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I saw the Little Gray-haired Schoolgirl at the cafe in Gonzar. He later passed me again in Ligonde. I was fascinated by him. He was so different than everyone else. He smelled strong of an Irish-Spring-type soap and carried a wooden pole. His gray hair was long but cut into shaggy layers. His pleated navy and green plaid skirt fell mid-calf, and he had a blue band on his left leg. He rolled his socks down like bobby socks and wore an untucked short-sleeved shirt like a blouse. That was all I knew about him, but I wished I knew more.
I arrived in Ligonde about 11:00 a.m. I got in a queue in order to try and get a place at the government albergue. There were so many peregrinos on the road now; the only real chance of getting a place was by arriving very early and waiting hours for the facility to open.
My backpack was third from the first in the row of backpacks lined up outside the albergue door. In no time at all another sixteen were lined up behind mine. The albergue only had twenty beds. So, for the next hour and a half, pilgrims hoping to stay would stop, count the backpacks lined against the wall, then dejectedly move on.
A very nice French psychologist visited with me in English for the while that we were waiting for the albergue to open. He was traveling with his grandson and was congenial and funny.
After the albergue opened, I rested while the others showered. There was no point in racing to the bathroom just to wait some more. Unfortunately, while I was lying there, a teenaged couple got into a terrible argument. It was just them and me in the dorm, and, for the sake of their privacy, I pretended to be asleep. Eventually, I was. If only for a few minutes.
When I awakened a bit later, more folks had filled the dorm, and the teens had taken their turmoil elsewhere. I went to the bathroom to shower and wash my clothes. I opened the bathroom door, and the women in there stared at me like I was a Little Gray-Haired School Girl.
I saw the Little Gray-haired Schoolgirl at the cafe in Gonzar. He later passed me again in Ligonde. I was fascinated by him. He was so different than everyone else. He smelled strong of an Irish-Spring-type soap and carried a wooden pole. His gray hair was long but cut into shaggy layers. His pleated navy and green plaid skirt fell mid-calf, and he had a blue band on his left leg. He rolled his socks down like bobby socks and wore an untucked short-sleeved shirt like a blouse. That was all I knew about him, but I wished I knew more.
I arrived in Ligonde about 11:00 a.m. I got in a queue in order to try and get a place at the government albergue. There were so many peregrinos on the road now; the only real chance of getting a place was by arriving very early and waiting hours for the facility to open.
My backpack was third from the first in the row of backpacks lined up outside the albergue door. In no time at all another sixteen were lined up behind mine. The albergue only had twenty beds. So, for the next hour and a half, pilgrims hoping to stay would stop, count the backpacks lined against the wall, then dejectedly move on.
A very nice French psychologist visited with me in English for the while that we were waiting for the albergue to open. He was traveling with his grandson and was congenial and funny.
After the albergue opened, I rested while the others showered. There was no point in racing to the bathroom just to wait some more. Unfortunately, while I was lying there, a teenaged couple got into a terrible argument. It was just them and me in the dorm, and, for the sake of their privacy, I pretended to be asleep. Eventually, I was. If only for a few minutes.
When I awakened a bit later, more folks had filled the dorm, and the teens had taken their turmoil elsewhere. I went to the bathroom to shower and wash my clothes. I opened the bathroom door, and the women in there stared at me like I was a Little Gray-Haired School Girl.
I was tired of that. What was so darned curious about me anyway? Early on in the journey, it had felt like we were all in this together. Since the masses had come aboard, the Camino's complexion had changed though. I felt more connections with the cows and the dogs than with the people. How could I obey the Good Book and love others as myself when I did not like others very much? Maybe I loved them as much as I loved myself after all; maybe the real problem was that I did not love me. At any rate, I seemed to care enough for myself to seek self-preservation, so maybe I could start by at least doing what I could to try and preserve others' dignity and sanity.
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