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Published: April 13th 2010
Leaving Granon
There seems to be a bit of a ritual in the smaller albergue where cena y desayuno (dinner & breakfast) are part of the service that there is a slow start to the morning, or at least an ordered start. Compared to albergue who do not provide breakfast, where there is a bit of a free for all starting about 0630 as the early starters get away.
At Granon, the Italian hostel keeper had breakfast at the table when I went up, and clearly did not expect people to wait to gather. Rather, we each ate and then prepared to leave. I was on the road shortly after 0800.
The day was pleasant walking, with some familiar faces along the road as we passed and stopped, passed and stopped.
Late in the day, the three Koreans passed me. They had walked from Sto Domingo, some 8km further than I had that day already, and were planning to go at least one village beyond where I was planning to stop. What a big day - nearly 40km.
Espinsa del Camino
My guidebook had given a good writeup to a small albergue at Espinosa del Camino, so
I was planning to stay there for the night. I was the first to arrive, and settled into a room on the first floor. It seemed most of the floor had been renovated for pilgrims. Two bedrooms joined by a small common room, and a modern bathroom and laundry. But the place was bitterly cold. I closed the window, which would eventually make some difference, and did domestic stuff, then went and sat in what might best be described as a sitting room.
It was clear from the certificates and other memorabilia that the hospitalero had once been a paratrooper in the Spanish army, and he later confirmed this, noting this was ´mas anos´ ago. He was also a collector, and both the sitting room and kitchen/dining room were full of his collections. The sitting room had model and a small number of real swords, a collection of minature soldiers and another of minature helmets. The kitchen/dining room had various toby jugs, other mugs and bits and pieces.
Four Irish Gits
I suppose that its a bit unfair on three of the young men that arrived an hour or so after me to call them gits, because in
With the Korean Trio
There were a delightful trio of Koreans, whb asked if they could have a photograph with me 'for their memory'. reality only one of them was.
There must be some form of arrogance that ensures that you have no idea how rude and boorish you appear to ordinary people, and it clearly afflicted Conrad. He came in with three others - a painter, Sean and Andrew. It seems Conrad and the painter were travelling together, as were Sean and Andrew. Three of them, Conrad, the painter and Sean, had been to school together. Andrew was Lithuanian, and was working in Dublin with Sean in the hotel industry.
All this and a bit more I discovered when I walked down to the bar, where I knew they would be, and sat outside in the sun with them. Conrad´s opening conversational gambit was a bit like ´Let´s see what the Australian thinks about ...´ and then followed a couple of expatriate Australians who had made names for themselves in the world of artistic critisism and publishing. Saying that I didn´t need to have an opinion about them only made Conrad more determined to ensure that I must have some view, and to prise it from me.
The conversation turned to what people did, when the painter, Sean and Andrew all seemed to be able to account for some useful and productive life. Conrad, it seemed, was a doctor´s son. This explanation seemed to satisfy the other three, who added no further explanation. It puzzled me that a young adult should so define himself by his father´s occupation.
Even more surprizing was that it became a mantra between Conrad and the painter. ´His father was a flying doctor in Canada´ said the painter. Later, ´my father, the doctor´ from Conrad. An so it went. There was clearly a great deal of respect for Conrad´s sire, and I wondered why.
As we chatted, it became clear that all three real Irishmen in the group had been to the same boarding school, and from Conrad I learnt that his father appeared to have chosen to pursue his medical interests in various places around the world, leaving Conrad in the care of well meaning relatives and suitably paid boarding schools for most of his childhood. I had this vision of the father appearing at Conrad´s birth, and then only seeing his progeny again at moments of his own choosing, even perhaps now that the child was a young man.
Which is when it dawned on me that perhaps I too should have great respect for this man for whom his son´s friends had such respect. I realised that he must have been a very sensible doctor indeed.
Cena, ocho, pronto
The paratrooper had made it quite clear that dinner was going to be at eight sharp, and I began to make my way back to the albergue in plenty of time. As I left the bar, the painter said something to the effect of letting the hospitalero know they would be back in time for dinner. It took me a little aback that I should be asked to be a message boy, and told him that the proof of his statement should be in its performance. He looked puzzled. And they were late.
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Jeff
non-member comment
multilinguality
Doug: more and more Spanish is creeping into your otherwise rivetting accounts of deprivation and hardship. I do not speak Spanish, nor do I intend to. Just an observation :) Jeff