See photo gallery.
Before writing about the walk to Viana and telling of the friendships I made with my Danish and German roommates there, let me write a bit more about my time in Sansol with the Spaniard, the German, and the Silly Old Dutchmen.
If I had gone on a little farther to Torres del Rio, instead of stopping at the albergue in Sansol, I would have had my pick of three nice albergues and could have enjoyed a lively cafe scene, but, having been thrashed by the end of the day and replete with suffering, Sansol was as far as I made it.
I was greeted at the Sansol albergue by (what I thought was a teen-aged boy, but whom I later found out was) a forty-one year-old Barcelonian school teacher named Antonio or "Tony." Tony, a very beautiful and lean, tiny man with turned-in incisors, told me that the hospitalera had gone to care for her elderly father and gave me the choice of two dormitories to sleep in. It looked like the Silly Old Dutchmen had already settled into the first, so I chose the second. A bit later, Tony moved his belongings from the first to the second as well. He said it was because the second was "airier," but, as the night wore on, I understood better that he did not want to be in the same room with the Silly Old Dutchmen.
Tony, a disciplined peregrino who walked great distances from sunrise to noon each day, had arrived in St. Jean Pied de Port at the same time as the Silly Old Dutchmen. He had met up with them time and again at various albergues along the way and knew firsthand of their shenanigans. He whispered to me, "It is all one big party with them," and "They smoke marijuana."
About 6:30 p.m., after showering, doing my laundry, and otherwise puttering around the albergue, I set out to find a meal. I went to the one and only place in town: a grungy dive.
Scuzzy, aka Long-Haired Stringbean Man (who was gone, Gone, GONE on something) was tending bar and Nearly-As-Greasy-Haired Dumpling Woman was in the next room cooking. (I chose to believe that Dumpling Woman's hair looked "damp" because she was "warm.")
When I entered the bar, I saw two of the three Dutchmen sitting at a table with Christian, a German man whom I had met at the albergue in Villa Mayorga. Christian and I had passed one another on the road at various times, and he, seeing me struggling with my foot, had often asked how I was doing. Christian and the Silly Old Dutchmen were all speaking in German. They had had plenty to drink and, needless to say, were very merry.
As I walked in, Tony quietly pulled out a chair for me at his table, and said, "Please come sit down." I realized later that he was trying to save me from the Dutchmen.
Tony ordered for me in Spanish (thin beef loin, fried potatoes, and salad) and poured me a glass of a Rioja wine. I asked him why red wine in Spain was served chilled. He did not answer why it was cold, but he did explain that this wine was a (in his opinion not-very-good) young wine, that Crianzas and Reservas were aged three and five years, and that the plants' roots were crushed and included in the making of the Rioja wines. We talked about Spain's complex economic problems and a few other topics, but mostly, I texted my family, and he talked with his, on our phones.
After dinner, Tony left to visit a church. I was about to leave as well, when the Silly Old Dutchmen and Christian, who were now at a table outside in the rain, persuaded me to sit down with them and have a glass of wine. Tony, who was partway down the road, threw his head back and laughed as he watched them suck me in: "Sit down and have a Rioja," they charmed, "It will make you sleep better!"
They poured me a small glass, and we chatted for a while. They were goofy because they were so well-lit. The Second Dutchman, Hank, was real Devo-ish with the coolest, trendiest glasses. When I asked the Third Dutchman Jaap (which apparently means James in Dutch) what he did for a living back home, he said he was a director of a school. I was amused and amazed as I imagined this toasted man, who kept referring to America as "the other planet" in his dignified profession.
I should not have been surprised that they were so nutty. When I had first encountered them a ways out of Sansol, they were "full of spizzerinctum," as my dad used to say, even then. Jaap, then marching in the rear, kept loudly proclaiming, "I am finished! Huh. I am finished! Huh. I am finished!" and telling the First Dutchman, whom I never actually met, "You must put me on your back and carry me the rest of the way!"
Back at the table in the rain, they insisted that I go to Logrono the next day with them, "We will all taste the wines of the Rioja region together!" I told them, no, no, I could only go as far as Viana because of my foot and slow pace. Jaap told me that was nonsense, pulled off my shoe, and inspected my foot (while the German, attempting nonchalance, pulled out his camera and took pictures of my four and a half toes). Eventually I convinced them that I did in fact have bone issues, not just blisters, and would not be going on to drink wine with them in Logrono. About then, Jaap made an exaggerated gesture and spilled his entire of glass of wine on my shorts. Christian then spilled his wine on his pants. As I headed back to the albergue in the rain, I could hear them laughing and carrying on about our "sister stain memories."
