Yesterday Nathalie and I went to the shop together to stock up. The guy working there spoke English, so for a moment I thought about staying – the place even had chairs outside, which basically made it a shop with a bar. And if you’re missing an item of clothing, you can buy that there too.
While the village was gearing up for its fiesta, Nathalie and I cooled our feet and made plans for the next day. She made it very clear that tomorrow she was heading to Salamanca – she wanted to attend the 12:00 mass. She’s Catholic. I told her that’s not exactly my cup of tea and that I’d like to go past Salamanca – to a place currently 36 km away. But then I started thinking… sleep probably wouldn’t happen again tonight anyway, because the youngsters would be partying outside our lodging too. The owner confirmed it. He also told us to lock the doors when we go to bed, just in case someone gets the bright idea to turn the place into an afterparty.
So I decided I’d sleep in Salamanca tomorrow. It would be a sin to skip this city. Nathalie was happy – apparently she enjoys my company.
No air conditioning in this place either, just two roof windows, both quite high up. So I decided I’d do a little climbing and sleep on the top bunk, right under the window. That way I’d have fresh air and a view of the stars. We went to bed quite early, around 19:00. Since it stays light here almost until 22:00, Nathalie built herself a blanket bunker around her bed so she could have darkness. I told her she’d be cooked by morning without air, but she didn’t care. She also grumbled about too few sockets and only one tap in the kitchen.
I started laughing and asked her if she’d forgotten she was on the Camino. There’s no luxury here – only the basics you need to survive. That’s why I love the Camino – it reminds you that you don’t need much for life and happiness. People are too used to having everything at their fingertips: shops on every corner, bars, ATMs, comfy beds, nice bathrooms, tidy kitchens. Here, it’s the opposite. And when I get back home, I appreciate it all more. The Camino teaches you the simplicity of life. She agreed with me – without her usual “No.” I was shocked.
The night was peaceful for me, and I slept great. At 3:00 I woke up only because of a full bladder. That’s when I heard music – well, more like bass. I’m used to that from my party days, so it didn’t bother me – it even lulled me back to sleep. No shouting, so I was out again until 6:00. The plan was to leave at 6:30 since we had only 20 km ahead. And so we did – but each our own way. She took the Camino path, because she enjoys unpleasant foot massages, while I stuck to the road.
Starting to walk at sunrise, on asphalt – pure paradise for me. It was beautiful and not hot at all. After 10 km, a Porsche drove towards me and stopped. Behind the wheel – the man from yesterday’s shop. He smiled and asked if I’d had breakfast yet. I told him just a little. He pulled over, opened the boot, and pulled out four churros and a beer. He said I deserved a good breakfast. I told him it was only 8:30 and a bit early for beer. He asked if I was working tomorrow. I said no. Then he told me to sit down by the side of the road so we could have breakfast together. And I thought – why not, it’s all part of the Camino.
It was a morning like no other. In the end, he offered me a lift to Salamanca, and for a moment I really thought how nice it would be to ride there with him. Horsepower, the sound, the smell of petrol. Pure poetry. But sadly, my ego wouldn’t allow it. I thanked him, gave him a kiss on the cheek and a tight hug, and then we each went our own way – him to work on a Sunday, me to enjoy Salamanca.
I even shed a tear out of pure contentment – how little it takes for someone to make you smile and brighten your day. I won’t forget him.
The walk to Salamanca went quickly. I passed many smiling cyclists. Just before the city, I stopped at a bar called Mother. Because, as Cankar would say, “Mother, I’d like some coffee.” This time, my coffee was a beer.
When I had only 5 km left to go, I spotted “mum” – Nathalie – in the distance. I walked behind her so she wouldn’t disturb my zen, because we all know what happens when you greet a French person. I saw her searching for a gravel track, but that didn’t lead to the city centre – only a nicely paved path for pedestrians and cyclists did. She was clearly suffering on the asphalt. When we had just 2 km to go, I finally called out: “Nathalie!” We entered the pleasant city together – full of life, with guitar music on every corner.
Once in the centre, it was time for her to go to mass, and for me to write today’s entry to the soundtrack of a guitar by the cathedral. I don’t need much – just a bit of shade and some music. More about the city later, after I’ve explored it.
