A modest 17 km under my feet today, but better than attempting suicide with 45. “Camino is rest and enjoyment, not just suffering,” Gro said. I pretended I didn’t hear that, because to me the Camino isn’t suffering. For me, walking is rest and freedom. I love walking all day. But since I was in no rush, I decided to take her advice—especially because it was free. She’s a lawyer, after all. To soothe my ego, I told myself it was a strategic pause. Today’s stage didn’t disappoint, with stunning scenery and a misty sunrise. My soul cried from joy and my body jumped with happiness. Just what I needed after a rough year. Lots of downhill and just a bit of climbing. My body rests on descents. Many suffer going downhill, especially their knees, but not me—my ligaments are rock solid.
I finished the stage early, by 11:30. Since my backpack is my home on the Camino, it was time to clean it out. Then came handwashing clothes, since there was no washing machine. Just like the old days. The albergue looked like something out of Hitler’s youth—total shit. The bunk beds creaked like the hips of a 90-year-old. The mattresses smelled like World War II. The bathroom was clean for exactly ten seconds of my shower. In and out. Disgusting, but part of the Camino mosaic. There were more flies than hikers in this place, and they didn’t let me have a proper siesta. They were a workout for my nerves—and they won. I left the albergue and walked to a run-down shop about 500 meters away. It was raided clean. Somehow I still managed to find the ingredients for a decent sandwich, which I’ll eat tomorrow since we’ll face the boss of all hills on this Camino. It’s gonna torture us for 25 km. No shops. No bars. Just cows you can either milk or slaughter if you’re hungry. On the way back to the albergue, I noticed all the hikers were standing outside. Weird. When I got there, they told me someone tested positive for COVID and the whole place had to be disinfected and we all had to get tested. Some people panicked, others started ranting about the long-term effects of the vaccine, and the third group—our group—flipped them both off and said, “We knew COVID could hit the Camino, and we still chose to walk. It’s a risk we accepted.” The owner started spraying the whole albergue with who knows what—lots of it. The flies definitely died. The place was probably disinfected for the first time in years, if not cleaned. Some folks left out of fear. I have no idea where they went and honestly didn’t care, because they were annoying with all that paranoia. I was actually relieved they were gone—the negative energy went with them.
Moral of the story: STAY THE FUCK HOME IF YOU’RE SCARED OF COVID.
