Day 17
After refilling my water at the fountain across from the Albergue, I made my way up through the old town of Sarria, past the monastery of Magdalena and its adjacent cemetery, and down a long dark drive until crossing over some railroad tracks and then up through a steep and dark mountain trail.
I left at 5:30 that morning and so the wooded trail was almost too dark to walk by twilight, but I did it anyway, just following the “tunnel” toward its slightly more lit wooded end, and turning on my headlamp whenever I sensed any ambiguity in trail direction or footing of the trail underneath.
About an hour or so into the walk I was able to see everything, except that it was a foggy, almost drizzly, morning. For the first time on the camino I actually got off the trail, and ended up walking through an open meadow and adjacent farm.
It seems that others had made the same mistake as there was just a hint of an indent in the grass, heading through the meadow to what appeared to be a fence opening in the foggy distance, toward which progressed with calm and enjoyment of this peaceful surrounding.
I also lucked upon a fox who apparently saw me before I saw him as he was dashing across the far end of the meadow toward an adjacent wood and what appeared to be a trail, to which the grass indent was leading me.
As I got to the wood, there was in fact a trail and an electric fence between me and it, but which thankfully was not hot. I was glad to be back on the camino, but also enjoyed the scenic detour.
Looked like I was well ahead of the pack this morning and I came across the first coffee place, 8 k into the walk, arriving just before the shop attendant who seemed a little befuddled having a customer there before he could set up.
That morning he group from Ireland, including Tom and Mary, showed up again right behind me. We’ve been more or less on a similar schedule, arriving more or less at the same spots and same times as each other, and keeping generally light and pleasant conversation on these occasions. It seems strange, but I am able to understand and communicate better with the spaniards than with the Irish, though nothing negative about the exchange, the saying that “we are two peoples, separated by a common language,” seems to ring true here. It may also just be personalities and demographics as well. Either way, it is has been good to at least run into familiar faces on a daily basis and use each other as a sort of reference point or source of information on how the Camino is going or what Albergue to stay at, or what trail to take, etc.
Later that day I made my last stop before Portomarino at Mercadoiros, where there was a very nice bar-Albergue with jazz playing and a friendly shop attendant who shared his life long desire to move to California with me. They made an excellent tortilla española, and after I got that down I made my way into Portomarino.
As I walked down the hill into town I noticed major Sunday festivities going on, with barbeqed octopus and other items being served down toward the port area at the entrance to town.
I made my way through the BBQ and up the main stretch and open air market, past the church bulging and to the municipal Albergue, where I ended up taking an hour nap while in line there waiting for them to open at one pm.
I was glad to be greeted by the Spanish gal who was in the bunk above me the night before, who had found my headphones and brought them too me.
After my routine I made my way down the the Mirador restaurant and was joined unexpectedly by Ignacio who also eyeballed the same restaurant. The views of the reservoir and surrounding area were great, and the food also lived up to the atmosphere.
Over lunch I had a great time quizzing Ignacio on old Spanish words no longer in use, and was delighted to see that he knew the meaning of most of them, and he also helped me understand a few that I have not been able to look up online due to their not being in a standard modern dictionary.
Later on, after my nap and more Albergue routine, I decided for an earlier dinner (6pm instead of 8:30-9pm) with another pilgrim, as I was too tired to stay up for the late Spanish dinner that day.
We went back to the mirador and I just had soup and some white wine, and we enjoyed the ambiance while sharing a bit of our Camino stories and general life issues that somehow intertwine with our reasons for doing the camino.
This particular friend shared the absence of their father throughout most of their life, except for showing up once when they were eighteen with expectations for perhaps easy reconciliation. While my experience with my father was not exactly the same as that, I was able to identify with her and it was tough to hold back the emotions while reflecting upon the unapparent but profound impact that the absence of ones father can leave on ones life.
Most of the time I don’t even realize the wound is there, except unexpectedly, as if out of the nowhere of my subconscious and my heart, the sense of abandonment or absence of affection just hits you in the gut and the tears come forth no matter the efforts to restrain or to move past it.
After dinner, I made my way back to my bed and crashed, leaving the packing for early morning.