3. Hopital de Órigo to Astorga. 18 kms

Gurgling happily along the Way

He made his first Camino.

For him, no stationary confinement in a pen

Poking curiously at purple toys,

But the open road, the sun and the sky.

A communion of sorts, no solemn white,

But colourful red and white and blue,

Nor priests nor holy water;

Just the natural world

Divine, unappropriated by man.

Out at a bright and early hour, I followed my shadow across the plain, managing to keep up with it quite well. 

I have walked with many pilgrims over the years, and have seen them use different kinds of locomotion — feet, bicycles, donkeys, wheelchairs. Once I saw a man walking with his backpack while his woman was harnessed to a cart laden with gear.

This morning I walked with my youngest Camino companion, only he wasn’t walking at all: he was being wheeled by his parents in a pram/cart. I won’t tell you the age gap between us. It was his first Camino, and my last!

As I slogged up the hill after Santibañes de Valdeiglesias, I witnessed a new phenomenon. A pair of bicycles raced by me. Electric bikes, I realized. The buggers! Normally cyclists have to cover 200 km to get their Compostela, but perhaps there should be a new requirement for those on e-bikes. 400 km?

Further on, half way up another hill, I sat down on a hump of earth and rested. A steady stream of pilgrims passed me by. I was in compositional mode, but greeted them as they walked by. Only I had forgotten to turn off the recorder on my phone, so here’s an unedited live take from the Camino:

 lol ha ha ha ha how’s it going good yeah I’m fine ha ha good morning one Camino 

I got up with some difficulty, pressed on, and just over the hill an enterprising fellow had set up his stall in front of his rural shack. A nice place to rest.

This has often been my experience. It’s time for a rest, so I sit down on an anthill while just around the corner is a bench. I once arrived at the outskirts of the village, desperate for a coffee and consumed by far the worst cup of instant coffee I have ever drunk in my life. Around the corner was a bar with an expresso machine.

But then, just over a rise, there in the distance was Astorga with its prominent cathedral — not a glorious golden brown like the Cathedral de Leon, but a rather foreboding gray.

Five kilometres later, I was there. I had overdone it yesterday, so I decided to stay. I had been told the albergues were full so I walked another two kilometres looking for a cheap hotel. Completo!

Getting a little worried, I returned to the albergue. There was room. But I was fearing the worst: a top bunk. I once walked an extra ten kilometres to find a bottom bunk. But I couldn’t do that now.

On the top bunk, I worry about stepping on the delicates of the person beneath as I make my several nocturinal visits to the bathroom. Sometimes there’s a ladder at the end offering a hazardous descent, but often you have to swing over the side, your foot hoping for landfall on the bunk beneath, while trying to avoid the inhabitant. 

But I was lucky. Perhaps it was my age which she would have ascertained as she perused my passport. The hospitalera led me past several dorms full of young people to a small empty four-bed room where I installed myself on a bottom bunk.

Unlike last night, I did not keep the room to myself. An Irishman arrived and talked and talked and  talked until finally I escaped by saying I had to wash my clothes. Quelle experience! 

And then I was a tourist. Astorga is a magnificent place! I walked past the foundations of the old Roman buildings, and then up into a typical Spanish town. Plaza led into plaza, and all around people were sitting outside in bars and cafes, enjoying life and their beer. Euphoria enveloped me as I sipped my cervesa. Yesterday was misery. Today was joyous!