Back on the road with the Frenchwoman.
I had just finished writing my notes when the hostel door opened and in walked Nathalie. The Frenchwoman. 66 years old. A lady who knows how to walk – and even better, how to surprise. I was as happy to see her as a lost hiker stumbling upon water in the Sahara. But… how the hell did she get here if she only walks one stage a day? Did I somehow go backwards instead of forwards?! Mini heart attack.
No – she took the bus. Phew. Thank God. Once I recovered, I joked that taking the bus wasn’t exactly Camino-legal. She calmly replied that she’d spent the night with three snorers who deforested an entire imaginary forest, so evacuation was the only option. One of them? My Polish guy. Nice to see we’re still travelling in the same package.
But the bus wasn’t exactly cooperative. Instead of dropping her off where she wanted, it threw her four stages ahead – straight into my arms. I won’t lie, I hadn’t exactly missed her, but when someone feels like rain after a drought, you welcome them. Even if they come with a French accent and a mountain of questions.
The hostel had air conditioning! That’s Camino luxury – almost Ritz-level. I was looking forward to sleeping like a dog to a bone. I even told the owner I’d slept the night before like a can of beans – sealed, hot, and airless. He just smiled. That should’ve been a red flag.
In the afternoon, Nathalie and I sat out on the terrace chatting. She kept asking if I planned to walk 50 km the next day and whether I knew how dark it was in the morning. By the third warning, it clicked – she wanted company. Of course. There’s nothing between here and kilometre 28, and she can’t make it alone. Emotional manipulation – French edition. I gave in and shortened the stage. One look at her grateful smile, and I knew: fine. I’ll do it.
I told her we had to leave by 6:00, because we were in the third heatwave, and after 1 p.m., Spain isn’t a country – it’s a giant human dehydrator. She agreed. All good.
Time for bed. Finally, air con! A-ha. Hahaha. At 10 p.m., the owner’s inner eco-warrior kicked in, and he turned it off. Bravo, James Bond of energy saving! The room instantly turned into a sauna. I woke up in a puddle of my sweat, desperately looking for the remote – of course, nowhere to be found. Open windows? Nope. Fresh air? Forget it. I felt like a chicken sealed in a roasting bag. In my mind, I was already building an altar to the owner – not out of gratitude.
I considered throwing myself on the tiles just to feel a symbolic chill, but I stayed in bed, slowly marinating. Camino-style.
When the alarm rang, it was the first time in my life that I was happy to hear it. Air! Outside! Finally, something that didn’t smell like roast meat.
We hit the road at 6:00. Nathalie wasn’t exactly in top shape either. The path was fairly easy, with shade until the last 10 km. We were joined by cows, bulls, and a fair share of cow landmines. There were no beautiful views – unless you’ve got a fetish for natural composting.
That day, I was more of a doorkeeper than a hiker. I opened so many gates I could’ve gotten hired… somewhere. The path dragged on like chewing gum stuck in a school backpack. And just when you think, “Great, only 10 km left!”, the Camino whispers: “Hold up.” The sun kicks in, the shade disappears, and the last two kilometres? Uphill. Of course. What else?
We stopped in the shade. Nathalie saw a car, flagged it down, and asked for a ride. I looked at her like she’d fallen from Mars: “Are you serious?! Two kilometres! TWO!” I don’t play those cheating games. My legs are going to the finish line.
She was probably cursing me in French, but I didn’t care. Where there’s beer at the end of the path – that’s where I’m headed.
When we finally reached the hostel, I called the owner. No answer. A kind older man pointed us toward the bar – naturally, it was uphill. Again. Camino doesn’t believe in flat endings.
She got herself a lemon sorbet, I got a beer – a big one. When the owner finally called me back, Nathalie offered to do the check-in so I could enjoy my beer in peace. A divine woman. I ordered another one. Muscle relaxation, right?
But then – surprise. A call. Nathalie had locked herself out. Automatic doors. The owner said he’d come in two hours. Classic. If that’s not the peak of the Camino, I don’t know what is. Solution? We went for supplies – beer, wine, and some food. If life locks you out, you'd better have cold drinks on hand.
That evening, Nathalie wasn’t feeling well – she asked if I could walk with her the next day. My plan? 48 km. Camino said, “Nope, not today.” And I said, “Alright.” You don’t leave someone in need.
But the night? The night was pure bliss. Air conditioning + = first restful night in days. Thanks to all the saints and air conditioner manufacturers.
