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I was one of the last to leave the gym. Albergues make you leave by 8:00, but there was no such rule imposed at the gym. I was not in a rush to go anywhere this day anyway. So I stayed in the interesting port town a while, found a pharmacy, and had a cup of coffee and a slice of almond torte in a cafe overlooking the water.
I did not travel far. In fact I stopped at about 1:00 p.m. at the first albergue I came to in Gonzar, a rustic village with bull flops, cracked asphalt and dairy cows. Along the way, I thought about how much I liked the smell of jelly beans. Either it was a silly rogue thought that had gotten stuck in my head or it was Freudian due to my nose having been filled for hours with the sweet smell of bull manure. Although I did not like the smell, I did not mind it, because the smell always told me that I was getting close to people and to the possibility of food and rest. I had read that Galician people burn the peat for their fuel. I do not know if that is true, but, when I had eaten in the people's backyard near Fort Lusio, I had found that the dried meat they had served me actually had tasted the way bull pucky smells.
Also along the way, I noticed how few children were in the villages and how Galician old people hobble around their gardens using pilgrims' cast-off trekking poles instead of canes. I encountered a couple whom I had traveled near to now and again between O'Cebreiro and Tricastela, and I listened again and again to roosters' demanding cockadoodles, which reminded me of my son's dog's bossy rhy-rhah-rhoh-rhoooahing for peanut butter in his kong.
In Gonzar I stayed at Casa Garcia, a spotless operation with several young girls serving meals in the cafe and other people cleaning and cooking. It had a beautiful partially covered courtyard with a spotless restaurant. The dorm had very nice wooden bunk beds with enough space between the bottom and top bunks to sit up in while on the bottom bed.
I was one of the last to leave the gym. Albergues make you leave by 8:00, but there was no such rule imposed at the gym. I was not in a rush to go anywhere this day anyway. So I stayed in the interesting port town a while, found a pharmacy, and had a cup of coffee and a slice of almond torte in a cafe overlooking the water.
I did not travel far. In fact I stopped at about 1:00 p.m. at the first albergue I came to in Gonzar, a rustic village with bull flops, cracked asphalt and dairy cows. Along the way, I thought about how much I liked the smell of jelly beans. Either it was a silly rogue thought that had gotten stuck in my head or it was Freudian due to my nose having been filled for hours with the sweet smell of bull manure. Although I did not like the smell, I did not mind it, because the smell always told me that I was getting close to people and to the possibility of food and rest. I had read that Galician people burn the peat for their fuel. I do not know if that is true, but, when I had eaten in the people's backyard near Fort Lusio, I had found that the dried meat they had served me actually had tasted the way bull pucky smells.
Also along the way, I noticed how few children were in the villages and how Galician old people hobble around their gardens using pilgrims' cast-off trekking poles instead of canes. I encountered a couple whom I had traveled near to now and again between O'Cebreiro and Tricastela, and I listened again and again to roosters' demanding cockadoodles, which reminded me of my son's dog's bossy rhy-rhah-rhoh-rhoooahing for peanut butter in his kong.
In Gonzar I stayed at Casa Garcia, a spotless operation with several young girls serving meals in the cafe and other people cleaning and cooking. It had a beautiful partially covered courtyard with a spotless restaurant. The dorm had very nice wooden bunk beds with enough space between the bottom and top bunks to sit up in while on the bottom bed.
After showering and taking a short rest, I had a meal in the albergue's courtyard. I kind of wanted to try the pulpo (octopus), but I really did not want to spend twelve euros on something that I probably would not like. Instead I ordered a salad, bisteak, potatoes, and flan with an orange-amber-colored Estrella Galicia beer. I have never been a beer drinker (somehow I got it in my head that beer is not a ladylike beverage), but this was the second I had had on the trip. I liked the way it tasted and even more so how it felt going down: cold and fluffy, like it was sudsing up my insides.
Because my table had two extra chairs and was the only table in the shade, two Barcelonian girls asked me if they could join me for lunch. The day was their first on the Camino. Though they were tired, they were happy, and I greatly welcomed their enthusiasm.
Because my table had two extra chairs and was the only table in the shade, two Barcelonian girls asked me if they could join me for lunch. The day was their first on the Camino. Though they were tired, they were happy, and I greatly welcomed their enthusiasm.
Mid-evening, I walked to the church with its little cemetery. I thought about how differently we might approach church if we were to have to walk past sepulchres every time we entered our churches to worship. I spent a lot of time reading the engravings above the tombs and I was mindful of life's standard chunk of years and of families' grouped deceased. I spent a good while pondering these things and desperately wishing to restore and enliven my own family relations so that we might make the most of what years we all have left together.
When I got back to the albergue, I got ready for bed and crawled into my sack. Others were softly talking. When the lights went off I was listening in my headphones to modern hymns by Ascend the Hill. I had been really splayed open this night, grieving my own losses, while at the cemetery. I started to softly weep. By then It was quiet in the dark. I put my head inside my sleeping bag and bit my cheek. I did not want the others to know I was crying. I held my breath, but soon my packed sinuses rattled. I desperately wanted to disappear. I felt so sad and pathetic in that sleeping space of strangers. For an hour more, in the silent darkness, I labored to conceal the ache-sounds before I finally drifted off to sleep.
When I got back to the albergue, I got ready for bed and crawled into my sack. Others were softly talking. When the lights went off I was listening in my headphones to modern hymns by Ascend the Hill. I had been really splayed open this night, grieving my own losses, while at the cemetery. I started to softly weep. By then It was quiet in the dark. I put my head inside my sleeping bag and bit my cheek. I did not want the others to know I was crying. I held my breath, but soon my packed sinuses rattled. I desperately wanted to disappear. I felt so sad and pathetic in that sleeping space of strangers. For an hour more, in the silent darkness, I labored to conceal the ache-sounds before I finally drifted off to sleep.
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