It was too bad, because the bed at O Candido was the most comfortable one so far. I messaged a bit with my friend Nihan in Canada, who was nervously waiting to see if her husband's plane could leave Turkey during the military coup.
In the morning, Cathleen and I realized that a shower curtain for a door was not enough to have a private washroom moment. Cathleen started quoting The Princess Bride: "You may call this a hotel room..."
Our path today was between 8-9km. It was basically a rest day. We were just moving one town down the road.
Since we were in no rush, and low on sleep, we were the last ones out of the albergue in the morning. As we were leaving, an older German pilgrim arrived from Lugo, covered in sweat. I was pleased that he caught himself several times, as he started to go into judgement. First, that we looked fresh (judgments: Why had we not walked a lot already that morning?! Why were we leaving so late?), next that we were only going 8-9 km to Ferreira (judgments: Why were we not going the 30 km to Melide? Why would we need a rest day already?!), finally he realized we had started in Oviedo, not Lugo, as he had previously suspected. We left him investigating the vending machine options for his lunch, as he had not stopped to rest or eat since Lugo.
As we walked, Cathleen noticed my skirt had caught up on my purse, exposing my butt on one side. I thought to the people at the church in Lugo and laughed, "Mystery solved! I'm 'the girl' with her butt showing!" It was entirely possible that was what had happened.
The walk was quiet and peaceful, except for the occasional tractor. We saw several traditional horrero (granaries). They look like churches or burial crypts.
All the animals were passed out in patches of shade.
Ok, maybe not all the animals...
At one point, a pilgrim caught up with Cathleen, and I could hear them talking behind me. As I got grumpy about it, I passed this sign:
At Ferreira, we let the pilgrim pass us (it was the same German man from the albergue), and took the "wrong path" at the junction so we could pass the old water mill, Molina de Louzao. A guy yelled at us and motioned that it was the wrong way, but we reassured him we knew we were taking a detour. Besides the mill, it was just a prettier route, as I had seen on Google maps befit I left Canada. The water mill was neat. Then we walked a tiny section of the Camino backwards to get to our hotel.
While Cat sat outside smoking and chatting with the same German pilgrim from before, I went straight to our room and opened the can of tuna spread that I had now carried 60 km. It wasn't very good. XD I ate it anyway. Lol. I was not sure it wasn't cat food... lolololololol. But I sure as heck was not going to carry it 20 km+ again the next day!
The hotel and room were great! It's hard tell the photo, but there was a lovely wooden armoire and desk, lace curtains, and exposed stone in the walls. We had a nice pastoral view out our window, and the outside had multiple shaded terraces, covered in ivies. The dogs and cats were passed out in the driveway.
Cathleen came into the room with a migraine, wanting to lay down. I already had a nap on my mind, so I took one.
When I awoke, Cathleen was gone again. I checked the Camino forum to read about the death of an Irish pilgrim on the Primitvo.
https://www.caminodesantiago.me/community/threads/sad-death-of-irish-pilgrim-after-completing-the-oviedo-route.41982/
Alarmed, since we had just left our new Irish friends the day before, I read more to discover it was a different pilgrim, James 'Seamus' McDonagh, 60, who died of a heart attack after reaching Santiago.
"Tributes have been paid to a former teacher from west Belfast who died after completing a two week pilgrimage in Spain. Retired James McDonagh (60)- also known as Seamus- was a keen walker. He was taking part in his fifth Camino de Santiago when he suffered a heart attack just hours after finishing the 320 km Oviedo to Santiago route..."
http://www.belfastlive.co.uk/news/tributes-paid-former-west-belfast-11613652
For some reason it hit touched my heart and I cried, even though I did not know the man personally. Maybe it was that he was a teacher, Irish, doing the Primitvo, and right after so many other deaths in my recent awareness.
Cathleen returned, complaining about the same pilgrim who would not stop talking. I said, "That's why I'm here and not out there!" She sure is a glutton for punishment.
I offered her the rest of my "cat food"... er, tuna, which she gratefully accepted. Hmmm...It gave new meaning to "Cat" food... ;) Then we went out and did ALL our laundry. I had taken my little hotel soap out to use, and when I got to the wash station, I realized that what I had brought was not a soap; THIS was a soap:
Unfortunately, a group of young people had discovered the creek running behind the albergue, and were jumping in and screeching. Cathleen looked me and said, "How can they do quiet contemplation when they never shut up?! Let's avoid the Frances as much as possible!"
Her cheeks were hot, too hot, and we both worried she had gotten a touch of heat exhaustion. She filled her water bottle up, and I recommended putting cold wet cloths on her body to help cool it down. If she couldn't fix this, it would not bode well for the end of our trip, especially when I saw the temperatures were climbing up to 38°C. She went back outside to smoke, and ended up chatting with the other couple staying at the hotel. I tried again to get her to try to do something to cool her body, and improve the heat exhaustion, but she brushed it off. At least she was drinking lots of water. I need to put into practice my new Trust insight, and let her do what she's going to do.
She complained about still not writing, but then finally wrote a longish Facebook post about her experience with the family at the wake.
Dinner was amazing! Our hostess made us a fresh meal of empanada, tortilla with shredded potato, green salad, bread, garlic pork chops, wine, and Santiago cake. Coming in to deliver the tortilla, she giggled and made a comment that we were supposed to eat the empanada with our hands, not with forks and knives, but I was just finishing my last bite of empanada, so I said "too late!" Then we thought she said to also eat the tortilla that way, "like a pizza." However, when she returned a couple minutes later, she doubled over in laughter: no no, eat the tortilla with knives and forks! So we gave her a good laugh. She was a wonderful host, explaining details about the family and house, when we asked. I had noticed that the name on the mill that we had taken a special detour to see, matched Manuel's middle name on the hotel info. Apparently, the mill also belonged in the family: Manuel's nephew owned it. His brother owned the taverna. The other couple staying in the hotel didn't show up for supper, or perhaps planned on eating later, so we had the dining room to ourselves.
After supper, we spent some quiet time apart: Cathleen out in the gardens chatting with other guests, and me in the room. I actually didn't leave my bed much since we had arrived, around noon. It was a very restful "rest" day for me.
Empanada's the Spanish version of a sandwich. I loved them. Fond memories of my dear friend Maria, making her daughter and I empanada's when we were in nursing school.
ReplyDeleteShe the Spanish part of Chilean cuisine. they are very nourishing and comforting food.
It's funny because the "empanadas" I've had in Vancouver have always been small, like a pizza pocket, but in Spain, they are all large and sliced like a pie. I'd say they are more like a calzone. Maybe it's the difference between South American style and Spainish style? Then there are the "bocadilla," which are like a sandwich on a baguette or bun, and then the "sandwiches," which are more like our sandwiches in Canada, between two pieces of sliced bread.
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