These are the noises one hears in an albergue at night. Someone snoring, loudly, like a deep rumbling train. The ruffles of paper bedsheet as someone tosses and turns in their bed. The sound of sandals shuffling across the hallway as another wakes up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Someone rummaging their bag and spraying themselves furiously with (I assumed) insect repellent. Someone sighing with so much despair, as they realize a good night’s sleep will be impossible with all these noises going on. If this is a symphony, it would be an avant garde interpretation of a nighttime scene. No rhythm nor melody; just pure dissonance of random human rackets. Ah.. the joy of being in a hostel.
In the morning, everyone woke up around the same time. An inevitable chain reaction as there was no way to disturb your neighbor with your morning routine of getting dressed, packing up etc. While we were cooking breakfast, one of the German guys was giving direction to the only other woman in the dorm, warning her about the first 4km of the walk from the albergue. It would be on asphalt, by the highway, he said. Unpleasant. Perhaps she ought to consider taking a cab to the next town; that’s what he and his friends had planned to do. It was the same advice he had given Pilar last night. He has a guide book with detailed description and instruction for each section of the walk so he can anticipate everything in advance and apparently “skip” the unpleasant section.
He (and his guidebook) was mostly right. The path followed a small road next to the highway – the one that connects Ourense to Santiago de Compostela – a stark reminder that the distance we covered in the last three days could have easily been accomplished in less than an hour by car. But that’s the lesson, isn’t it? El Camino is not about getting to Santiago. It’s about the walking itself.
Was the route unpleasant to walk on, like the man had warned us? Not really. I thought it was fine. We weren’t always next to the highway and we got to walk on an abandoned highway, next to a cow farm, pig farm and goat farm and an abandoned polyester factory. Before long, we were back on small roads by the countryside surrounded by farm lands. Besides, as Pilar nicely put it, “Sometimes it’s good to be surprised.” What fun would life be if we already know all the plots ahead of time.
