Last night we slept in the hills, which usually means good sleep since it cools down nicely in the evening. For the last three kilometres before yesterday's stage ended, I told Mum I'd take the road, even though it was a kilometre longer. I just felt like it. When I got to the village, I of course ducked into a bar — not because I was thirsty, but because I knew there was neither a shop nor a restaurant here. So anything resembling survival supplies would have to come from the bar. Natalija had gone ahead to the accommodation.
And right as I took my first sip of beer and started settling into my zen, Natalija calls me. Whining that she can't get the fridge open. I ask her what she even needs a fridge for, since she doesn't have any food with her. Her: "I don't know." Great. Another French drama with zero sensible reason behind it. I tell her I'm at the bar and there's no shop in this village. Ten minutes later she shows up, grinning from ear to ear. I really can't stay mad at her for more than three minutes.
I explain again that there's no shop and we'll be eating here. Of course she doesn't believe me. Back to the magic word "No." So she goes to check for herself — and spends 10 minutes torturing the poor lady at the bar. Meanwhile I was having my zen moment. Once she'd gotten confirmation of everything I'd already told her, she wants to tell it back to me. I cut her off with: "QUIET, NOW! I already know all of this. Sit down and be still. Especially your tongue." She starts laughing. Hallelujah, she's finally understood I need silence.
We decided to order lunch right away, since we wouldn't feel like walking back to the bar later. We ordered a mixed salad with pasta. The vegetables were from the owner's own garden and my taste buds noticed. Finally, real food! The chef kept bragging that everything on the plate came from his garden. I asked him if the tuna in the salad grew there too. He laughed: "Not that one." A day without humour is a wasted day, in my book.
After lunch we bought a few things for the accommodation. A biscuit the size of a 2cm coin cost €2, same as a canned beer. Screw the biscuits — it's obvious which direction I went.
When we got to the accommodation, we were surprised — there was a German guy inside, more interested in his food than in the two of us. I completely understand him. Who'd voluntarily listen to two crazy women? In my free time I also prefer hanging out with men — you sort everything out with them in a minute. With women it's more like a roundabout: you enter, and you keep circling until you lose the will to live.
We spent the rest of the day on cryotherapy, writing the blog, and uploading footage from my drone, Zizi. I call him that because he buzzes. Natalija told me "zizi" means "sex" in French. Well, there's my first French word I'll never forget.
Meanwhile Natalija was planning how to get to Barcelona, since she has to attend her youngest daughter's wedding. She's old-school and doesn't like apps, especially not Google Maps. She kept asking me questions and interrupting my own tasks. Google Maps is my best friend out here. But why would Mum start using it now, when she's got me?
Oh, and the fridge door opened without any trouble the moment I tried it. Apparently I've got a kid on the Camino. Her little problems are honestly kind of endearing. One day I'll be old and lost in the modern world too, and I hope by then someone will open the fridge — or the dishwasher — for me.
When the problems get too much for her, I just give her a kiss on the cheek and a hug — the "it'll all be okay" kind.
We went to bed early, at 7 p.m., since a long day awaited. The night was so pleasant I ignored the alarm until 5:30. Screw walking — sleep sometimes matters more. So Mum and I walked my 15th day together again.
It's hard getting up at 3:30 if you want to cover 50 km before the sun roasts you. The French lady teased me that morning about my early rising and the kilometres, so I flipped her off as a good-morning greeting.
The morning was cold, and I put on a hoodie for the first time. The first bar was 8 km away — closed. The next, 3.5 km further — also closed. Natalija said we should wait, since it's Saturday. It's not Saturday, I told her. Back to the word "No" again.
I said I was going ahead, since one coffee isn't worth burning time in the middle of nowhere. She said we had plenty of time. I even pulled up Google Maps, found the bar's phone number, and called. Like I said I would. I handed the phone to the Frenchwoman and asked her to ask when they opened — no chit-chat about the weather or grandkids. The lady on the other end says the bar's open. Natalija tells her we're sitting right in front of it and the door's locked. Yeah — because I'd called the wrong bar. Screwed up, but at least in a funny way.
I went on, she stayed behind. In the end she reached the destination an hour and a half after me, without coffee or breakfast.
In the last eight kilometres I decided this was my last day of "messing around" with kilometres. 20 or 30 km just isn't enough for me anymore, so during those last eight kilometres I mentally prepared myself: from tomorrow it's 50 km a day, no exceptions.
A massive blister formed on my right foot, visible from an airplane. It burst on its own, stinging a little with every step. Gotta dry it out as soon as possible — that's today's only real plan.
Today was like a walk in the park — just 21.12 km and 319 metres of elevation. Tomorrow I want to reach Salamanca, 50 km away. Since I'm up in elevation now, the heat's easing off a bit. We'll see tomorrow how smart today's thinking really was.
