Of course this morning didn’t go as planned – why would it, right? I woke up to a text from the Spaniard saying he and Viktor were catching the 7:50 bus and continuing all the way to Ourense that same day. That gave me a whole 20 minutes to decide and get my shit together. Heroically, I made up my mind in one minute, packed in five – my backpack is always ready from the night before (I’m like those paranoid characters in action movies who sleep with their shoes by the bed). The only thing I grabbed was my toothbrush – Camino is hard, but halitosis is harder.
We headed out together to the bar, which doubled as the bus stop. Luckily – bless all the gods of coffee – it was open, so we downed a dose of courage. Just five days ago I was complaining that it was too hot in the morning. Today? I was freezing to my very soul. The wind here doesn’t stop. Full-time employee, no lunch break, no days off.
After coffee, we went outside to wait for the bus. And then – déjà vu – Spaniards and punctuality? Mission impossible. I was frozen solid, the Spaniards too. No bus in sight. Finally, a minibus shows up, looking more like a stretched van. We waved like maniacs, hailing a taxi: “Hey! We’re here!” The driver? He just cruised on by. As if we were ghosts. Naturally, we thought it wasn’t our bus. So we waited another 20 minutes. Went back inside the bar, only to find out – yes, that was our bus. And yes, the driver ignored us. Fantastic start to the day. I swear he looked straight at us, thought, “Ah, hikers… fuck you,” and kept driving. I cursed him in every possible way in my head. Standing out there in the cold, only to be ignored? Bravo, señor driver, gold medal for hospitality.
So we called a taxi, which took us to the next town where we could catch another bus to Ourense. Even in the car, the smoke from the fires was still thick – I could smell it through the windows. A sad ride. So much destroyed land. I killed time by quickly writing yesterday's entry.
We arrived in town a bit after nine. The bus wasn’t until 10:30. Which meant waiting. Hell. Probably the hardest day so far – not because of walking, not because of the heat, not because of blisters – but because of waiting for the damn bus. We, who were used to silence, fresh air, and “hiking meditation,” were stuck in noise and smoke. My soul wept.
Over coffee, I confessed to José that I’d fucked up the day. It was Massimo’s birthday, and I’d promised to be there for the party. And here I was, on a bus. Disappointed in myself. And to make it worse – I had to skip two stages by bus. For me, that’s rock bottom. Camino is “all in or no in.” If it’s hard, if it hurts, if you can barely stand – fine, no one said Camino was a spa retreat. But the bus? That’s torture. This was my worst Camino day. I missed Massimo’s birthday and skipped two stages.
I know it’s not my fault. I know I’m capable. But those 80 kilometres will be missing. And my ego? Crushed to the core. I cried. So much preparation, so much effort, and then – right before the finish – I’m stuck on a bus. Worst-case scenario. It felt like I hadn’t walked 920 km, but zero. Those missing 80 km ruin everything. My ego is flying a black flag.
When we got to Ourense, I just wanted out of the city. We grabbed some food at a shop and then hit the trail. The trail immediately showed its teeth – a climb that put me on all fours. The guys sprinted up like they were auditioning for the Tour de France on foot. Me? I said, “No, thanks.” If I sprint, I’ll be picking my lungs up off the ground like lost gloves.
Halfway up, reality hit me. Two stages gone, Massimo’s birthday gone… I screw everything up. My world collapsed. Panic. I wanted to continue alone – without the “warriors” – because I didn’t want them to see me in tears. I needed space for my wounded ego. But I couldn’t. I stayed sad until the end of the trail. I entered the village with sunglasses on, so no one would see my tears. And yes – I don’t give a shit if anyone understands. This is my Camino, my challenges, my screw-ups, and my pain. You don’t need to get it. There’s a saying: “Before you judge someone, walk a mile in their shoes.” Screw that saying. I say: “Before you judge me, jump into my head.” You wouldn’t last a minute.
Once the climb ended, the path got easier on my body – but not on my mind. My thoughts couldn’t accept that I’d conquered the hardest summer stages, healed my foot, walked half the way pain-free… and yet my ego still screamed: “Not enough! You’re missing 80 km!”
At the finish, I went straight to a bar to kill the pain. Beer instead of aspirin. Again in the middle of nowhere, without Massimo, without his girlfriend. I texted José: told him I was in the village, that I was okay but not happy because of the bus. He understood. I told him I’d join them at the hostel in 20 minutes, once I’d finished my beer and unclenched my jaw.
And then – bam! – around the corner comes Anita, smiling like the sun. My phone nearly dropped from shock. I was so happy to see her! That meant we’d celebrate Massimo’s birthday together after all. I bought her a beer, and she admitted her bus day was morbidly boring too. They hadn’t wanted to stay in the city without us. I apologised for leaving without them in the morning, but clearly my brain had stayed in bed while I was already sitting in the taxi. She understood. Thank God, because I felt horribly guilty – I always try to keep my promises.
The day turned around. Massimo arrived at the bar and got a zillion kisses from me for his birthday, plus an apology for my screw-up. In the end, we were all together again – in the middle of nowhere, in some tiny village – smiling and content.
