Yesterday at our last group dinner we made a pact to stay in touch throughout the year, at least until next summer when the Camino bug bites again – or maybe meet somewhere in Europe for a long weekend. One of those “friendship plans” that sound as optimistic as New Year’s resolutions. But hey, let’s roll with it.
Massimo cooked us pasta for the grand finale. A masterpiece, though for me a bit too spicy – but hey, if the alarm clock doesn’t wake me in the morning, my digestive tract surely will. The Italian version of “snooze.”
Since for once we each had our own room (luxury!) and Italy showed a bit of mercy, Massimo suggested we start walking at 9:00. His reason? The next stage is only 20 km. I thought: Hallelujah! Finally some proper sleep, as long as no one screws it up. After all the emotions of Santiago we were all wiped out, so we went to bed around 11:00 and I slept like a log until 8:30. A small win, but huge for me. I woke up rested, ready for 20 km. In my head: just a stroll in the park.
Of course, a morning without Spanish tortilla and coffee doesn’t exist. On the way to the bar Massimo kept stopping at every corner, either discussing pasta recipes or trying to solve world problems. Which meant we didn’t actually set off until 10:00. Grazie, maestro.
The road out of Santiago is mostly shaded, with one big climb. I was convinced it came right at the start, so I brightly suggested we go around the hill. Both agreed. An hour later, however, Massimo was already whining that he was hungry and needed a bar. Me: “Massimo, I left my magic wand back in Santiago. You’ll have to hold on another 1.5 km.” No other choice. He should be happy we skipped that beast of a climb.
Of course, the bar was closed. Because who the hell drinks coffee on a Saturday “day off”? The next one was 3 km further. Cue the Italian drama, part comedy, part tragedy – but at least it made time fly.
On the way we passed plenty of hikers heading to Finisterre or Muxía. And what made our Italian happiest? Food, obviously. Once Massimo finally ate, he was as joyful as a kid with a Kinder Surprise. I asked if he’d make it to Negreira or if we should stock up now. He swore he’d survive. So I went on ahead – headphones, music, my pace. We agreed to meet at a bar in Ponte Maceira, where Massimo could get all romantic with Anita by the river, maybe even go for a swim.
Naturally, the path dragged me uphill. Ah, so the climb I thought I’d dodged was standing there with open arms. Back to hill-grinding. But it wasn’t terrible – on the Sanabrés we’d already built mountain legs. This route isn’t flat at all, it’s more like the Primitivo – just without the magical morning fog.
We reached the next bar pretty quickly and had a beer. Since the mood was good, we had another. And then – shouting: “Massimo!” We had no clue who it was. Turns out it was a woman he’d walked the Camino Francés with years ago. Hugs, excitement, Italian chatter that to me sounded like a musical accompaniment without subtitles. So I carried on alone to Negreira, knowing this “episode” would last a while.
When I arrived in town the signal was as dead as a tomb. Couldn’t call them. I waited outside a big supermarket, hoping to organize food. After half an hour I gave up and bought a fruit yogurt – still full from yesterday’s pasta anyway. My digestion was in good spirits too, thanks to the spice. Once my gut finally “let go,” I walked lighter.
I went on to the albergue where, with Wi-Fi at last, I messaged them that I was already there and told them to hurry – free beds don’t wait for romance. Meanwhile, I treated myself to a siesta. Plastic bedding again – hadn’t even shut my eyes and I was already swimming in my own sweat.
When they finally arrived, we all hit the showers. Massimo, naturally, ate again. A few days ago he told me he wanted to lose weight on this Camino. Did I mention he has a brilliant sense of humor? Once he was full again, we made the plan for tomorrow: 33 km. Today we’d already overshot our plan by almost 5.
