I left the hostel fairly early and headed up the hill to a bar where I had my habitual cafe and tortilla. Then it was through the suburbs and out of town towards Santa Cruz de Bezana and Boo de Pielagos. I was probably one of the few who didn't take a train out of the city and the only one who walked all the way today.
I really don't mind the city walking when the directions are clear. In some ways it's more interesting than walking forever along a busy road in the country. At least there's a footpath, and there's often some variety as well, one street to another, different shops, a bit of in and out of here and there.
I enjoy watching the Walk indicator at the pedestrian crossings in Spain. Instead of your Anglo-Saxon no-nonsense green go, red stop, there is a little digital man, who in his red guise stands firm and solid with both feet on the ground, while above him a counter ticks away the seconds remaining before the lights change. Then he turns green and starts walking briskly, because he doesn't want you to amble across. Again the seconds tick away, and with three to go, he breaks into a sprint, telling you to get a move on or you'll get run over.
At Boo I faced a dilemma, or should I say, trilemma. In ages past, the way crossed a river between Boo and Moja, and a ferryman would have done a brisk trade. Now there was no ferry, and I was forced to choose between a nine-kilometre road detour, a short crossing by train, or an unofficial hike along the tracks and across the railway bridge. I had decided upon the foot crossing and had kept my eye on the trains all morning, noting their frequency. I imagined leaping off the bridge in the face of an oncoming train, throwing off my backpack and unbuttoning my boots in mid-flight lest I sink, but in the event it was very simple and safe, even if I had to ignore imposing Passo Probhito signs at the beginning of the bridge. There was a footpath at the side of the tracks and a barrier to prevent me from falling or jumping into the river. I walked along the tracks into Moja Station, out onto the street, and into a bar for a coffee. A parrot pierced my ears with its shrill shriek, and I heard a train arrive at the station.
As I set off, half a dozen people arrived from the train. They were fresh, and would continue on to Santillano del Mar. I had decided to stop at Requejada, nine kilometres earlier. But when I arrived, I found the bedbugs had been there before me. "Desinfecto" said the official notice on the door. So I pressed on. Along the way I passed a dead adder on the road, not the first I have seen.
I should tell you about some of my companions on the way. Several finished yesterday. Since the beginning, I had been running into a several Spanish students, majoring in Physics. Classmates, they had decided to walk part of the Camino together before their term began on Monday. They were a friendly group, spoke English, and sometimes helped me with translations.
You never quite know what you're getting into when you initiate a discussion with the person you are walking with. Yesterday, I walked around the coast with Fernando, a sculptor from Bilbao. He was fascinated by the machinations of the Catholic Church, telling me about the Mafia money in the Vatican Bank and the poisoning of the pope who tried to do something about it. The current pope, he said, was the last chance for the Church. He, Fernando, not Francisco, finished yesterday as well.
In Pobena, I had dinner with an American, who was leaving the next morning. As he was from Seattle (west coast) and was doing the Camino, I thought it would be safe to talk politics with him. I asked him whether he thought Obama was doing better in his second term. "0bama," he said, and his face changed like Gollum's when he coveted the ring, "should be impeached. I wouldn't be surprised if he refuses to step down." So that was the end of the discussion. That put an end to my theory that members of a certain political party would not be found on the Camino with its values of sharing and tolerance and community and compassion.
Animals share these values as well. Here is one of many examples, a horse with his friends.
I walked almost to Santillano, but stopped a few kilometres short at the Albergue Arco Iris, 400 metres off the track. Actually, it was 700 metres, but in the manner of off-way gites and auberges everywhere, it had understated the distance, wary of discouraging the footsore or faint hearted.
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