Nuevo Camino. Pt2.

The old man didn't stay he was just looking to keep his metaphysics warm. Linda and I shot up to the Bar Excelsior for a little picho and a glass of vino for Linda and Sidra from moi then I ordered a meal; which indeed arrived as two! There was me thinking I had only asked for a side salad, not a main meal, to go with spicy pork and chips. You don't need a McDonald's at 3pm and have another full helping around 7pm. Tomorrow I maybe have to wait a while for breakfast. The Portuguese mother daughter combo have gone to wait the songs of Spain's fiesta while I read Jack traveling back across west with Moriety hot on his heels. I wish I had the balls to just to make split second leaps or knew how I could survive without the solidity of back up finances. Simply I'm tepid not distinctly warm: even now there could be fun tonight, but I've removed my body from direct assault; I want to be shielded from the night and be ready for breakfast. Age is a state of mind. I suppose since Burgos/Belrado much of the expectations have vanished into the ether?

We walked for about three quarters of an hour and ducked into a cafe just as the shutters were going up. Fantastic unexpected gem. Great jam, bread, dark rich coffee and a dark rich and inviting Columbian senorita.

Arrived half way and took quite a spontaneous turn via the main church and found a wedding celebration, or something else, in full swing in the main church of Pontedeume. I was looking to mark up my Créanciale. I left my rucksack at the door and took a place next to a nun. I wait now while the vows are gone through. As it is getting warm I have decided to rest my troubled feet going to stay at the auberge pelegrino on the sea front. The main door slammed as I brought my self in. The priest splutters into his microphone while the door slams twice and various coughs. The rocking on heels of unconnected suited relatives.

There is a communion and I take part for the second time. Once for the pilgrim's mass in Puy. A vocal choir sings in the summer. It wasn't a wedding. Perhaps a festival mass?

I look down towards the pelegrino auberge for the evening, but it is locked, called the chap and he speaks zero English so I don't know when they open. Half of me considers continuing to Mino later. But I don't know. I need to get my stamp here if I stay. I could do what I did yesterday and walk later this afternoon? No McDonalds here. Just tapas and other fishy loveliness! I will continue on! After a bocadillo, a refreshing beer and tin of lentils there is a stiff incline until you reach above the town and nowI am in a paper bark forest which reminds me of Pemberton, WA. The smell is elegant, enchanting and enhancing! Eight kilometres until Mino then.

Descending deeper and thicker into the exultant forest the heady essense intertwines with a tribal chorus from much further than I will tread off the benign ever path and like casternets pods pop open in the midday sun. Oh fern and forest greener thou art than my emotional love.

French hostess in logrono asked me what equivalent of etape was in English. From my thoughtless lips I suggested legs when only know I recoil from the shock that I meant stages.

Crossing a damn mainroad I hit my very first Golf course in both France or Spain the Camino cuts through the second hole par five. Up I drive through a heavily wooded rounded topped head of a hill where I feel heavy and ready to rest a little. So many twists and turns until finally I arrived at the auberge. Too much for one day really. A fair ground packs away and the long weekend collapses in on it's self. Those two hills I passed over recall heavier wetter days in Saint Come D'Olt and Espalion. A hill a day keeps the dollars at bay.

So I wait wilting in the early evening sun. What happened to a relaxing five day etape, Daniel. I am now reclining after being driven to a bank by the two butch local constables. At least that's what I thought they were. Not a single word of English to help me understand the procedures. I am left here now alone miles from home and probably also miles from Linda too. A solitary night would be a good way to come round to an easy Tuesday etape. Eight kilometres tomorrow as the weather looks to be more of the same. Linda mentioned eight kilometres two hours after breakfast.

Linda arrived here some thirty minutes after me so we went to the shoreline for cheap simple stuff to eat. Burger, chips, two beers and an ice cream: controversy with two burgers in two days, but what the hell fruit tomorrow?

None of the Portuguese showed and the youngest said that the 18 kilometres was all they had done on their Camino. We assumed they had walked from Portugal...

9:20 the four Portuguese arrive weary and foot sore. They have to summon the courage to call butch cassidy and the sundance kid! We're in the wild north west of Galicia!

There is no hot water in this Gîtes so forgive me for staying pongy for a second day.