As already well known, getting a bed without a reservation on this Camino is basically a lottery. So today, we had a hotel room waiting for us. A proper room with a double bed, a beautiful bathroom, and—wait for it—a bathtub. Pure poetry. Opportunity doesn’t knock twice. So naturally, bubbles followed—great for muscle recovery. When my skin turned silky soft, I decided to call Gro and invite her for lunch at the only place in the village, conveniently located next to the pilgrim hostel. Just as we finally got food on the table, a man and his son arrived. The boy couldn’t have been older than ten. I’d already seen them back in Oviedo, where the Camino starts, which meant they’d been walking the same distances as me each day. That’s a hell of a lot for such a young kid. It quickly became obvious they didn’t have a place to sleep. Two hours after arriving, they were still sitting on a stone bench waiting for a miracle. The next place with accommodation was 20 kilometres away. The kid looked shattered. And the father? Just paced back and forth, making me anxious too.
I asked the hostel manager what the story was. She explained they were waiting in case someone cancelled, since they had nowhere to sleep. I was shocked. It seemed unbelievably irresponsible that the dad hadn’t booked a bed ahead of time. After four days of booking drama, you'd think the man would've figured it out—especially travelling with a child. I’m not a mother, but I know a kid needs more rest than an adult. They’re still growing, for crying out loud. I couldn’t bear the sight of the exhausted boy on that bench. So I walked back to my hotel and asked the staff if I could let the boy and his dad sleep in my bed—just so they could rest after such a hard day. When they agreed, I went back to the bar and asked the hostel manager if she could be my translator, since she spoke both Spanish and English, and the dad only spoke Spanish. She explained everything to him. He bowed in gratitude. The boy lit up like someone switched him back on. Together, we all headed to the hotel room. I filled the tub with warm water and bubbles and pointed to it—this is your spot, kiddo. Then I pointed to the bed and gave the father a look. He finally got it: time to rest.
I left them there and returned to the bar to rejoin the other weary wanderers. The day was far too beautiful to waste in bed anyway, and I wasn’t even tired. Later that evening, a bed finally became available at the hostel, so they had somewhere to stay. But the boy had already napped away in my bed until it was time to move. I ended the day at peace, knowing the kid had a roof over his head. If they hadn’t found a bed, I would’ve happily slept on the hotel floor so that boy could get proper rest. Wouldn’t have been the first time I ended a night on a hard floor, and certainly not the last. I’ll put up with a lot for the sake of a peaceful night—for someone else, even more so.
