Portomarin to Palais de Rei - part 1

08.09.06 -date I wrote in my journal after the 07.06.06 entry. No idea if it means 08.06.06 or 09.06.06, or if I meant to consolidate the two. ~Journal Excerpt, either on the 8th or 9th of June, 2006.

No matter about the mix up in journal dates. I have a pretty good memory, especially when it comes to certain things.

I have, however, absolutely no memory of the morning walk. Nor do I remember anything about vacating the premises at Portomarin. No memory of getting out of bed, brushing my teeth, packing my things. No memory of whether or not I ate anything, no memory of which direction we went to get out of the village. No memory of the morning mood, no memory of leaving in darkness, and no memory of the sun coming up. Surely all of these things happened. But I can't Santiago growing closer.retrieve any of it. Exhaustion is why. Exhaustion upon lying down and exhaustion upon waking. Exhaustion upon exhaustion. Then, from somewhere your body gives you some energy to go on again, and last but never least, Santiago continues calling.

My sickness, by the way, had just about disappeared, or so it seemed. I wasn't blowing my nose anymore and I wasn't feeling sick. I was happy about that. I was glad that I had stopped at the hospital back in Lèon, but most of all very relieved that I hadn't had to break off my journey back then like Marie back in Burgos at the Hotel "Don Quixote."

Marc and I walked in and out of the group that day. I know we were with the others, even if I don't have a clear memory for how long, because at one point Xavier came up to Marc and I and told us to stop. He insisted that we put our magic cups that were hanging on the back of our packs in a more secure way. The noise of them softly clanging with each step we took was driving him, and some of the others crazy. He called us the "chevres" (goats) of something and mutter on his way as we apologized and stopped to fix the problem. Marc and I hadn't even noticed, but we were more than happy to comply with his request. After that day, every time we began the walk Marc and I added the ritual of making sure the cups were silenced. If soft clanging started from one of our packs, we went quickly to each other's aid of tucking it back under a strap without having to take off our packs or even stop walking. That day we managed two breaks: one with the group and another without. It was becoming more of the routine.

We walked to Palais de Rei that day. WhenFirst break area. Deb in the hat! we arrived, I remembered thinking once again that we really could have kept walking. I didn't feel tired then. As usual we were some of the first to put our packs at the door. Also as usual, we had to wait until the albergue opened. I always felt that was such wasted time, we could after all, walk on to the next albergue in the time it would take it to open, and so I had to work hard to repress Nancy Sinatra's voice singing These Boots Were Made for Walkin' from my head. Xavier had brought us to the municipal albergue, which was fine, but since Sarria the municipal albergues were becoming or seeming more and more industrial to me, which makes sense when you think of the ever increasing number of pilgrims these buildings encounter within the 100 kilometer radius of Santiago. On the other hand, it may have been a false perception on my part, and simply a longing for more comfort, especially when it was certainly to be had, even if minimally, in the form of a nearby private albergue.

The Palais de Rei municipal albergue sits, like the Sarria municipal within the town. Across from it is a piazza type area, and off the other side of the piazza is, indeed, a private albergue. I wouldn't be surprised if there were a few more private albergues near by, but I certainly didn't try to find them. When the doors opened to the albergue, the long line of pilgrims that had developed behind us all got up and hoisted up their things. We took a room upstairs that would accommodate the entire group. There were about 10 places to sleep in our room. I choose a lower bunk again. The room had large windows giving a lot of light. Our room overlooked the piazza. Off to the right side of our room, like a suite in a hotel, there was a bathroom where the sink, showers and toilets could be found. The feel of the room was the feel of some lost history. The ceilings were high, the flooring very old. It seemed empty even when we were all in it. Out in the hallway, and the lower part of the building, I remember a feeling of heavy, grey concrete. It seemed cold and container-like. I didn't like walking around in the building at all, preferring either to stay in the sun lit room or outside.

In our room, there was immediately a problem upon arrival. The first showering pilgrim had discovered that there was no hot water. We figured out that the heater was not turned on. Xavier went downstairs and reported it. They had forgotten to turn it on but would do so. This meant either taking a cold shower or waiting for the water heater to warm up. Cola break sans group. Nifty little thatched roof!Convincing pilgrims to wait and not use all the water until it heated up was, however, a futile effort. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. I certainly didn't want a cold shower, but I wanted to get on with the tasks for the day, which for me meant trying to get clean as quickly as possible. I waited a half hour or so, then gave up and got under the cold water. It wasn't completely cold, but nearly, and although I made sure to turn off the water between sudsing up and rinsing off, by the end, it was frigid, and very uncomfortable. Getting all the soap out of my long hair and then taking that final rinsing off of the body made me gasp like a fish out of water. I toweled off with my napkin-sized Speedo towel and shivered violently as I tried to get my clothes on. I have no comprehension how or why the Polar Bear Club does what it does.

The next big problem: no place to hang wet clothes. I walked downstairs in search of an outdoor line, but there was only an odd and tiny square of space surrounded by cement walls. I walked back up to our room. People had begun to hang things over open windows. Luckily I had brought a length of hardy twine along. Up until now I had had no use for it, except for one failed attempt as a belt for my now too big pants. Finally it came into good use. I rigged it up between the two windows across from the sinks in a kind of Z formation running from the top to the middle of the window. I was quite proud of myself for not just making a straight line. I hung my wet things. Soon others came in, saw it, and hung their things too. Everyone was happy that I had it. It was especially fortunate in fact, for in the time I hung up my laundry we experienced, in what would be Cows along the way.only the second time for me in my entire four week journey, a brief but heavy downpour. Since I had strung the twine just on the inside of the window frame, the clothes were protected. Now I felt a little like Indiana Jones for having saved the day. Our forever blue sky came out again as if nothing had ever happened after about 5 minutes. We immediately forgot about the rain, especially once our laundry was dry. Having to put on wet laundry on the Camino is a special type of misery all of its own, an adding of insult to injury, and an unshakable cold and clammy kind of feeling, which I would well learn when I walked from Le Puy en Velay to Cahors.

Update on Friday, April 17, 2009 at 07:18PM by Deborah

Regarding the Nancy Sinatra clip: I just love it when she says at the end, Are you ready boots? Start walkin'! Those sixties finger snapping moves are pretty darn cute too. If you see a woman walking on the Camino doing that, it'll most likely be me.

Comments

[Aunt Bugs]

Reading about your cold shower gave me goose bumps !