Donativo Y’all… Days 25-28

Day 25: Ponferrada – Villafranca del Bierzo

Distance: 25.7 km

We were kicked out of our albergue at 8 am on this morning. Some of the albergues were extremely vigilant about times to leave, other less so. Some had a time to be out by, but no one was there to work the mornings so it was on the honors system. We slept in those days. I guess we weren’t that honorable.

Our dear friend Lisa decided to stay back in town another day.  We knew we wouldn’t see her again at that point. People come and go on the Camino and it’s sad to lose someone, but you can’t go at the pace of others, especially if they are stopping for an extra day somewhere. We enjoyed all our time with her.

The walking wasn’t too bad. It rained on and off, but not anything miserable. The biggest annoyance was putting on and then taking off your gear. Wearing our rain jackets was only a good idea in the rain. The rain ponchos were too hot to wear while walking waiting for rain. Of course, in a few days, the jackets would never come off and all hope would be lost.

The journey for me had become more difficult. A severe cold and cough had developed and I had begun to annoy everyone with a constant cough. (Ed. Note- The cough is gone and it only took  45 days)

In Villafranca del Bierzo, it was nice to to run into another “hearted” place to stay from the book. It is a hybrid pension/albergue. The benefit is they welcome you with something to drink, a seat to take, a kind word, and a calming attitude. For the first time in a while it wasn’t a cattle call.  We felt like people and not pilgrims. It was great.

I also volunteered to cook dinner that night with an appetizer course from Rachele. We had decided on burritos. Rachele had spent some time in San Francisco and missed the burritos. Tacos used to be a weekly meal at our house, so it was nice to make a dinner that felt a little more homey for us. Problem was it was extremely difficult to find the ingredients needed for burritos in rural Spain. Luckily, with a little ingenuity and some backpack spices,we made it happen. Maybe not the best ever, but really good, especially considering the alternative: toast and jamon.

Rachele made what we would call back home deviled eggs. These had tuna and capers so they were a tad fancier than just whipped yolk with mayo. Plus, with the leftover mayo and capers, Rachele and Candice got to have backpack food for the rest of the Camino. Poor Candice packed the best compared to all of us, but we forced her to carry all the spices, capers, mayo, etc. that wouldn’t fit in our own packs.

Day 26: Villafranca del Bierzo – La Faba

Distance: 28.6 km

The walk today was rainy. It didn’t rain all day, but a fair amount. I don’t have a lot of pictures, which is indicative of inclement weather. I was also starting to feel worse so I walked alone almost the entire day.

We stopped for a long break at one point as we were all tired and tired of walking. We were all having issues of one form or another. Most of us had various bites from some form of insect. Others had shin splints and heavier packs to deal with. Some were just grumpy.

And then the tall Dutchman shows up. We hadn’t seen him since the snoring incident and were surprised he would even talk to us. We spoke a bit, said goodbye to him and his accompaniment, and kept walking. Nice to see him after losing Lisa a day before.

We were supposed to end in O’Cebreiro per the book, but we were never gonna make it that far. As we were dragging our bodies across the Camino, we stopped early in another town at a refugio. It’s another type of place to stay along on the Camino. This establishment was run by a commune of hippies. It was fine and no one died or converted.

Day 27: La Faba – Triacastela

Distance: 26.5 km

The first day of hell. We awoke to rain. A lot of rain. Not a downpour, but a good solid rain. We left later in the morning than planned due in some part to the rain, but mostly due to the nutella and banana crepes we ate for breakfast. I have no idea how many crepes we all ate, but the hippies were working nonstop to keep up with our demand. The Dutchman and his group also stopped and stayed with us, much to our surprise, so we enjoyed talking to them that night and the following morning at breakfast.

By the time we got to O’Cebreiro, we were good and wet. We had now entered Galacia, an unpredictable weather area of Spain. O’Cebreiro was a beautiful stone town, covered in a dense layer of fog, making the town seem even more interesting and mysterious.

