Day 11. September 24, 2015. Laredo to

As I walked along the Bois Boolong

With an independent air

It was a charming evening at the Alberge Casa de la Trinada. These were joyous nuns with beaming faces who wanted to share their hospitality with pilgrims and wanted us to share our stories with them. There was a mass, of course, with a pilgrims' blessing; and then a musical interlude where we sang religious songs, led by a nun with guitar, accompanied by another on drums, with a couple of priests bobbing along as well; and in between the songs we introduced ourselves, saying who we were and why we were doing the Camino, and the nuns and priests spoke too, the older man saying little because he knew less was more, but the the younger one feeling that he had to give a little homily; and then we ate, the nuns preparing the first course, while we provided the second, a kind of potluck of bread and cheese and wine. There was an innocence about it all, a return to simpler times.

The next morning, as I strolled along the promenade I found myself singing the air that I quote above, that my old Maths teacher was wont to sing, he who had been called out of retirement to teach us, he who had hit a six out of the WACA, he from whom I had learned that 22 is the square root of 484. My Latin teacher, however, would sing "Come into the Garden, Maud". It is interesting how how we retain these connections with past eras through individual memories like this. I remember students telling me that "antidisestablishmentarianism" was the longest word in the English language. How could that word from the days of home rule for Ireland have survived in Canada had it not been passed down from father to son as a curiosity of the former's childhood? It was anachronistic when I was a student. Aspects of an age ignored or forgotten by historians may survive for several generations through individual memories.

I was a walking washing line, a veritable ambulatory Hill's Hoist of socks and undies and tee shirt. I had had to wash my shorts as well, and normally these would have taken three days to dry, but I draped them over a water heater during the night, so this morning they were damp but wearable. I was "drying on the outside and drying on the inside", so to speak. 

My shorts needed washing because I had tried to nip past a girl on the coastal path, but had slipped in the mud and fallen at her feet between two piles of goat crap. Folly cometh before a fall.

Several kilometres further on I arrived at an inlet where a little ferry came to pick me up, pushing its prow into the sand and throwing a little ladder over the bow. After a five-minute crossing, we arrived at Santona. And like a hobbit, I ate a second breakfast.

Then it was through the town, past a prison, and down to a beach, where I walked towards a track at the end of the bay which seemed to lead towards a road which wound up and around a promontory. The path led upwards, but not as far as the road. Instead, it made its own way around the point, up and down, often treacherous, and offering magnificent views of the bay. And then, at the top was one of those wonderful unexpected moments, a girl from the previous night at the hostel playing the violin.

I waited and listened for a while, and then slipped and slid down to the next beach on brown clay studded with rocks which gave a precarious foothold. Yesterday it would have been impassable; today, it was just possible.

Then I took off my boots, and paddled for several kilometres along the Playa de Noja, splashing in the waves, squishing the sand between my toes. What bliss! What a magnificent beach! Everyone was about, strolling up and down, families, couples, the young, the old, even a few topless nubiles.

I walked to the end of the beach, put on my heavies, proceeded into town, and out along little rural roads through Barrio de Castilla and San Miguel de Meruelo.

After several kilometres, I passed one of those symbols of the Camino.

I had planned to walk on to Guemes, but was seduced by the signs which kept appearing: Albergue Merruelo 5 kms, 4 kms, 3 kms, etc. So I stopped at this hostel, and signed up for the demi-pension.