid. After we showered, we did laundry, and then it was "tea time at half past four" both the British gals would alert the pilgrims.
Oh, and Dennis arrived! While in the shower, Lainey was telling me he made the extra 15+ kilometers to reach us. As I was walking to hang laundry he greeted me by my actual name, rather than Lisa. Haha
We chat for a few minutes. He's starting to get some heat rash, and I'm about out of the medicine, so I'll reuse my prescription to get us some to split tomorrow when the pharmacy is open.
We head over to join everyone for tea. A delicious tea. Maybe English? Lemon wedges, milk, sugar, and sweet raisin bread with fondant. It's quite lovely. Please go back and read that sentence in a British accent.
At tea time I get to chat with a kind man from Denmark and a gorgeous gal named Kelly from Santa Cruz, CA. It's the best meeting other CA people along The Way.
I sneak up to blog on my bed for a bit. It's a little noisy in the room, so I transfer myself to a bathroom stall where it's dark and quiet and I can just sit and catch up on blogging. So... Hiding in the
bathroom to recharge again, I guess.
I reemerge after and hour probably. None of my buds are in sight, other than Dennis who is engaged with some other pilgrims, so I head down the little town street. Maybe they went back to the garden we saw at the beginning. They weren't there. There was, however, a very intimate face massage going on in the sunshine. I left to check one of the smaller churches. Nope. Wasn't even accessible to peruse around in as the gate only permitted a 7x18ft area past the curtain door to walk around in.
You see so many churches on this pilgrimage. Beautiful, all of them. But so many. I, personally, become desensitized to them. They don't feel as special any more. I guess that's how exposure works.
I only stayed in the church for less than a minute. When I brushed the massive, heavy curtains aside to leave I saw Chris and Lainey walking down the hill toward me. They had followed me, they said. We headed back to the garden together to hammock and chill. We awkwardly watched the girl getting the intimate face massage from the half-naked man as his hands moved down her face and across her brows to the rhythm of the yoga music.
After about a half hour, we plucked a few cherries from the tree and headed back up the hill to the 12th century roman church where Vespers would be held by two Benedictine monks and two priests. The church was gorgeous. Very small, but incredibly old and the patchy restoration spots made it all the better. The Vespers were chanted and sung in Latin. I tried to follow a program for part of it. It was neat for the first 10 or so minutes, but after an hour of sitting and listening to men chant and sing in a language I didn't understand, and not being able to see anything that was going on since I was in the very last pew, I was getting a little eager to go. I tried to relax my body and remind myself that the latin words they were chanting were in praise and adoration to my Heavenly Father.
As we left the church, we were able to see the monks. One was South Korean, so all the Korean pilgrims flocked to him in awe and admiration.
Chris, Julia, and I headed to the bar. Bartenders in Spain that I've encountered tend to be impatient. They want you drink order stat so they can move on to their next duty. We were asking questions, perusing the menu.
He gives us a moment.
"Dime..." (Tell me) he grunts.
I order my rosado wine, Julia orders her red, and Chris points to a bottle of IPA.
As he's getting our drinks, we see some clients leave a table with untouched appetizers and bread still on plates.
"Are you going to just toss those?" I ask in hopes that they can be in my belly instead of the trash.
"No, these are pinchos," he curtly responds.
"Okay."
We grab our drinks and take them to our table. He grabs are attention and lifts a two plates full of pinchos...
"Are you guys hungry?"
Over the duration of our occupancy at the table, he graces us with another two more plates full of pinchos all on the house. I judged too soon.
I'm the first to pay for my glass of wine and leave. Only 1.49€. And I got free food. I tip him a €. You don't usually tip in Spain, so he showed appreciation of my gesture as I showed appreciation of his.
Back to the albergue. The hospitalero's made themselves a feast of salmon, roasted drumsticks, spring mix salad, and farro/lentil salad. I enjoy an plate full. It's a quarter to nine, so kitchen will close soon. I consolidate the left-overs to put in the small fridge.
The group of Koreans had made a big group meal for themselves. I help them dry their dishes, and Shesong, who studies in Texas, helps me wash mine.
I stay with Chris and Lainey in the kitchen as they squeeze in a quick plate and I a cup of coffee.
Loved today.
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