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I took the alternate route (an extra six and a half kilometers) to Sarria this day in order to see the monastery in Samos. I only was able to see the monastery's exterior, however, because, by mid-day, all of the refugios in Samos had filled, and I wound up taking an out-of-town guest house that was located about three kilometers beyond Samos.
After I had made the arrangements to stay at the guest house, which was owned by the Val de Samos albergue owner's in-laws, I went to a cafe, had a cafe con leche, and ordered a bocadillo con jamon y queso. I ate a few bites of the sandwich then wrapped it to go and went to a market, where I purchased soap, shampoo, grapes, a litre of Coke, and a Rosado Tempranillo to take to the house.
When I arrived at the little house, the owner's wife and sister-in-law, both named Pillar, were in the backyard with the owner's toddler niece. One of the Pillars showed me the guest house and put fresh sheets and blankets on the bed.
At first I was so happy to get to sleep without a hundred strangers and without being afraid I was going to roll off of a top bunk, but, after awakening from a terribly realistic nightmare in which the man who owned the house broke in and attacked me, I decided never to go off of the Camino grid again.
Since O'Cebreiro, I have been on the stretch of the journey where people pile onto the Camino in order to walk the portion that is required for them to get their Compostela. Therefore, I can expect filled albergues from here on out. ("Oh, joy," says the incapable-of-racing one.)
On a positive note, I finally found a bank from which I was able to withdraw euros. Whew!
I took the alternate route (an extra six and a half kilometers) to Sarria this day in order to see the monastery in Samos. I only was able to see the monastery's exterior, however, because, by mid-day, all of the refugios in Samos had filled, and I wound up taking an out-of-town guest house that was located about three kilometers beyond Samos.
After I had made the arrangements to stay at the guest house, which was owned by the Val de Samos albergue owner's in-laws, I went to a cafe, had a cafe con leche, and ordered a bocadillo con jamon y queso. I ate a few bites of the sandwich then wrapped it to go and went to a market, where I purchased soap, shampoo, grapes, a litre of Coke, and a Rosado Tempranillo to take to the house.
When I arrived at the little house, the owner's wife and sister-in-law, both named Pillar, were in the backyard with the owner's toddler niece. One of the Pillars showed me the guest house and put fresh sheets and blankets on the bed.
At first I was so happy to get to sleep without a hundred strangers and without being afraid I was going to roll off of a top bunk, but, after awakening from a terribly realistic nightmare in which the man who owned the house broke in and attacked me, I decided never to go off of the Camino grid again.
Since O'Cebreiro, I have been on the stretch of the journey where people pile onto the Camino in order to walk the portion that is required for them to get their Compostela. Therefore, I can expect filled albergues from here on out. ("Oh, joy," says the incapable-of-racing one.)
On a positive note, I finally found a bank from which I was able to withdraw euros. Whew!
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