We took refuge in a cafe to warm up. It had split doors and the proprietor kept the top half of one of the doors open. As we sat, we could watch the rain splatter in as the fog crept into the doorway only to dissipate once entering the cafe.

We had to keep walking though. By the time we made it to the next place to stop, another town, we were drenched. Shoes, socks, pants, underoos. Everything from the neck to the navel was fine. Anything else was wet. We sat in the cafe, wondering when it would quit, wondering if it was worth it, wondering if anything would ever dry out again.

Who showed up? The Dutchman. He and his crew had eventually decided to head out and had caught up with us (being nearly a foot taller than all of us, it was easy for him to catch up). He was in much better spirits than us. He always was. He seemed to know any and every language to speak to someone. He never met a stranger because he could always speak their language. We were/are incredibly jealous.

We left there, having sat our soaked gear near the furnace, and continued on our way. Two things happened at this point which define my (Clay) Camino experience.

The wind was whipping, the rain was coming down in torrents, and no one was having a good time. I decided to play a game with Rachele. It was a great way to get to know someone but a better way to pass the time. The rules are simple and the game can be played with any number of people. On this day it was only Rachele and Clay. I began to talk. Rachele could not interrupt at all. The only way to get me to not talk anymore was to say stop. However, once Rachele said stop, she had to begin talking and could not stop until Clay said stop.

Again, the game is mostly to pass time. Someone talks, someone partially listens. Minutes pass and before you know it, you have walked 4-5 km and the day does not seem to be dragging on.

Rachele lasted 20 minutes before telling me to stop. After 35 minutes Rachele gave up talking and admitted she didn’t have much left to say. So I won.

By this point we had entered a street with a few buildings. Mostly dilapidated houses, we were somewhere in rural Spain, covered in water, headed to our next city. We walked by the last house in town and an extremely old woman came creeping out of the doorway. She started yelling “un momento” at us. “One moment, one moment!”  Rachele and I looked at each other, confused and a bit concerned. No telling what this little old lady needed.

Elizabeth and Candice showed up as well trying to figure out what this crazy Spanish lady needed. Back out from her house, she arrived with a plate of what looked likes crepes. She began to sprinkle something on top, could have been salt or sugar, and pushed the plate toward us. It was if I didn’t eat one I may die or she may die. Her one goal in life seemed to be feeding pilgrims along their long arduous trek across Spain.

I was the first to take a crepe covered in something. I began to walk off as the others in the group fell in line grabbing a “crepe”, while a mangy cat circled the old lady’s feet. Once I was 10 feet or so away from the woman, she hit me over the head. Not with a bat or a wooden plank, but with her words.

“Donativo!!!! Donativo!!!!”

She had not given these as a gift. No, this generosity had a price attached.

I realized this wasn’t a sweet old grandma making sure her grandkids (pilgrims) were fed. It was a grifting old bag intent on nickel and diming her way through life swindling any and every pilgrim who walked by thinking there are decent people left in the world.

I was shell shocked. I gave her most of the change I had in my pocket, probabaly 80 cents or so, and started walking again. I was so angered and enraged I couldn’t think. I couldn’t talk. I could barely function.

I naively thought this was a nice person doing a nice thing for pilgrims drowning in the rain, but all it was for her was a way to make a buck. I was devastated. It wasn’t the money that was the problem of course, but the way she went about acquiring it. I couldn’t even play the talking game with Rachele anymore.

I threw the crepe down and spat on it. I wasn’t gonna eat it. It could have been the crepe of youth and I would have died before I took a bite.

I finally regrouped after a minute or two.  I didn’t care that she felt the need to trick pilgrims. I just felt like there was no good left in the world if this person was having to revert to trickery to get some spare change.

I didn’t talk much the rest of the day, too upset to carry on any more meaningful conversation, which may have pleased everyone.

