El Camino: Part 4

This post is going to be short and hopefully sweet.

I haven’t been getting great sleep over the last few weeks, readily admitting, from drinking alcohol. I don’t drink very much, actually less than most people I think. Typically 1-3 drinks on the days that I do. The hook is most of the time I don’t drink so my body has gotten very used to going to dreamland without any alcohol in it.

Consequently, when I do choose to imbibe, my sleep system usually gets jacked up and it becomes much harder for me to fall asleep. Even if I’m quite tired, like I am now, and do manage to fall asleep, I unsurprisingly do not feel well rested the next day.

This has been what I’ve been dealing with on and off over the last few weeks. And though it is just totally righteous to sink down a cool Galicia Estrella after a long day of walking, it is messing with my recovery for sure.

All this to be said, I am going to be turning in early tonight - here in my municipal hostel in Rondendola - to recuperate from the shock to my system yesterday from walking 10 or so miles in 3.5hrs or so.

Alas, I’m sure you’re bitterly disappointed and craving a rollicking adventure story of this next leg of the El Camino. And I’d hate to disappoint.

But today was pretty mild, my first full day on the Camino.

I woke up at 6am feeling very – you guessed it – tired. The hostel seemingly didn’t open again until 9 so I tucked back into my very cozy bunk after showering and moseying around for 30 minutes or so. The extra rest felt wonderful.

At about 9am I left the hostel. I found a local café and had two double espressos along with the heartiest thing they offered, Jamon with tomatoes on toast. I was a little bummed because I was starving and ready for bacon and eggs, but honestly this meal was rocket fuel.

After I finished I set out into the town. The Camino quickly transitioned into winding alley ways bordered by pleasant homes. The morning was brisk with a wispy fog hanging over the valley, but the sun was shining through.

As the food and espresso hit my system I was overcome with the need to sing. I actually sing quite a bit on my own. So I plopped some headphones in and started belting out some Billy Joel and Jim Croce: Island of Dreams, Piano Man (what a fucking song), Walking Back to Georgia, Operator, etc. Perfect meandering music.

I now know how wandering tramps, circus performers and the like feel when they hit the road. Something about it is magic and intoxicating.

I’m actually pretty shy when it comes to singing and I almost involuntarily close up and seem to lose my voice when I see people around me. I get embarrassed quite quickly. This happened when I saw a woman walking to work, I pretended that I wasn’t singing and was whistling, though she was around the corner from me moments before and no doubt heard me warming up.

It's one of the things I'm most insecure about. I really wish I could sing. I believe I can. And frankly I'm jealous of guys who do. It's one of my life goals, once I make enough money and have the time to take singing lessons.

Yet after these initial songs I did feel warmed up and started belting out some of my favorite Zach Brown Band songs. These I felt confident about, where I believe I might actually sound good if I could objectively hear myself sing. And I was on a part of the trail where there wasn’t anyone so I felt good to let it rock.

The morning was warm with the sun and I had quickly sweat through my shirt. I pulled off my windbreaker/rain jacket and traipsed along a road ensconced with medieval stone and dotted with farm houses adjacent to vineyards. Almost every other property had their own vineyard. Summer has to be a great time to be in Galicia with all the wine bursting out and flowing freely from your neighbor's houses.

The route primarily followed this road, which was high on one side of a river valley. The mist clung to the hills across the way, interspersed with diffuse, concentric clouds. The word resplendent truly comes to mind, as the dew soaked fields sparkled and shimmered as far as the eye could see in the mid-morning rays.

Trundling along a little farther, coming through a village, I met a Mexican family from Monterey. There were a couple of older couples, distinguished looking, some kind of professionals and their niece or granddaughter in her early to mid 20s. We exchanged some simple where-are-from where-are-you-going chit chat.

The niece and I chatted about New York and Paris, Porto and Lisbon and all the beautiful cities we’ve been too. She seemed very grateful to chat with someone her own age.

Soon however the Camino began to rise through a portion of town where there was a square with a church and some cafes. Their pace was slower and they were going to stop. It was about 11am, and I wanted to push on until 12pm to put as much distance down as I could so I’d have time to take a train to Vigo from Redondelo when I arrived. I wished them a Buen Camino, got one in return and was on my way.

About an hour later, through some less scenic parts of the Camino, I reached a right-angle where there happened to be a restaurant. Nothing fancy, but it seemed to be a hub for the village I was in. I was ready for a break, starving in fact. So as soon as I got in I ordered a beer, espresso, water with gas and a skirt steak & fries. The beer was exquisite and the espresso tart. It washed down exceptionally well.

The restaurant filled up for lunch with nearly a dozen portly gentlemen, no doubt the local dignitaries, all chatting away and happy to see each other. I read Chekhov’s short stories on my phone. As I paid the bill, I noticed a table of gentlemen studying me. I met their eyes and nodded, wondering what they thought of this wayward pelegrino.

I only rested and lunched for about 45 minutes. I had covered about 2/3s of what I needed to already and was ready to push on to the next town and get my bunk. I did just that.

Cresting one more hill through some lovely woods I began to descend down into a three-sided valley populated with heavy stone farmhouses set into the terraced elevation. It was such a beautiful sight to see; this valley that has no doubt been domesticated for 2,000 years. The sense of continuity and perennialism of life in all it’s simple grandeur seems to seep out from the very hills and dwellings here.

Only a few more miles on I made it into town. It’s a decent little town, not much to speak of. Unfortunately the train is not a local commuter and therefore only runs at rush hour times, which doesn’t work for me.

I’m a bit disappointed that I wasn’t able to see Vigo, as it is known for great Romanesque architecture and views of the sea. It stings worse because I’m only a 25 minute drive. But there’s no uber either.

As I wrote earlier, it’s best I get some rest anyway. I’ll settle for a good night sleep and push on tomorrow. I’ll soon be breaking into the true littoral route and be walking along the sea for a couple of days at least.

With that, I’ll leave you there. Thanks for reading and much love.