It is fitting that I dedicate this day to Vimy, as I have seen so many dogs on this journey. Every time I see one, I think of Vimy. This morning Nancy and I left the fairy tale pueblo of O 'Cebreiro. Not far out of town, where there was a fork in the road, I stopped to talk to an old man, who looked so tired. He had his dog, his backpack and tent behind him on this type of a one wheeled cart and wanted to know which way to O'Cebreiro. Well, usually when you see someone going the wrong way, you figure it is because they forgot something - usually their walking sticks. Turns out this man had done the Camino del Norte, on the Côte d'Azur of France, had been to Santiago, and was working his way back to France. He wasexhausted, and didn't know how much farther he could go. He was hoping a friend would pick him up soon. His dog was so cute! I pointed him in the right direction, and after we resumed our walk, I said to Nancy "Did you get all that?" She repeated it back perfectly. I said "Wow, you are getting really good at understanding Spanish". Then I realized I had conversed with the man in French, having detected his accent. Nancy had a good chuckle over that one!
We still had to go up two mountains - Alto San Roque and Alto de Poio, before making our way down to our destination
of Triacastela for the night. The scenery is as gorgeous going down as coming up.
I decide not to a take a Tylenol for muscular pain, and suck it up. My little aches and pains are nothing compared to many other Peregrinos in obvious pain when walking. It is so evident in their faces.
We take our time and decide to have lunch at a Café at the end of the village of Fonfria. We support those entrepreneurs who advertise on the path, giving clear instructions as to where they are in the village. If you are NOT the first in the village, where most Peregrinos stop, you have to work twice as hard to get their business.
Three steps form the Café, there is this sweet faced lady, holding a plate of warm pancakes. IF there is one thing I hate, it is pancakes. I take one to be polite. So does Nancy. Then she asks for a "donativo", a donation. So I give her 1 Euro. She cocks an eye at Nancy, as if to say what about her, so I give her another Euro.
By the time I get to the Café, I am fuming. An Aussie, one of a group of partiers, takes my proferred pancake. I protest against what this woman was doing, when another Aussie says "She is only trying to earn a living." I protest "NO!" What she is doing, it is ...... and as I search for the the word, he says "Extortion!" He was right. That is what it was. Talking with the Café owner, he tells me he figures she makes 200 Euros a day, doing what she does. Plus she doesn't pay taxes. So beware of sweet faced CON WOMEN, on the Camino, mon oncle Eloi!
We tip the owner, who is young and hardworking. When I ask why he doesn't ring the bell, he says he doesn't have one but runs behind the bar to clink two glasses together. We share a good laugh!
We are going through, on our path, what amounts to cattle farms. The Camino goes through the farm. There is cow shit all over the place.
It is a long day but gorgeously warm and breezy.
Nancy is getting tired. We hear there may be no rooms left in Triacastela, so I decide to run on ahead the last three km. I do it in 25 minutes, running flat out on the flat stretches and doing my funny duck waddle down the steep descents.
I pass Peter, a lawyer from Vermont, with whom we have chatted while hiking. He looks very tired as well , so I ask him if he wants to bunk with Nancy and me, if we can get something. He is in agreement. To make a long story very short, we shared a four bed large room, in a private pension, and even though we had to walk 75 steps to get to our room, it was wunderbar!
While I was waiting for Peter and Nancy to meet me at our pension, I sat at the outdoor café, had a beer and because my water bottle had leaked in my back pack, I had hung up my socks to dry on the little fence that was the enclosure of the café. Nancy and Peter arrive and join me. Who goes through town, right down the middle of the street, but a herd of cows! My socks, which I hadn't washed in three days, attracted one cow, who came right over and slobbered all over my them. So I had to wash them that night, darn it. Nancy told that to everyone; she loved the disgusting dollop of cow drool hanging off my sock!
I did try to get to mass that night. Some Columbian lady told me mass was at 7:00, but it was at 6:00, so I missed it.
I saw Martin, he of the no words and rags on his feet, that evening. I spoke to him in French, and he did his tipping of his hand from his heart.
I saw Martin, he of the no words and rags on his feet, that evening. I spoke to him in French, and he did his tipping of his hand from his heart.
We had a lovely supper with Joan and Robert, who is German and taller than Joan. It is like being in the land of giants when we are with them. Peter joined us.
Although I left Fidèle in the bar of our Pension for over three hours, no one touched him: I picked him up and brought him to supper with me, where he practically killed our sweet waiter, by hanging out in the aisle.
Although I left Fidèle in the bar of our Pension for over three hours, no one touched him: I picked him up and brought him to supper with me, where he practically killed our sweet waiter, by hanging out in the aisle.
Je vous dis bonne nuit avec amour et grande reconnaissance de Triacastela, Espagne.
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