Rock bottom I hope

Two days in one. Sorry, I was busy being humbled by the road.

Pt. 1: Redondela —> Pontevedra

I’ve received some questions. Turns out I may not be fully explaining Camino concepts as I stream of consciousness voice memo to my phone.

Specifically, I was asked what an albergue is and how they work. Now feels like a good time to explain to everyone, as today they really become a central character. Albergues are traditional Pilgrim shelter. Each town along the Camino has one municipal albergue which does not accept reservations and for which you must show a credential proving you have walked a certain number of kilometers that day. You must be in by 10pm and out by 8am. The showers are more of a communal gym locker experience and you’re lucky if they have a temperature control: usually it is a water vs. no water situation. Modesty is a privilege not a virtue. For ~5€ they provide a thin mattress in a bunk room of 50 to 75 people. The staff, hospiraleros, are volunteers. The whole operation relies on generosity. A pilgrim takes what she can get.

Then there are private albergues. These are more similar to hostels. Still shared bunk rooms, but those bunks have sheets. The showers are usually one at a time. Some have outlets at every bed, or even curtains on your bunk. You can reserve them in advance, and anyone can technically book them (see: Brazilian migrant worker experience). They range in quality and price, but imagine ~20€.

Then there are your usual hotels, airbnbs, etc. In my 8 days, I have stayed in 3 municipal albergues and 5 private ones. The best of yet I was Casa Fernanda (dinner and music), the worst was the municipal in Ponte de Lima (hot, smelly, and lights on all night).

After Ponte de Lima, I decided I would be staying only in private albergues 🧖‍♀️. But then, in all my enthusiasm for Living in the Present Moment and Letting Go of Having a Plan, I missed the memo that there was a festival in Pontevedra. The influx of non-pilgrims visitors meant all the private albergues, hotels, airbnbs, etc. in a 10 mile radius were booked. My only option was to get to Pontevedra exactly as the municipal albergue opened and hope for the best.

More on the walk later, but I’ll keep the albergue focus for now. After a 20km sprint, there was a line around the building for the albergue before they even opened. I waited in line, hoping I would be granted the honor of sleeping in a bunk room with all of these people. I made it in, then headed into Pontevedra.

To back up, you may recall I stayed the previous night in an albergue just short of the main stop, Redondela. I got up and out, and saw a beautiful sunrise as I got into Redondela. As I walked, I ran into Mira from a few days ago who I’d said goodbye to when I was supposed to stay in O Porriño. We were excited to see each other, and I walked with her and some friends she’d met yesterday: Peter, Javier and Dani.

The weather was mercifully cooler and overcast, allowing us to take our time with breaks in the woods or small medieval fishing villages along the way. Me needing to keep a pace to make it to the albergue in Pontevedra, and Peter being tall, we broke ahead and nearly sprinted to Pontevedra. Peter is from Denmark, a former math PhD student turned software developer. We talked a lot about education, then EV subsidies, the Spanish language, ADHD and perfect markets. I decided mentally he should marry my friend Claire. By the time I knew it, the walk had flown by and I was in line for the albergue.

I was feeling a little down as I went into Pontevedra. Maybe it was the stress of finding an albergue, maybe it’s the looming threat of being mere days away from Santiago. I got severely dehydrated on my walk in Pontevedra and had to lay down on a municipal green space that was certainly not a park. Eventually I managed to get Gatorade and a tortilla and started to feel a bit better, but still a little sadder.

I came across an opening act to whatever festival had booked out Pontevedra. They were performing traditional Galician music, and I was mesmerized for hours. The music was beautiful and powerful and felt remarkably similar to my Uncle Mike’s account of the Mongolian throat singers he recently witnessed. (Shoutout Uncle Mike, my only paid subscriber!)

Eventually Peter sat down next to me, and we watched the concert together. When it ended, we both went to a cafe and read in parallel, mostly in silence. He said at one point he was feeling a little sad today.

Neither of us wants to be done walking. Santiago has its own significance, but what makes the Camino special is the sacredness is in the path itself. It is called the Way, not the Destination, for a reason. Here we can live simply, equally, with purpose and clarity. Every day is full of adventure, new landscapes and friends. Peter has to break up with his girlfriend. I have to move. There are distractions. The road to follow is less clear.

