Some penultimate questions

I left the albergue in the dark before the others and walked most of the day alone. The first stretch led uphill through dark forests on narrow paths, the sort of hiking that the Camino offers only occasionally. Eventually I did indeed come out on a country road, and for much of the day walked along such roads through rolling farmland.

The sun came and went, as did short bouts of rain. Warmth then a chill, the weather changing every few minutes.

In every village, and outside every house, stood a horreo, often more than one. These are granaries, long, narrow structures placed up on stilts and roofed with red tile, built of stone in this part of Galicia, but wood and brick further east. The farmers store potatoes and corn in them, supposedly, but most horreos appear empty; it seems that they are more decorative than practical these days.

I felt strong on the second day out of Santiago and walked the thirty-five kilometers to Olveiroa with much greater ease than the shorter distance the day before. The albergue wasn´t yet open, but a small Spanish man was sitting on the steps outside. I had seen him the night before in Negreira; he was declaiming loudly in the albergue that the United States was "the number five worse country in the world." I can handle criticism, but a martinet not so much. Salima was a little frightened of him, having seen him in other albergues and decided he wasn´t completely stable. She also said he reminded her of the oompah-loompah in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. When I arrived in Olveiroa he explained to me the eating situation--two restaurants, one expensive and so to be avoided, one more reasonable--and the sleeping situation at the albergue, concluding with a pat facial expression that said, "and now you know all that you need to know."

The albergue did not open for a couple hours, but I went around back and washed my socks and shirt in an outdoor sink. Then sat in the sun and ate a bocadillo I´d brought from Negreira, while reading from Dombey and Son. By the time the woman in charge showed up and unlocked the door, twenty or so peregrinos had arrived and were loitering about outside. We all rushed in; after Mandy and Salima and Eddy and I got two bunks together, I headed for the showers, and then shared a sink with an accommodating Frenchman to shave.

When we were selecting bunks I took a lower, Salima the bed above. I felt bad for a moment because I knew that Eddy would´ve taken the bed I´d chosen if given a chance. He is devoted to Salima. Not in a creepy way, but he is attentive. He´s 48 from Heidleberg, a thin friendly man with a wife and two teenaged kids. Last night he called home, for his daughter´s birthday, and afterwards told us that his wife had asked how his "girlfriend" was, referring to Salima. So it sounds like he´s keeping his spouse informed.

At dinner (at the expensive restaurant the Spaniard had criticized), Salima said, "so I´ll be Rachael," and she asked us a series of questions about our Camino experience, and we went around the table one by one answering. The questions included "did you have questions that were answered?"; "what was the most under-utilized item you brought along?" (for me it was the history guide to the Camino, an answer Salima rightfully deemed "boring"); "what will you miss from the Camino?"; and "how do you feel about coming to the last day?" We sat for a couple hours intently discussing these and other concluding questions.

As far as how I felt about coming to the end, I would say mixed. I look forward to returning home (though that´s not for another two weeks), but I like being on the Camino, I like the simplicity and pleasure of this life. I walk. I walk from albergue to albergue. I wash, I eat, I rest, I talk to other pergrinos. Then I sleep and get up and walk again. Such days are satisfying, interesting, uncomplicated. But of course not enough, not indefinitely anyway. Way back in Rabanal I met a man who had been on the Camino more or less permanently for fifteen years. That sounded and sounds like a personal problem. Arrival will be good, but it will also be a bit of a jar, I imagine. When I do stop and return home, I think I´m going to have to keep walking pretty regularly. I also am thinking of adopting the primero, segundo, dessert, wine and bread way of eating. What will I miss? Among other things, the menu pergrino each night.