It continued raining throughout the night, and, though the sun was shining when I set out the next morning, walking through the damp fields, with the doves cooing so loud and so long, was like walking through an exotic tea shop with a kitten purring in my pocket. Truly, I found the best part of the trip to be all of the smells! Some I had not smelled since I was a child.
I had a very good day of walking from Sansol to Viana. I did not go far but was stronger. I walked among vineyards, pine forests, and olive and almond groves. My feet were extremely pained by the end, but I had pounded the trail harder and had used a faster stride. That said, I was glad that the bar with the pilgrims' menu was only fifty meters from the albergue, as I could not have hobbled any farther into the city for dinner.
Before writing about the walk to Viana and telling of the friendships I made with my Danish and German roommates there, let me write a bit more about my time in Sansol with the Spaniard, the German, and the Silly Old Dutchmen.
If I had gone on a little farther to Torres del Rio, instead of stopping at the albergue in Sansol, I would have had my pick of three nice albergues and could have enjoyed a lively cafe scene, but, having been thrashed by the end of the day and replete with suffering, Sansol was as far as I made it.
I was greeted at the Sansol albergue by (what I thought was a teen-aged boy, but whom I later found out was) a forty-one year-old Barcelonian school teacher named Antonio or "Tony." Tony, a very beautiful and lean, tiny man with turned-in incisors, told me that the hospitalera had gone to care for her elderly father and gave me the choice of two dormitories to sleep in. It looked like the Silly Old Dutchmen had already settled into the first, so I chose the second. A bit later, Tony moved his belongings from the first to the second as well. He said it was because the second was "airier," but, as the night wore on, I understood better that he did not want to be in the same room with the Silly Old Dutchmen.
Tony, a disciplined peregrino who walked great distances from sunrise to noon each day, had arrived in St. Jean Pied de Port at the same time as the Silly Old Dutchmen. He had met up with them time and again at various albergues along the way and knew firsthand of their shenanigans. He whispered to me, "It is all one big party with them," and "They smoke marijuana."
About 6:30 p.m., after showering, doing my laundry, and otherwise puttering around the albergue, I set out to find a meal. I went to the one and only place in town: a grungy dive.
Scuzzy, aka Long-Haired Stringbean Man (who was gone, Gone, GONE on something) was tending bar and Nearly-As-Greasy-Haired Dumpling Woman was in the next room cooking. (I chose to believe that Dumpling Woman's hair looked "damp" because she was "warm.")
When I entered the bar, I saw two of the three Dutchmen sitting at a table with Christian, a German man whom I had met at the albergue in Villa Mayorga. Christian and I had passed one another on the road at various times, and he, seeing me struggling with my foot, had often asked how I was doing. Christian and the Silly Old Dutchmen were all speaking in German. They had had plenty to drink and, needless to say, were very merry.
As I walked in, Tony quietly pulled out a chair for me at his table, and said, "Please come sit down." I realized later that he was trying to save me from the Dutchmen.
Tony ordered for me in Spanish (thin beef loin, fried potatoes, and salad) and poured me a glass of a Rioja wine. I asked him why red wine in Spain was served chilled. He did not answer why it was cold, but he did explain that this wine was a (in his opinion not-very-good) young wine, that Crianzas and Reservas were aged three and five years, and that the plants' roots were crushed and included in the making of the Rioja wines. We talked about Spain's complex economic problems and a few other topics, but mostly, I texted my family, and he talked with his, on our phones.
After dinner, Tony left to visit a church. I was about to leave as well, when the Silly Old Dutchmen and Christian, who were now at a table outside in the rain, persuaded me to sit down with them and have a glass of wine. Tony, who was partway down the road, threw his head back and laughed as he watched them suck me in: "Sit down and have a Rioja," they charmed, "It will make you sleep better!"
They poured me a small glass, and we chatted for a while. They were goofy because they were so well-lit. The Second Dutchman, Hank, was real Devo-ish with the coolest, trendiest glasses. When I asked the Third Dutchman Jaap (which apparently means James in Dutch) what he did for a living back home, he said he was a director of a school. I was amused and amazed as I imagined this toasted man, who kept referring to America as "the other planet" in his dignified profession.
