St. James Way

61st Hiking Day

In the morning at the breakfast table downstairs in the bar of the Albergue in Palas de Rei. How lucky I was to find accommodation in this Albergue. It is true that none of the Spaniards are here and I spent the night in the bed above the American who allegedly invented a space station. But yesterday, out of the blue, dear Valentine showed up. We were happy to meet again, hugged and Edoardo, the friendly Italian, was there too. We sat down at a table and had a nice chat. Well, this wish has also come true, albeit belatedly. By the way, pulpo was part of the daily special yesterday and so I can tick this request off my list (albeit without a Spaniard). As I said, I'm glad I stayed here. Valentine told me about Meg, who is already in Santiago and who has met her fiancé again. She looked happy in the photos. Apart from that today is likely to become another rainy day.

I've now looked at the pictures and drawings by Wolfgang Herrndorf. It's just not my taste. I'm not too happy with his style. At least not now. Also interesting that – today included - there are still three hiking days to Saint Jaques (Santiago) left and neither pulse nor mind do any noteworthy gymnastic exercises. There is zero expectation. But that may also be due to the fact that my destination lies behind Santiago. Via Finisterre and then to Muxia. Where you can see the ocean. But all of it is not yet tangible. I remember the moment when I unexpectedly (surprisingly) saw the Pyrenees for the first time. That was really something. Maybe a bit like Indiana Jones when, after oil and rats, he opened the manhole cover and then said "Ah, Venice." Well, it wasn't exactly like this. But still a funny movie scene that I fondly think of in a similar situation every time. Maybe because Robert with the long hair had mentioned it once.

Just sat in a bar with Valentine and she taught me a little French and I taught her a little German. She is really charming. With her long legs and 23 years.

If I really would have one wish left on this Camino, then I would like to see Mario again. Mario, who seeks the simple life and lost wife and brother within a single year. How he walked next to me and told me that story in French while he had to clear his throat all the time. It is not true what I tell people here. Because back then, in the monastery of Moissac, when I happened to share the room with Mario, I cried in the dark for the first and so far only time on the Camino. I would have walked through hell for this guy and much further, for this person who had told me his story in just 20 minutes. Voilà, Mario. So you get an entry in my travel journal after all.