4 May to Villambistia

My usual rhythm has been to get up, have breakfast, pack, brush teeth, check in with home (it is usually just-after-work time) and then walk. When I arrive, I am invariably sitting or standing in a queue for an albergue and I try to do a few of my Achilles exercises if I think of it and write the bulk of the blogpost while I wait, then go in for registering, claiming a bed, showering, washing clothes and getting them hung up. Because I carry supermarket food with me (in spite of a son telling me I should just eat out coz dad is at home earning money so I might as well spend it!!), I can rustle up some lunch – by now it is usually about 3pm. I try to get my journal done, although at this point there is usually a lot of chatter with other pilgrims. Then I usually have a look round whatever village/town I might be in and pick up any food I might need (generally some yoghurt for breakfast). By this time (7ish) it is time to either make some dinner (usually salad with bread or salad inside bread for a change) or turn up for the communal dinner. To help myself remember to collect my washing from an outside line, I make a habit of doing it straight after dinner, at which point I pack up my things as much as I can to be able to leave the room quietly in the morning. Sometimes there is a mass at 8pm and I try to get along to it (for the three people who have discovered this blog from the Camino Forum and who therefore do not really know me, I’ll answer the question that often gets asked when I ask if anyone else is going to go to the mass – are you Catholic? No, I’m not, but I am a Christian, and while there are some points of difference, there are also many points of commonality. Besides, going to mass is often the only way to get to see inside these historical monuments.

By the time you get back to the albergue, some people are invariably already asleep, so if there is a common area, I’ll hang out there, sending good morning greetings to Rob before he goes to work, and usually chatting with whoever I have met that day. I had thought I would get lots of writing done and cross stitch too, but in reality, there has been little time for either. That I also put in my pack a ball of wool and knitting needles just in case now strikes me as absurd! Reading the guidebook to find out if there is anything to look out for tomorrow usually happens when I’m tucked up in my sleeping bag.

But today was different.
It started out as per above, but I was trying to walk as few steps as possible as I have used up my Achilles-walking-allowance for the week, which meant I had arrived at my destination by 9:30am. After mending my glove which was coming apart, it still seemed too early to write a blogpost when nothing had happened apart from this:

…

The very kind hospitalera/bar hostess invited me to come inside out of the cold and so I got to listen to a rerun of MacGyver on tv while I was waiting for the albergue, which was upstairs, to open. I ended up spending most of the day in this spot out of the gale blowing outside.

I nipped out just once, because I heard the bread van honking, and thought I’d get some bread to have with the butter and jam I am still carrying! I had forgotten I had leftover dinner from last night, and so now I’ll be carrying the bread as well tomorrow!!

About 2pm the bar started to fill up. It got busy…and LOUD as everyone in the room carried on one big conversation with at least three of them all speaking at the same time.

Once they hit a critical mass of over a dozen people in the room they split into two groups, so now there were six people talking simultaneously!! There was enough commotion at this point for me to block it all out and concentrate on writing….only occasional random phrases interrupted my thoughts.
And I cross stitched.
And my Achilles thanked me.
At 3:30 most of the crowd left, leaving just half a dozen in a circle, having three different conversations, and then all of a sudden they were gone too and silence reigned. The lovely hospitalera/bar host looked across at me, sighed, and said, “Paz”. In the midst of serving the masses and taking part in each conversation, she had also welcomed and registered half a dozen pilgrims. No wonder she was grateful for a moment of peace. We then proceeded to have a ten minute conversation about how Spaniards and Italians don’t know how to talk, they have to yell….whether that is in a bar or on the bus, and it is not all bad, it is a lot of fun too, they love life…oh yes, life in Spain is social and community is important….how good it is for the old folks to get out and come to the bar even if they can’t hear anything, and that’s why they live so long in Spain, and how good it is for the children to see the adults talking and arguing together, and that everyone gets to speak and listen…and how multigenerational families are still a thing in the villages, although that is all changing now in the big cities and it’s a pity. Also, Spaniards drink more than people in other countries because they come to the bar every afternoon to meet together and have a drink and that’s the way it is. When I say we had a conversation, what I mean is I listened to her tell me all this and I threw in the odd “claro” or “exactamente” and told her I have eight kids, four boys and four girls, and that Grandpa lives close and comes for dinner every day. She was delighted to tell me she is one of seven daughters. And then she had work to do.

Meanwhile I kept stitching and joined an elderly gentleman watching the last ten kilometres of the seventh stage of La Vuelta Femenina, which was being raced in Spain and broadcast live.

4:30 and more groups of mostly men started dropping in for a(nother) drink and chat. The hostess kept serving them with a smile, whilst simultaneously cooking a three course dinner for the pilgrim contingent. She never stopped. (And when our dinner was over more village folk were piling back into the bar, so even when the dishes were done her day would not be over)

And what a dinner it was. Four South Koreans (two friends and a married couple), a French married couple, one Italian, one Dutch and me. No common language for everyone so lots of translating. And the most laughter I have experienced in a very very very long time. We laughed until we hurt. The hospitalera came in and commented that there has never been a pilgrim dinner like it!

I know you shouldn’t stereotype anyone, but my experience has been that all the Koreans I have met have been polite and fun and enthusiastic and positive. These four were no exception. We laughed and laughed together. In fact, if I hadn’t already written so much about nothing before dinner, I could probably have just made a great story of the dinner.

I am starting to wonder if it is a cultural courtesy thing that they always say, “You have such good pronunciation” when I try out my four words! And now I have two more to add to my repertoire.

The other thing about the Koreans is that they look so young. At the table we were trying to work out who was the oldest – we all thought the Frenchman, who is 54 like me. But no, the three Korean ladies were in their sixties and the man was seventy. His secret: hike and swim and stretch every day, eat protein and be relaxed. His mother is 100 and still walks an hour a day, so maybe he is on to something.

Quite a day in the end!