Pt. 2: Pontevedra —> Armenteira

When I woke up in my not-so-glam municipal albergue bunk, my mood turned from sad to grumpy. I slept terribly, so I was up and out early, only to find the front door locked. I waited, thinking it would be unlocked at 6, then 6:30. Then I saw someone leave out the side door. I cursed myself for being so stupid and wasting precious cool morning walking time.

But here’s the real kicker. As I waited I noticed bumps forming on my hands, then a couple on my forehead. Given the amount of sweat and dirt, my skin has been exposed to and the lack of my usual products, this seemed appropriate. I wouldn’t even let myself think about the alternative.

But the bumps grew and more appeared and they itched. I was denying what I already knew to be true. By 8am, I was covered in welts. Beyond any doubt, this was bedbugs. I wore the mark of pilgrim leprocy on my sleeve.

A few times I would be walking with someone, and then they would get a good look at my face and exclaim “Ay, pobrecita” or “Mamma Mia” or just gasp.

For the first time on the Camino, I wanted the day to be done. I was frustrated at what wouldn’t fit in my pack and at the slowness of the service at my cafe and the itchiness of my bites. The devil on one shoulder wallowed in self pity and the devil on the other called me a spoiled brat. I kept feeling phantom bugs, crawling my skin.

I considered today a foregone conclusion of despair, and would have to wait for a good night sleep and shower to feel better.

As I started walking, on the verge of tears I started praying a rosary to keep my hands busy from itching.

Twice I stopped, because locals had put out free “pilgrim oases” with cold water and lemonade. Some of my initial awe at the local generosity started to fill me again.

Each decade (rosary section) I meditated on someone in my life I loved. I spent time being grateful for their gifts, picturing their face, wishing them peace and strength in whatever struggles they face.

The literal and figurative clouds cleared and with each successive rosary decade, and with each step up, I could feel my spirits lifting. As I reached the top, I was exhausted but able to marvel at the view and feel excitement for the road ahead once again. In retrospect, the remedy to self-obsessive doom all seemed so obvious. How could I forget the simplest tenet of my faith: to forget the self and love others?

I’ve heard about an albergue in France focused on helping people with burnout. The albergue offers those with burnout free shelter and no questions asked, as long as they work to prepare meals and clean for pilgrims. It may seem counterintuitive that those with burnout are not themselves prescribed rest, it comes back to the essential idea that we don’t need more “self care” we need to be selfless. It is in giving that we receive, after all.

If you take it as true that we were created in the image and likeness of a God who loves, you would expect a species created in that image and likeness to evolve over time whatever neurological mechanisms offer us peace when we do as He does. When we love others. Maybe it’s an accident, maybe it’s not. I can’t know, but I can choose to believe.

When I finished my rosary feeling so uplifted, I fully expected for poetic justice that I would’ve reached the top of the mountain and be mere meters away from my destination. Not true! I had 4 miles to go, and a lot more mountain.

I felt much better for that portion of the walk, though, and able to finally take in and appreciate the beautiful natural environment. I walked deep through a forest on top of the mountain, with occasional clearings where I could see the ocean. Eventually, with nearly no warning, I turned a corner and there was the town!

I started to worry next about how I would tell the owner at the next albergue about the bedbugs. I imagined her kicking me out, fairly so. If I had nowhere to stay, I’m not sure I could make it to the next town before sundown. I forgot though that I wouldn’t need to explain: I wear the stain of pilgrim leprosy on my sleeve (and everywhere else on my body).

As soon as the owner of the albergue saw me, she made me strip down butt naked in her driveway and took all my belongings out of my bag. I’ll reiterate for dramatic effect that I was standing in the nude in a woman’s driveway, helping her sort through my things. Btw she doesn’t speak English.

Her daughter got me a towel, and I helped her sort through what could be washed vs. sprayed. This aggressive response, though humbling, was warranted and reassuring. She gave me shampoo, and rubbed cream on my back after I got out of the shower. She brought me a piece of cake and her husband’s clothes to wear while she washed mine. I apologized profusely, and she just kept reassuring me “no te preocupes nada, estás seguro ahora.”

No clothes but I remembered to get content for you guys

How silly of me to think that I’d learned my lesson in vanity because I was sweaty and dirty. As each successive guest at this albergue comes in, they wince at the sight of me. No one will get too close to me. It’s dark, so I’ll end on this street fashion interlude from a wedding I stumbled upon:

The fringe! The tassels! The bow! The capes! Personally my favorite is the floral bucket hat but I realize that’s controversial.