I should not have been surprised that they were so nutty. When I had first encountered them a ways out of Sansol, they were "full of spizzerinctum," as my dad used to say, even then. Jaap, then marching in the rear, kept loudly proclaiming, "I am finished! Huh. I am finished! Huh. I am finished!" and telling the First Dutchman, whom I never actually met, "You must put me on your back and carry me the rest of the way!"
Back at the table in the rain, they insisted that I go to Logrono the next day with them, "We will all taste the wines of the Rioja region together!" I told them, no, no, I could only go as far as Viana because of my foot and slow pace. Jaap told me that was nonsense, pulled off my shoe, and inspected my foot (while the German, attempting nonchalance, pulled out his camera and took pictures of my four and a half toes). Eventually I convinced them that I did in fact have bone issues, not just blisters, and would not be going on to drink wine with them in Logrono. About then, Jaap made an exaggerated gesture and spilled his entire of glass of wine on my shorts. Christian then spilled his wine on his pants. As I headed back to the albergue in the rain, I could hear them laughing and carrying on about our "sister stain memories."
It continued raining throughout the night, and, though the sun was shining when I set out the next morning, walking through the damp fields, with the doves cooing so loud and so long, was like walking through an exotic tea shop with a kitten purring in my pocket. Truly, I found the best part of the trip to be all of the smells! Some I had not smelled since I was a child.
I had a very good day of walking from Sansol to Viana. I did not go far but was stronger. I walked among vineyards, pine forests, and olive and almond groves. My feet were extremely pained by the end, but I had pounded the trail harder and had used a faster stride. That said, I was glad that the bar with the pilgrims' menu was only fifty meters from the albergue, as I could not have hobbled any farther into the city for dinner.
The bunks in the albergue were stacked three high and had filled by early afternoon. In my room, from London, were Lorenzo (a friendly but opportunistic spoiled prig who was on his fourth Camino because he had "nothing else to do") and his so-skinny-he-had-to-have-a-tapeworm companion David. Listening to Lorenzo expound about anything-and-nothing-at-all made clear the line in FOUCAULT'S PENDULUM, when Belbo says, "Ma gavte la nata," which means something like 'unplug the cork, and let out the wind.' Also, in the room, from Germany, were Ana, who bunked above me; and, from Denmark, two brothers Rass and Tjelle.
I wound up having a lovely time with Rass, Tjelle, and Ana. We talked for hours. It was such a lot of fun! Poor Ana's foot was so badly swollen, though. She had planned to walk to Santiago, but would be returning home the next day. She studied theology in Germany. Rass studied Philosophy in Copenhagen, and I am unsure what Tjelle did. I think he had studied to be a teacher, but I do not believe he was one. He was so good and kind like Jaust in the Sheen-Estevez movie. They were such terrific boys. They had asked me to join them at the cafe for dinner, but I had declined. I was so tired and could not believe that they seriously would want to have a real conversation with an old mom like me. Back at the dorm, though, the four of us had the best time. We talked about things that really mattered. Something about our all being so broken down physically and emotionally made us start the friendship from a different place. What an unlikely quartet we were: a twenty-four-year-old, a twenty-six-year-old, a twenty-whatever-Ana-was-year-old, and a forty-eight-year-old me. Suffice it to say, it was a very special evening at the albergue.
I wound up having a lovely time with Rass, Tjelle, and Ana. We talked for hours. It was such a lot of fun! Poor Ana's foot was so badly swollen, though. She had planned to walk to Santiago, but would be returning home the next day. She studied theology in Germany. Rass studied Philosophy in Copenhagen, and I am unsure what Tjelle did. I think he had studied to be a teacher, but I do not believe he was one. He was so good and kind like Jaust in the Sheen-Estevez movie. They were such terrific boys. They had asked me to join them at the cafe for dinner, but I had declined. I was so tired and could not believe that they seriously would want to have a real conversation with an old mom like me. Back at the dorm, though, the four of us had the best time. We talked about things that really mattered. Something about our all being so broken down physically and emotionally made us start the friendship from a different place. What an unlikely quartet we were: a twenty-four-year-old, a twenty-six-year-old, a twenty-whatever-Ana-was-year-old, and a forty-eight-year-old me. Suffice it to say, it was a very special evening at the albergue.
RSS Feed