The night was – oh miracle! – pleasantly cool. I finally slept like a human being. The alarm woke me up at 5:45, which on the Camino is practically luxury. Let’s go!
Since Nathalie wasn’t exactly in Olympic shape (read: she looked like someone had dragged her down the stairs), we decided to do a modest 22 km. I couldn’t just leave her behind – though, I’ll admit, the thought did cross my mind. But karma is…
The first 10 km were on asphalt. Perfect for me. But every one of her steps came with an "Ah!", "Ouh!", or "Aïe!". She complained so much I seriously considered taking a detour through Portugal just to escape to a dirt road. She was that annoying.
Still, props to the woman – doing the Camino in the middle of a heatwave, at 66, is borderline heroic. Hats off. (But not mine, thank you very much – that’s my shade.)
We had a minor argument about the direction in the morning. The arrows pointed one way, the app another, and Nathalie had her own unique route. She said “No”, I said “Yes”. Morning therapy for my nerves – just what I didn’t need on my so-called relaxing Camino. I showed her the app, clearly indicating the correct way, but to her it was just one big NO. I couldn’t be bothered anymore, so I walked off in the right direction – and of course, she followed. Classic French drama. No peace!!!
And then… Oscar-worthy scene: in the middle of the road I suddenly yelled that we were lost, started crying and grabbed my head in despair. She looked at me like she was about to whack me with her stick. And then I burst out laughing and admitted I was just messing with her. Her face alone was worth risking my life. Totally worth it!
We stopped for coffee and a Coke – our energy cocktail. The app said: only 12 km to go! Yay! And the trail was through the forest – my knees and lower back rejoiced.
Only 1 km left to go, and it was 11:00. Perfect. And then… BOOM! Shock therapy: the accommodation is 10 km away. NO. NO. NO. The apps screwed us. Raw. No lube. And we were out of water, in the middle of the desert, with Nathalie running on fumes. The sun just grinned down at us like: “Okay girls, now it’s for real!”
I tried explaining the situation. She didn’t understand a word. I spoke, and she stared at me like a dog being shown a map. My blood was boiling, my tone was getting dangerously close to “heated discussion with husband over firewood”, while she was just more confused than I am reading a Spanish menu.
Then – a house! People! Hope! I sent Nathalie over because she speaks Spanish. And what did I get? Small talk about the weather, grandkids, goats… everything except water, shelter, or directions. Time was ticking, the sun was frying us, and I wanted to grab her by the elbow and drag her. Eventually, we found out we needed to get to the info point – 2 km away. There they would give us guidance.
And of course – same story again. Nathalie chatted with the lovely lady like they were having tea and biscuits, while I was slowly dying in the sun. After 20 minutes of this "Tea & Bla Bla" I exploded. “Could someone please tell me, in one sentence, where we’re sleeping tonight?!”
Eventually, I got an answer. She had booked a room – in a hostel 15 km away. Yep, exactly what two wrecked women want to hear in the heat of the day. Luckily, a local hero showed up – a driver who kindly took us there. And let me tell you – it felt like riding in heaven. Aircon. Speed. And Nathalie’s endless "No, no, no."
That day we ended up walking 30.49 km and climbed 317 metres – which, considering the drama, the blazing sun, and the near-murder caused by her constant 'non'-ing, was a pretty solid stage. Not exactly Tour de France-worthy, but definitely worth a gold Camino sticker on the fridge.
