I decide to french-braid my hair, which has been hard to do since it's been drying funky.
Lend Lainey one of my jackets because of the chill.
Breakfast toast/jam, I make a mocha using the instant coffee and cocoa powder, and there are crackers.
Down hill today. It can feel rough on those knees. After going through a few quiet neighborhoods early in the morn, we come upon an outdoor bar oasis tun by a pretty Bulgarian gal who fell in love on the Camino and stayed in Spain to run a Camino bar with the love of her life. It had a similar hippie, buddhist, positive vibe like Suzie and David's oasis from the other day, but with a commercial twist. There were hammocks and beachy furniture there on the grass yard of her home. Even a small kids swing set and teeter-totter off to the side. I ordered a coffee with the crema de orujo liquor. I unraveled my rolled up fortune: CHANGE. Hmm. We enjoyed the atmosphere and conversation, then continued on.
While walking down the hill, we passed a handful of people from Carmichael, which was fun chatting with them for a moment as we navigated over the loose rocks.
We arrived to Molinaseca and ventured into the church first thing. Scratch that. Lainey and I peed behind the church first thing and then we went inside. By Camino standards, that's much more normal than it sounds.
Inside the church, the main pews were separated from the pulpit/altar/elite pews by a floor-to-ceiling gate. I wish I'd had my Camille or Father Stanley there to explain the purpose of the gate. I hadn't seen it in any other churches. The church was decorated with dolls that I'd assumed were saints and other important people. However there was one doll that was dressed in a dark monk robe that had charcoal black skin. It was a little odd and out of place. It looked like it was supposed to be a saint that was burned up or something. The volunteer gal who stamped our credenciales said it's an unknown saint that an unknown person brought from Italy.
As we entered the city more, we came across pilgrims on horse backs. "The horses should get the Compostela certificate, not the riders," Olya half-joked.
Molinaseca had something I haven't seen yet on this trip. It's called a fluvial beach. It's basically a public swimming hole ik a river equipped with railings. It was a little too chilly to swim otherwise we would've tried it out.
We walked passed a bar that had this sign:
"Homemade tortilla made by my mom"
We stopped in a small store and I got candy. They have German raspberries which is one of my favorite candies (thanks to my mama). I loaded up a bag with these and others to share with my buds. Olya and I also split a tuna empanada. Spaniards like tuna a lot, but they eat it hot mostly, which my tongue isn't so sure of.
We began to leave town, when Olya realized she'd left her walking stick somewhere. She insisted we go on without her. Chris and Lainey were several minutes ahead of us. I got in my zone and just walked behind the other pilgrims along the side of the road. At some point I saw some arrows across the street along side a dirt road in the vineyard and realized that all off us werw off the Camino path. I crossed the street to get on it and found myself to be the only pilgrim actually on the Camino path. It only took me about a half mile along the vineyard before it combined with the ither pilgrims on the road again.
Booking along, I eventually caught up with Chris in Lainey. In the next town we stopped for water at the underground Roman fountain, except the water was untreated so we just looked at it.
When we came back up we saw Julia, wo the four of us walked together into Ponferrada.
The first thing we see as we enter Ponferrada (as I sit on the cement switching into Tevas) is that their are two bridges adjacent to eachother. One is a medieval Roman bridge made of stone, the other a modern, 21st century bridge with glass siding. Such a contrast, but such a great representation of Spain as a whole.
Uphill we go through the streets and come upon a huge castle that welcomes us to this poppin' city. We cross the mote to peek inside, but skip the paid tour this time. A few hundred feet down the road and we fin ground fountains for kiddos to play through in the square that leads to the basilica. We enter in and it takes a few minutes for our eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. It's gorgeous. Massive. Silent.
Walking through the square, past the restaurants, I see a sign with a picture of a blended coffee drink "Frappelatte". Yes please. I order one with whip. Everything my tongue has been wanting and my eyes haven't found on this trip. It was delightful.
We pop into a grocery store. I pick up a baguette, chorizo, sheep cheese, a cucumber, and cherry tomatoes. Julia and I follow Lainey and Chris with a groceries to the kebab restaurant where they eat lunch. We sit on the sidewalk patio set and much our grocery goods while listening to the faint recital of an opera singer in one of the apartments above us. What a moment.
The for of us head on our way. It's around 2 o'clock and we still have another 17km to get to our destination town.
We walk through several small towns. I climb a tree to get Lainey and I cherries on the side of the road. I didn't grow up in Penryn, CA for nothin'. The tree climbing and rock hopping I learned to do on those ten acres growing up has proven the most handy.
We stop for water in every town. In one town we stop under and awning covered in vines. The white, stone statue has nipples and public hair graffitied onto it. We sit on the benches and pop sunflower seeds into eachother's mouths.
Onward we go. It's becoming more common that we have to step to the far side of the path to let wide tractors pass. Farming country.
Lainey and I stop into a cemetery that catches my attention. It has cubbies. I have never seen this before. Lainey says she's seen it in the States. It kind creeps me out. Cubbies full of corpses.
We begin to pass through more vineyards. Wine country.
We reach the bottom of a hill and I pee behind some trees. Chris sees a post on a tree for a hostel for only 6€ that serves a vegetarian meal (Chris and Lainey are vegans). I call the number listed and a sweet Brittish gal answers the phone and ends the call saying she'll have hot tea waiting for us. I feel welcomed already and still have 4km before we get there. We go through Cacabelos. They also have one of those fluvial beaches. It's full of people sunbathing on the green grass and kids diving into the river one after the other. How appetizing that looks after such a long day of walking in the heat, but our hostel will be another mile up the hill, so we continue. On our way out we pass the parish hostel at the church of Cacabelos. I spy a Father Stanley, so swing by to catch up.
We continue uphill.
We finally arrive to the top and walk down another side hill to get to our hostel. We are welcomed by spicy tea a warm smiles. We had the expectation of a donativo dinner based on something about the flier posted, but it's actually 10€. I opt out. I still have food from the store.
I shower, shave my pits (it was time), and do my laundry. Munch on dinner while chatting with a German girl named Yokur as she smokes a cigarette. I fashion her an ash tray out of some tinfoil I had.
Our hostel has no wifi, so I opt to look for one. The town of Pieros where our hostel is nestled is small. Only one bar and it's already closed. I decide to make my way back down the hill about a mile a way to Cacabelos. I use the wifi to Facetime my folks. They'll get to see my brother, sis-in-law, and favorite nephew in a matter of hours. Most hostels have curfews, but I forget to check the one for ours. At 10pm I hang up with my folks and make my way out of the city by 10:05 guessing the curfew might by 10:30. I consider hitch-hiking bac up the hill, but never do. By 10:27 I have yet to reach the top, so sprint a little just in case.
When I finally make it up and then down the hill to our hostel, I'm thankful to see the front door wide open. The kind hospitaleros are chatting around the dinning table.
"Everything okay?" Lou, the Brittish lady, asks.
"Yeah."
I try to quietly grab my things to brush my teeth and then climb up my rustic bunk bed.
Lainey and I whisper to eachothers from our top bunks about how our evenings went and any plans we have for the morning and then wish eachother a goodnight.
I was in an off most of the evening which made it so I didn't enjoy the beautiful hostel as much. The volunteers made for a loving experience that I feel I rejected by not participating in dinner, in the evening toured walk with the group, or even conversation. I picked the wrong night to be disconnected, so hopefully I'll have the chance to redo my visit at this sweet hostel at a time when I'm not being a grumpous.
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