Sunrise from my private room.
Did I take a private room? Why, no! Just the municipal albergue, with half a dozen other women. I had spent the evening chatting with the lovely Dutch hospitaleros and when I headed for bed they told me there was a two bunk room next to the dorm and I could switch if I wanted so I can sleep longer in the morning – four of the six were planning on leaving at 5:30 and when the hospitaleros had asked when I would get up I had said Íd been as late as possible as I wanted ton take their advice and buy a loaf of bread from the panadería, which didnt open until 8:30. Besides, a slightly longer sleep with my toothache seemed a good idea. When I walked into the dorm and someone was snoring I needed no convincing to swap!! And what a good sleep it was. No snoring, not stuffy, because I left the window open, and no one moving on the same bunk.
The relaxed start translated to having a relaxed breakfast with the hosts – everyone else had left before 7. The hospitalero had made coffee for the two Canadians, and so I drank a cup. First one in over thirty years! It actually tasted OK. I might be growing up. The conversation was just as stimulating as last night – I could have talked with them all day, but they had work to do and so I headed for the famous bread
I was challenging myself not to worry about accommodation, so I stopped to watch the storks again.
And take pictures
The hospitaleros recommended I stop at the little chapel at the end of the next village for a special experience, even though it wouldn’t open until 10 and so I settled down to draw the church tower at the beginning of the village to fill in time…and tried not to think too much about all the hordes of people walking past and possibly taking the last bed!! For the first time it was nice and warm in the morning.
A large group of Italianos had filled the entrance to the chapel when I arrived, all chattering excitedly as they seem wont to do, and getting their credentials stamped. I sat down and the piped music wafted over their exuberance. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I noticed beautiful paintings on the walls. It felt good to be free to take my time.
The teeny tiny nun, who had lived in the Congo for over thirty years, chatted with every single person who entered the chapel and then prayed a different blessing over each one. She was in no hurry, even when there were twenty Italianos to get through.
I took the unhurried attitude out of the chapel and took plenty of photos of beautiful artwork on buildings
And then it was HOT…actually only 22 degrees as I was walking (although it would get up to 26 by the evening), but that is much hotter than the single digits I have become accustomed to.
At the top of the gentle climb, you get one of those iconic camino moments
….there….where you are walking stretching out ahead of you
I have to admit that once I made it into the village I didnt stop for photos, but just headed straight to the albergue. Again, there was a bed for me, although later it would fill up.
I lunched with a young German girl and an ever-so-slightly-older American gal, and we had one of those immediately deeply connecting conversations full of understanding. There were tears at the table as we shared vulnerably about our own experiences with anorexia. Sitting in that kitchen was just as sacred a moment-in-time as in the chapel.
Actually I have tended not to mention this part of our family´s journey most of the time, but on the two occasions it has felt right to bring it up, I have found I was speaking to either a fellow mother-of-a-sufferer or someone who had experienced it herself.
I took a quick walk up the main (and almost only) street, before settling down to journal, blog and update my writing project with some new developments.
Watched a guy painting
Discovering the church open and mass about to start in twenty minutes, I nipped next door to grab a jacket (it was FREEZING in there!) and enjoyed another church visit. How amazing it was. The priest led us so well to participate, despite there being no Spanish speakers. He also had all the different language groups read a pilgrims’ blessing, and then had each language group sing a song in their tongue. When he got to me as the sole English speaker I signalled NO, but he asked for Amazing Grace. It was actually Amazing to sing in a church with beautiful acoustics!
I was surprised to find an almost-identical Santiago statue to the one I sketched in Navarrete – I’m guessing there must be a mold somewhere.
And he knew the Koreans would want photos!!
SoloWalk2024 