60. That wasn’t the number of kilometres I walked that day, but the number of beds in the albergue I stayed in – all crammed into one single room. Which meant an orchestra played all night – and they hadn’t even rehearsed for the show. I spent the night listening to snoring that sounded like chainsaws, and farting that resembled motocross engines. With that kind of noise, there was no way I could sleep – and I wasn’t the only one. One poor bastard tried to end the dreadful melody by clapping loudly, hoping it would bring peace and quiet. He was so effective, he ended up waking everyone else up. In that moment, a few of us shouted, “STOP CLAPPING!” He stopped. The orchestra carried on – full brass section. So yeah, my night went to shit. I probably got less than two hours of sleep.
I was grumpy as hell in the morning, knowing I had 20 km uphill ahead of me and no chance of coffee. There are no bars in the hills. But since morning coffee is an absolute MUST, I chose to follow the road instead – better chances of hitting a bar.
Luck smiled on me; but at a price. I ended up walking 7 km more than planned. The road was full of long bends, climbs and descents. Asphalt, my love – I could walk fast, and my feet didn’t get tortured like on rocky forest trails. There was no shortage of curves – I started counting them just to keep my mind occupied. At bend number 412, I gave up. The scenery was too beautiful to count. I walked under viaducts, over viaducts, and the Atlantic kept me company on my right. The first part of the walk was sunny, the second was drenched in rain. The annoying kind – relentless. No pictures, because I had to protect my phone. Out here, my survival depends on that phone. The day before, I’d reserved a bed over the phone and told the guy I’d arrive late – I had 48 km to cover, so 3 PM was out of the question. I asked him to expect me around 7 PM.
I called again the next day to confirm I’d definitely come, just that I’d need more breaks – because, duh, 48 km. He said no problem, the bed would wait. I arrived at 6:30 PM – earlier than promised. And what was waiting for me? Definitely not my bed.
I saw red.
After walking over 40 km in heat pushing past 40°C, all a hiker wants is a fucking bed and a shower. Physically and mentally wrecked, I didn’t even have the energy to yell at the guy for not keeping his word.
The next albergue? 15 km away.
So I asked what could be done. His solution: “You can sleep on the floor.” For the same price as a bed. The floor hadn’t been cleaned in years, probably. Of course, I paid for this Hilton-level experience – but I didn’t take a shower. The place was crawling with cockroaches. So, for €20, instead of sleeping in a bed and showering, I slept on the floor and cracked open a beer. Meanwhile, the albergue owner drove home in his shiny white Mercedes. Lying on the floor, thinking about tomorrow’s plan – walking 65 km – made me want to puke. There’s no way you can pull that off after a shit night’s sleep. But I told myself, “You’ll manage.”
Then along came a Spaniard named Nacho. He’d overheard me talking about the kilometres and wanted to give me his bed – said I needed it more than he did. I thanked him and declined. “It is what it is. That’s Camino life,” I told him. But the guy didn’t give up. He insisted I take his bed so I could get some rest. My ego said no. I was too tired to argue. So I asked him if he had a beer and offered to share one instead. We had two – as you’d expect from a Spaniard studying architecture in Ireland. That last sip of beer gave me enough energy to hug him and thank him for being a genuinely good person. Time to say goodbye – though I really didn’t want to. There was something mutual in our energy. But it was bedtime. And the Almighty wasn’t done testing me. People in the albergue partied until 2 AM – because they only had 20 km to walk the next day. If I only had 20 km ahead of me, I wouldn’t even bother going to bed.
So I knew I could kiss my 65 km plan goodbye and started checking the app to find a new place to sleep the next day. There are municipal albergues that are cheap, but you can’t reserve them. First come, first served. I had 40 km to the next one. It could be full by the time I got there. So I decided to get up at 5:30 AM and hit the road by 6. Try my luck at getting a bed.
