Rain or Shine

The first sounds in the albergue begin early. Throughout this adventure, inevitably, someone starts stirring around 4:30. 

By five, a few more are awake. By six or six-thirty, the majority are rustling through packs, brushing teeth, pulling out clothes, and preparing to walk.

My silicon earplugs screen out most of the noise but are no defense when, as in this case, I have been assigned to a top bunk and the early riser is down below. He sits to put on socks. He stands to pack his sleep sack. He sits to put on trousers. He stands to pack his towel. Each rise and fall, each adjustment, reverberates through the shaky metal frame to the top bunk where sleep now evades me. 

The cold rain elevated the level of commotion and volume this morning, introducing crinkles and rustles as pilgrims dug through packs to  locate their ponchos and grunts as they navigated their bodies and backs through small holes into the awkward but protective vinyl drapes.

I took my time getting out of bed.

The pilgrim who slept in the bunk next to mine (not the noisy one below me), a middle-aged man from Ireland, mentioned that his weather app predicted the rain was supposed to ease shortly before 9 am.

I was still behind on my blogging, so I decided there was no reason to rush. This albergue offered a modest continental breakfast, a rare treat, so I paid to access coffee, juice, fresh fruit, a Spanish tortilla, and some almond cake. 

I opened my notes app and used the time to catch up a little on documenting my journey before heading out.

The breakfast area was adjacent to the lobby. I saw Hadrien and Lizzie; Osama; and Ulrika, respectively, heading out that morning. All prepared for rain. I told each that I planned to delay my departure for an hour or so and bid them buen camino. 

I finished my writing, and the rain softened to little more than a mist, a level I decided I could handle. 

It felt great to allow the rush to bypass me and to give myself the alone time to process yesterday. 

Heading outside and getting started, the mist was in fact heavier than I had hoped, and before long my hair was wet and my backpack was damp. 

However, I stubbornly refused to pull out my own poncho at this point. I had already crossed a threshold of wetness at which point putting on a poncho would indeed protect me from additional rain but would also trap the existing water inside, turning me into a wet, steamy furnace. 

So I hedged my bets and kept walking. 

Eventually, my patience paid off. The clouds began to break. The rain stopped. Evaporation followed as the sun’s gentle heat came through.

A few hours into the day, I encountered Ulrika, a well-traveled Swedish pilgrim in her thirties I had first met about a week ago at the tri-continental dinner featuring microwaved rice.

She had left her job and, for now, was simply traveling, including pre- and post-Camino trips. 

Conversation flowed easily between us. We got along well, and over the next few days we would spend quite a bit of time walking together.

The remaining miles passed quickly with company. Ulrika also shared my willingness and enthusiasm for stopping seemingly constantly to capture a memory through a photo or video clip.

Each passing day leads us through another ecosystem or agricultural region. Today we found ourselves again wandering through vineyards, distinct from those earlier on the Camino, but just as beautiful.

While most vineyards appeared to be under active management, others were clearly overgrown or abandoned that season, though still producing fruit. 

Ulrika reluctantly joined me in the art of eating off the vine.

Ulrika would continue around 10 km further that afternoon to shorten tomorrow’s walk up the mountain to O Cebreiro. I would stay here. 

My other friends were still several hours behind, which gave me time to explore and reflect some more. 

I made the best of the respite. I found a quiet place to sit and journal.

I didn’t journal much here as the stream, about 10 feet below me, drew my attention. Standing up and walking along the edge, I encountered a ladder leading down toward the river itself. I climbed down and zeroed in on a small cascade where the water rushed over the rocks.

I slipped off my shoes and let the cold water massage my aching feet for a short while.

Later, I moved to the plaza, where I continued journaling over a glass of wine, Spanish cheese, shrimp, and bread.

Pilgrims share their WhatsApp numbers liberally and I put out some feelers to where I was in the plaza. As the others arrived, perhaps an hour and a half later, Lizzie, Hadrien and Osama joined me. We shared some laughs, wine, bread, and cheese before returning back to our respective albergues. 

What a lovely day. The Camino continues to teach me the joy and appreciation of alone time, one-on-one conversation, group fun, and my need for all three.