Tuesday 6 October 2015

Day 23. October 6, 2015. Aviles to Muros de Nalon. 24 kms

Rage, rage against the dying of the light



I walked out of town this morning into driving rain, which continued on and off for much of the day. I have just about managed to don my poncho by myself, flinging it over my head so that the back flap covers my backpack. But it's easier if you have a companion.

I walked along the road for an hour, and as it looped back on itself and wound down to the seaside town of San Cristobal, the way cut through the hill with the rain forming a little rivulet down the middle of the track. 

I had my second coffee of the day. I continue to run into difficulties with timer switches, but this morning I encountered a very sophisticated and civilized version. Sitting there was I, when slowly the light began to dim, giving me enough time to find the switch before darkness descended.

I remember from long ago that "knife" was a Danish word that came into Old English during the Danish invasion of Northern England, along with all those place names that end in -by, like Oadby, from the word "by" meaning town, as in "bylaws". I confirmed all this with Preben the Dane, and tried out various theories with him, for example, that silent "k" words come from Danish. "Knife" and "knee" and "knot" do; "knead" and "know" don't. We shouted words at each other as we walked.

Towards the end of a long, cold, wet hike through the forest, the sun finally came out. I put in at a bar at Soro de Barco. This may or may not have been a typical Spanish bar, but there were several men around the bar and a red-headed woman behind it, very much in charge. The men were arguing and one in particular was quite loud and obnoxious. Then the woman, the proprietress, got involved and the two were going at it hammer and tongs. She was telling him off, whether for his opinions or his behaviour, I didn't know. The other two men looked a bit uncomfortable, but his shouting and her screaming increased to such an extent I thought they would come to blows. She would scream, he would stop, and then start again, and she would hurl another string of abuse at him. Finally, it died down, and a little later as he left, she saw him to the door, and bade him a friendly goodbye. Then she looked at me and shrugged. Was it football or politics? I don't know.

A couple of kilometres further on I arrived at Muros de Nalon and decided to stay a private albergue, Casa Carmina. This is very well equipped, and quite luxurious for an albergue. It, too, has lights that go on and off automatically, and more important, Wifi.

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