Yesterday, for the first time on this Camino, I slept in a hostel with a crew: five hikers and one cyclist who’d clearly decided to suffer in his own two-wheeled way. Among them, the Italian couple Anita and Massimo from Rome. Ah, finally Italians! I’d missed them – they’re the best company on the Camino… of course, only if they speak English. If they do, you’re guaranteed laughter, food, and booze – all in one package. If not, well, at least you get a full-on pantomime with hands and facial expressions.
The rest of the crew? Spaniards. One speaks English, two don’t. Result: I understand half the conversation, and for the other half I just nod like I’m signing a mortgage contract. Since there was no shop in town and it was still a holiday, we camped out in the bar – logical, since a bar on the Camino is more than just an institution, it’s basically a second church. Before that came the mandatory laundry therapy: clothes. And then back into the Spanish sauna. This time I was smarter: I threw woollen blankets over the mattress and built myself an improvised oasis, almost like a “poor man’s spa version.”
Sister Hunger soon forced me to the bar – I was shaking like a leaf in the wind. Spaniards know how to make sandwiches! Really! Tasty as Michelangelo’s frescoes – only you don’t stare at them, you just eat them. Wholegrain bread, though? Forget it. For them, that’s practically blasphemy.
In front of the bar, right by the hostel, the owner showed up to register us. She warned us to be careful on the road because of the wildfires. If she was right, that day three lives were lost fighting the flames, 1,500 people were evacuated. Pretty grim. She even suggested we stay another night. But the crew voted: we move on, at least to Asturianos. Slowly, they said. Slowly?! We’re not on a wellness retreat.
So we celebrated the decision in the bar – as you do. Suddenly the sky turned grey, and the smell of smoke spread over the town. Charming, like someone spilling perfume all over themselves on a crowded bus in the summer heat. I stuffed myself, toasted with two beers in the company of new hikers, and then – hop – straight to bed. Probably the first in the whole village. But since I hadn’t slept the night before because of the fiesta, this time I wrapped myself in the blankets and felt like a queen. I slept like a dormouse.
Next morning, I woke up with a grin stretching from ear to ear. Small victories! How little it takes to feel content. Even better – the Italian morning “Buongiorno.” Nothing beats that. The Spaniards left before us, and I set off later with the Italians. The boss lady had said the first bar was 5 km away – we were already dreaming of coffee. Of course, no bar. Camino loves a surprise.
And then – bam! – India! The town of Mombuey. I’d never wanted to go to India, but here I was, drinking coffee there. The Italians went into a shop, and I continued on alone. Target: Asturianos. The walk was light – a bit of grass, a bit of sand, a bit of forest, shade… idyllic. If you ignore the gnats and flies that had decided I was their Disneyland. More annoying than the sun.
The haze from the fires followed me, helicopters with water flew overhead. Not exactly pleasant, but if the locals were still cycling and strolling, it was clearly under control. On the way, I kept wondering what the hell had started the fires: arson? a hunter’s spark? I did hear hunters a few times – five loud BANG BANGs. So, someone was having a good meal today. A rabbit is cute when it hops, but even cuter with cranberry sauce and potatoes. And a green salad with egg and garlic on the side. I miss my mum’s cooking… and her tarragon potica*. Yum!
In Asturianos, I headed first to the shop to stock up for two days – tomorrow is Sunday and everything would be closed. Then, of course, a mandatory beer in the bar. The Spaniards were already there waiting, grinning like they hadn’t just marched through kilometres of smoke. Nice to see them.
And the hostel? I left that to surprise me. The Camino always has its own dark sense of humour.
* potica - is a traditional Slovenian rolled pastry. It's a festive pastry, particularly popular during holidays like Christmas and Easter, but enjoyed throughout the year.
