The clothes aren’t dry so go on my pack, the trail starts but gets complicated as instead of following the main road all day or taking the hardcore mountaineers route I want to take the middle way, Mountainous for a while and then back along the main road for the last little bit before the proper climb of the day to O'Cebreiro.
Inna arrives with the most detailed guidebook ever and assures me I’m going the right way, it’s probably the steepest ascent yet. I’m glad I don’t have to walk alongside the motorway though and the views from up here are stunning, but everything gets compared to the Mountains between Astorga and Ponferrada from now on.
Getting stuck almost immediately, Inna arrives, her guide actually mentions trees with arrows, ditches in the ground, how many metres to walk in what direction before turning, I’m surprised it doesn’t say turn left at the second Daffodil. But without that bit of help I may have wandered for a while, the descent makes me wonder why I bothered with the climb as shins are smarting again as are knees. I’ve got another climb yet to get to O'Cebreiro as I plan to stay there this evening.
The countryside is starting to remind me of home making my current situation even harder to deal with. I don’t think I could pickup the rest of my equipment in Santiago as I’d planned and add several kilos to my pack and carry on the hike back again like I wanted to. Not having familiar faces around was making it harder to put on a brave face and stop worrying about what I was going to say to folks at home, how to explain my change of heart, could I put it on them to resolve my travel worries? I didn’t have a plan for the end of the Camino because I wasn’t planning on travelling directly home like most everyone else but now all I want is to flop into my own bed and have home comforts around me. I just want the vagabondage (thanks Pete Docherty for that lyric) finished now, the joy has gone and I’m just finding it a chore rather than a pleasure.
The climb in the afternoon is just too hard and everything starts to give out so I decide to quit in La Faba where Inna said she was heading. There she is, giving her a wave as I approach. This is a German Albergue so there’s a few minutes of waiting for the girl behind the desk to work out what to say in English and most of the residents are her countrymen and women. Pop round to the restaurant only to find it’s run by three miserable generations of the same family. The menu is read out in Spanish whether you understand it or not. The grandmother sits at the fireplace waiting to pounce and ‘help’ clear the table, giving me grumpy comments and leaving while I deliberately eat slowly and enjoy my meal even if the company leaves a lot to be desired. Her daughter is the chef so I keep my polite air up and ignore the fact that my main is brought while I’m trying to work my way through another Mixed Salad. The grandson just wants to watch football but has to jump up when called to serve a meal.
Not the best few days ever but at least I can get some sleep tonight knowing my washing is all dry and all I have to worry about is working out when I want to go home, but that means thinking about when my Pilgrimage will be over and making decisions which I hate doing. The whole thing is a mess and my head is all over the place. Rudi has arrived with the German girl but is appalled at the fact that they all go to bed by 9:00pm, I thought I had everything but he’s got a mini laptop including mini mouse and even a silk pillow case. He’s actually from Portugal, although Dutch originally and he’s even been to the Cotswolds on business, small world.
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