Yesterday, when we finally reached our destination, we celebrated with some booze – in honour of surviving the day and not ending up in the crime section as “Camino: double homicide.” The motel had a certain charm – somewhere between a petrol station, a local tavern, and a truckers’ graveyard of lost souls. Middle of nowhere, 20 km radius – unless you’re a local, a lorry driver, or a lost hiker, fate is the only reason you’d end up there.
The smell of grilled meat in the bar made the dinner decision easy – something hot and something cold to wash it down.
Only two challenges left for the day: an interview with Denis Malačič for Svet on Kanal A (yes, that Svet, where Camino somehow becomes national news), and the far more important one – apologising to Nathalie.
I wasn’t proud of myself or my outburst that day. I invited her to lunch as a peace offering. She, true to her French roots: “No, it’s not necessary.” Me, true to my Slovenian ones: “It is.”
What I admire about her is that she’s walked so much – in life and on the Camino – that she knows people sometimes blurt out nonsense they don’t mean. And she doesn’t take it too seriously. But I still felt guilty. I told her I was sorry. She told me I didn’t need to be. But you know how it is – if you care, it matters.
First, though – the interview. With a camera. For TV. For people. Just what I wanted – to be filmed all sweaty and dehydrated frog-eyed for three-quarters of Slovenia to see. Lucky for me, Denis is a great interviewer and a Camino brother at heart. Still – cameras? Not my scene.
Then came the best part of the day – lunch with Nathalie. That’s when I learned she’s a mother of five (clearly someone’s been busy), teaches maths, physics, and chemistry (the holy trinity), and owns a chow chow – which instantly bumped her 10 points up on the coolness scale. From that moment on, I just started calling her “mama.”
And mama nags. French-style. “Did you put on cream? Did you eat? Did you drink? You should smoke less…” She became my personal wellness app on the Camino. And yes – it made me think of my own mum. If I could bring one person with me, it would be her. And even though this isn’t a beginner-friendly Camino, I know she’d make it. My queen. I hope she outlives me. Because if not… I don’t even want to go there.
Back to the Camino – by 6:00 PM we were lying in our beds. I had a marathon ahead (45 km), she had a more reasonable 20 km. While packing, I gave her some electrolytes and beetroot powder – Formula 1 fuel. We said goodbye with a hug, a kiss, and gratitude. That’s the Camino at its best.
At 4:00 AM my alarm went off, but my body said: “Not yet.” I got up at 4:30 and hit the road by 5:00 – once again walking the infamous N-630. Not a soul in sight. Perfect time for thoughts, silence, and mild paranoia about any foxes hiding behind bushes.
After 20 km I stopped for a beer in a village. Took off my shoes to let my feet breathe – and boom. Someone hugs me in a town where I know no one. Who else but Nathalie, of course. Ghost of Caminos past. She said she couldn’t walk because of the asphalt. I just looked at her and said: “There’s truly no escaping you, huh?”
She told me she’d hitched a ride. No bus? Grab a car. “Camino, French edition,” I said.
She ordered breakfast and almost convinced me to shorten my stage again. And guess who caved? Me, obviously. “Okay, just for today. Tomorrow my caravan moves on.” I added: “You can catch up by bus. Or Blablacar.”
Once she set off, I stayed in the bar a bit longer to write this blog and give her a head start. But I already knew – once we’re both at the destination, peace is over.
The rest of the walk was pure zen – Camino Primitivo style: forest, ups and downs, shade, and Queen blasting in my ears. No pain, just the Path, the music, and me. Holy trinity.
At the end, all I wanted was silence and a cold drink. I’ll tell you more about today… tomorrow. I’m too tired. Too many French vowels.
Distance: 33.67 km – just enough to be walking like a cowboy after a three-day rodeo.
Elevation gain: 691 m – not exactly Everest, but my legs felt like they’d climbed it.