I swear, I love kitchens with nothing in them. Really, why do they even bother marking them as “kitchens” on the app if they don’t have a single fork, let alone a plate or a pan? That’s not a kitchen, that’s a museum of empty shelves. Massimo’s backpack on the Camino is like Sport Billy’s magic pouch – he pulls out pasta, salami, cheese, probably even a tent or a spare nonna. But forks and pans? Nope. Now I get why he walks slower – with all that load even a camel would say: “No thanks, I’ll take an all-inclusive in Egypt instead.”
The plan was to start at 6:00 to escape the hordes of hikers flooding this new route. But of course – the plan drowned already the night before, because Anita without her morning coffee simply doesn’t function. Since we were in a town, the bar was supposed to open at 8:00. I asked Massimo if he actually checked that it really opens that early, even on a Sunday. His nod was as convincing as a politician’s pre-election promises. I told him straight: if the bar doesn’t open by 8:10, I’m leaving without coffee. Even if the next one is 8 km away – so what. Worst case, I’ll just sleep longer.
Up north the sun is different anyway – at 2 p.m. it’s where it would be at 10 a.m. in the south. Feels like eternal spring.
Of course, the loud hikers woke me up at 6:00 already. Apparently hostel etiquette is a “foreign country” – pun intended. Morning debates belong outside, people, so the rest of us can get a little more sleep. As if that wasn’t enough, the mosquitoes signed a pact last night that I was their Swedish buffet. At least I know my blood is clean if they slurp it up so happily.
Our alarms went off at 7:30. We dragged ourselves out of bed, washed up, and stumbled towards the bar. Morning cold felt like winter sports, waiting in front of a locked café. We got there at 7:55 and saw we weren’t the only coffee junkies. At 8:05 we were already half frozen, then finally – the kingdom opened its doors! But no. The boss decided to first set up all the chairs and tables outside. Slowly. With the philosophy of “mañana, mañana.” We had to wait another 20 minutes. My legs were twitching, my face so fed up you could have made it into a WhatsApp emoji. But he knew he was the only one open and that we’d wait anyway. And so we did.
After that we took the shortcut along the road – why obey the Camino zigzag safety measures if you can live on the edge and breathe truck fumes?
So we actually started walking only at 8:40. Which meant – the horde was already out. Ant hill. Since I’d been walking alone most of the way to Santiago, the masses annoyed me. One endless “Buen Camino” after another on the fast lane. At some point I’d had enough and decided to do my own thing.
Meaning – I found a new path, one leading straight towards the end of the world. Not the Camino trail, but it suited me. The stage was shady and pleasant. Since Massimo and Anita walk in their “romantic” slow motion, I sent them my location. Distance: 15 minutes. With one difference – I wasn’t even on the Camino. We agreed to meet in the first village. When we reunited, I told them nicely: “I’m going ahead. Everyone should walk at their own pace.”
On the way I overtook everyone. Even those who’d started 8 km ahead of us. My ego was singing “We are the champions.” Which means I’ve finally built up Camino legs. So much that at the end of the stage I waited for Massimo and Anita for two full hours. But this time it wasn’t hard – I had a bar and two new Italians for company. Time flew by with Italian music, Toto Cutugno style. They were older, so they knew every song I played.
And then – in the distance – my romantic couple appeared. I introduced them to my new friends, we exchanged a few words, and then headed together to the hostel. Before parting ways, we agreed on a joint dinner in the bar – since my new acquaintances are heading to Muxía tomorrow, while we continue towards Finisterre.
