8am already, but the fog still makes this morning a mysterious time, especially under the tall eucalyptus trees.
By 9 it’s warm and sunny again. We’re moving on through the beautiful Galician countryside, from hamlet to hamlet, from one eucalyptus grove to another, by a forest road that looks cut deeply into (…) The record stops here…
No, it doesn’t, I just got distracted by something and stopped writing. Many parts of the road here go through what now is a forest – it is difficult to know, what it was nine centuries ago. Now it often looks like a tunnel, with high walls of dirt or stone, all covered in moss, on both sides of the road. As if the forest took its own floor up a couple of meters, while the road stayed where it was: either someone is cleaning it all this time, or hundreds of feet every day keep packing it down.
We’re settling down for the night in an unusually luxurious room in what is an albergue, but also has private rooms. Compared to 2 bunk beds, our room is only a couple of euros more expensive. It’s shared bathroom, but there is nobody to share it with, so we live like kings tonight. Actually, our room is like a (Norwegian) prison cell for two, but everything is spotless clean, so it’s great.
It’s been the last “big” day with 30+ km, tomorrow it is only 11 left. This place buzzes with excitement, everyone’s cleaning up for the big arrival tomorrow. It is very appropriate, Labacolla or Lavacolla used to be the stop where the pilgrims would wash themselves for the first time in a long time before going to Santiago. “Lavar” – to wash, “colla” – well, I’ll be honest… it’s “scrotum”. I think it’s a fantastic, descriptive name for a place.
We pretend to do the reasonable thing and go to the grocery store for our dinner. Only, the shop is insanely overpriced. We get some microwave food, a good bottle of wine, some veggies and some beer, and are suddenly charged what we would pay for a restaurant dinner. I don’t mind all that much that local businesses want to fleece the pilgrims a bit, but it’s still not a very good feeling to be taken for a ride like this.
There are many nationalities in the albergue’s garden, we’re blessed by the presence of a very talkative frenchman, with whom Lidia has a long and frustrating conversation in French. While talking to a lady from Belgium (she waked from there, as well), we find a Russian- speaking woman from Moscow and start taking to her. Two minutes later a big dude is walking by, while saying (also in Russian) “well, this is remarkable”. Vitaly lives in Köln, but was born in Kazakhstan, moved at the age of 8. All grown up now, his kids are approximately same age as ours, the oldest ones. We talk and then he comes back from the kitchen with a big meal for everyone. Apparently he’s been cooking (a lot), not only today, but almost every day in Spain (he’s been walking from far in France, 3 months). He says other pilgrims started following him to albergues because of the food he makes, and I can quite believe it: the ribs cooked in a red wine reduction with potatoes and a salad is a work of an artist. He’s so happy to share, it’s amazing. What a guy.
Falling asleep, later.
