Since I went to bed early the night before, I finally took the time to watch the Tour de France documentary series. A great series that gives you a deeper look into the backstage of the spectacle. In Slovenia, people split into Team Roglič[1] and Team Pogačar[2]. Well, that little pussy Pogačar still gets on my nerves. I’ll probably never get over the moment he stuck a finger up Roglič’s ass that one year on the Tour – whichever one it was. I was honestly glad he came in second this year. I know, I’m awful.
At 10:00 PM I closed my eyes, but in the room next door the guys were so loud it was impossible to sleep. The rules here are clear – complete silence after 10. But the Spanish crew didn’t shut up until 11. I lost it and stormed over to their room. I didn’t even say anything – just gave them a look that said I’m ready to kill. If that hadn’t worked, I would’ve told them I’m related to the Berliner. Luckily, the look was enough. Yeah, I know, I’m getting old. Look, I don’t mind people chatting at a normal volume – but don’t be a damn Pavarotti. Finally, silence – and then: a mosquito buzzing around my head. It fucked with my nerves for a good hour. Once it was full of my blood, I ended up soaking in my own sweat – plastic mattresses. If that’s what menopause feels like, I want none of it.
The plan was to wake up at 5:30 because it was going to be hellishly hot, but after all the nonsense during the night, I got up at 7. Yay. Perfect day to go strolling through hell with a fucked-up foot. How did the day start? With pain, of course. So the Berliner and I decided to finally put my poor toe out of its misery and walked on paths steep enough to rip the nail off from both sides. That way, the pain would at least stop. But the bastard wouldn’t give in – just as stubborn as I am. So we went for a small beer to numb the pain.
Because of the heat, that beer hit hard, and we started mocking pretty much every female hiker that passed by. The trail was a parade of pink, glitter, long neon stiletto nails, tattooed-on brows in font size 100, leopard leggings, puffed-up lips, stretched faces, and Prada perfume. Basically blink-blink shit that has no business being in nature if you ask me. The Berliner was in shock – not used to this. I told him this is the new normal of the 21st century. He said this isn’t funny anymore – that women look like monsters. I told him it’s not their fault, it’s the people in that business who should’ve failed art class.
He was jealous – the guys around here are just ridiculously good-looking. I told him to turn gay so he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. Anyway, I’m the one doing most of the work here, so I need some eye candy if we’re going to make it to Faro.
Somewhere during that visual horror show, the pain in my toe disappeared. But because I wanted to see the Berliner’s rare smile again, I told him that women with nails like that look like Freddy Kruegerettes and I wonder how they wipe their asses after taking a shit. The dude nearly pissed himself laughing. And if I see another person walking in Crocs, we’re heading back to the highway – it’s less hell than this fashion runway.
The Almighty was obviously disappointed with our behaviour and led us straight up a hill so steep our laughter turned to tears – and there wasn’t even any shade. So the bargaining began. I promised to behave, to act my age, and who knows what else came out of my mouth – just to survive that damn hill. What kind of vacation is this if I can’t even roast people in peace for an hour? When we finally started heading downhill, the Berliner and I gave each other a secret high five – what a ride. On the descent, I saw another gorgeous guy, smiling beautifully. I couldn’t help myself and told him, “You’re going to hell, so good luck.” I raised my hand for a high five, he gave me one, and I continued on.
That day, I booked a private room – I needed real rest and peace. When I got there, I was completely dead from the heat and the pain. Right after me, a priest walked in – also on the Camino. And who got check-in priority? Not me, even though I came first. I struggled to keep my mouth shut – but I managed. While they chatted forever about God knows what, I was thinking of going to a church, stealing a nun’s outfit and using that for priority. The Almighty pulled my ear for even thinking it. Fine, fine, I won’t. When the owner finally got around to me, she showed me to my room – which was up a narrow, steep staircase you could easily die on. I hit the shower and then went out for a late lunch.
At the restaurant, at the next table, a bunch of loud and cheerful Spaniards invited me to join them – and since it doesn’t take much to push a frog into water, I did. From here on out, I plead the Fifth.
[1] Primož Roglič - is a professional road racing cyclist from Slovenia, currently riding for Red Bull - BORA - hansgrohe.
[2] Tadej Pogačar - is a Slovenian professional cyclist who currently rides for UCI WorldTeam UAE Team Emirates.