We arrived in a town eventually. Our shoes were waterlogged for the second time that day and we were forced to leave them outside to “dry” in the foggy, cold outdoors. We had rice and something else for dinner. I made popcorn and we went to bed. It was a rough night for all of us. The following days didn’t get much better.

Day 28: Triacastela – Sarria

Distance: 20.1 km

Less rain, same pain. Our shoes were still wet when we awoke. They didn’t dry out overnight or too much on this day. As we left the albergue, a dog began to walk with us a bit. It followed us for a block or two. Elizabeth, who has a knack for pretending to be able to speak to animals and talk in animal voices, pretended to talk like the dog who was walking us out of the city. The dog (Elizabeth) wished us well, gave us proper directions, and then did what every SOB in Spain would do, said “Donativo, y’all!!!”  

The group hit the floor. The four of us were laughing hysterically. Elizabeth admitted at this point that she had peaked in life and would never tell another joke as good again. To be fair, it was incredible, with perfect comedic timing.

The other defining moment of my Camino happened shortly after we started our day. When we got to a stopping point, the team decided to grab a coffee and a bite to eat. I decided to stay outside and enjoy my banana and water. I was tired of spending money on mediocre sandwiches. My cold was also making me feel terrible so I didn’t want to be around anyone.

The rain started to pick up though and forced me into the cafe. The rest of the team had ordered food, along with a couple other pilgrims, and were all sitting at a table together.  Everyone was in pretty good spirits, not having to walk in the rain at present.

Finally, someone asked for the check and the table was told all the meals at our table had been paid for by an older pilgrim couple. The couple never spoke to anyone at our table. They got up, left, and we are unsure if we ever saw them again.

I was fit to be tied. Less than 24 hours after losing all faith in humanity, here was humanity giving back. But I didn’t even get to enjoy the kindness of the strangers. I had sat outside eating my backpack food.

As they/we say, “The Camino gives, and the Camino takes.”

We chose not to do the alternate route that day as we had no interest in walking any extra. We were tired. Tired of walking, of being wet, and walking any extra distance.

Another thing we, especially Clay, were tired of. Cow shit.

Now I know what you are thinking. Clay, you shouldn’t use such language (I’m sure my parents are saying that, as Southern Baptists wouldn’t use such coarse talk). But if you had walked for almost thirty days and most of what you smelled, when you smelled anything at all, was cow shit, you would be annoyed too.

 

While on the Camino, I tried to put percentages to what we as pilgrims smell. This is my best guess and should be taken as absolute fact.

Smell:

Nothing: 60%

Cow shit: 25%

Diesel fumes: 5%

City funk/trash/sewage: 5%

Nature/rain/flowers/fresh cut grass/sweet onion: 5%

There was so much cow shit on the Camino it was almost unbelievable. Sure, if you are accustomed to working on a farm or living in a rural area you might deal with or encounter cow shit more frequently. But we are from the suburbs. We were born and raised in the burbs. We worked in the burbs, we ate in the burbs. We will die in the burbs.

You know what I have never smelled or stepped in in the burbs? Cow shit.

But every single day on the Camino, without fail, you will deal with it. You will step in it. You will smell it. It lurks around every corner and will slap you in the face before you know it.  No matter what town you walk into. Just before you step foot in the town, you will pass through where the cows live, and you will deal with their shit.

You cannot escape it. It is ever present. Like death and taxes.

I will never visit a zoo again.

(Mom and Dad, sorry for all the times I said shit for your friends to read. But seriously, it was awful)

We did eventually make it into a town. It was an adorable town with lots of old stone buildings.

We sat by a fire at night along with the albergue dog. It was the most adorable dog that has existed (besides our own Champion who is currently living it up with his grandparents) and while sitting in front of the fire, had the mannerisms of a human. 

I went to bed early while the group played cards. They drank Spanish moonshine provided by the albergue. I coughed my way through the night and eventually left the common sleeping room to sleep in a room outside. I slept a couple of hours while sitting straight up.

It sucked.

I was feeling even worse than normal and finally resigned to getting some medicine to help with the cough.