Camino Primitivo

Fastforwarding my ass 280km from Bilbao to Oviedo, the starting point of the Camino Primitivo, was a sin that the gods won't forget...

Day 1

My body is again wrecked by the bus trip and I find myself negotiating a hilly stretch under the scorching midday sun with an insidious headache. The wisdom I acquired in my long life made me stop after only 12 km at a place called Escamplero, in the middle of nowhere. It turned out to be a winning choice, as I ended up meeting a few really nice guys and cooking together an improvised pasta in a self-organised hostel, where there was no hospitalero and we had basically one room per person. After the nice convivial moment I had to unfortunately go to sleep early to cure the explosion of my head. It was nice&wise to stop. I was reminded that happiness is a simple thing and that from now on I had nothing to achieve, nothing else to do if not living life in a centered, calm way.

Day 2

The following day, I am much more in shape but take it quite easy, with plenty of stops and some moments of conviviality. I stop on the way to visit an acquaintance who runs a donativo hostel (doing the chill life I should probably be copying, too..) and there meet a group of funny pilgrimesses of all ages and nationalities (later on to be nicknamed the Four Marys). As I am pondering on the next steps, I am asking myself: "Better to sleep at the house of a local and experience a real hospitality feeling by choosing an "hippy hostel" working by donation, or to choose a big monastery full of bunkbeds and a big kitchen where to cook together with other pilgrims?". After another beer stop, I decide to stop in the Monastery with lots of pilgrims and immediately get invited for a pasta by three older but very funny Italian men. The food was delicious, the company hilarous...and I did not even have to move a finger to cook. Life's simple!

I am feeling blessed of sleeping in such an amazing building. There's something magic about the Camino's idea. So simple yet such a powerful way to offer people a chance for a different life. You see the deep (and sometimes unremarkable) countryside, you stay for a long time with yourself, you make some simple chance encounters, you take your stops when you fancy... and periodically ask yourself "where the fuck am I?". I am lost in the middle of Asturias. I'm toiling up and down random roads for weeks. And from there you start questioning everything in your life.

Live the camino as if it was your last one, I think (as it will probably be for me, as I am progressively feeling my caminitis - aka camino's addiction - is being cured)...

The camino is in the mind, I think... the external camino is just a door to open up your internal one, made up of mind-blowing thoughts & sensations.

Day 3

Drizzly, foggy, sleepy, woody, moist day today walking gently, after a late (22.30!) night yesterday, with too much wine at dinner and too little beer later on at a bar in town with Albert the Catalan and the fabulous poker of ladies. The donativo hostel I get to is in a ghastly village enshrouded by thick clouds and constantly threatened by the storms. Everything is closed in town until tomorrow. The afternoon is quiet and surreal, in a big living room, writing, reading and moderately chatting.. disturbed only by an hour's long phone call from a German man. The couple running the hostel is from Cuneo (incredible!) and the evening is a very convivial pasta (of course!) listening mostly to the stories of Jurgen, a funny Swedish man with a knack for risking his life, whether by try to fight with thieves in his house or doing some extreme sports..

Day 4

It's a dreamy weather we are on... another day in the mist, but we still consider ourselves lucky seen the blanket of heavy rains fall through the night. I spend the day with Belgian Ben (Benedikt), aka the "George Clooney of the people", having nice conversations about life and exploring a new point of view, that of a left-wing liberal. We'll end up doing some bits together in the next days, although we are all "free dogs" (cani sciolti) - following Ben's definition- and a nice friendship based on spontaneity is born.

Today, I must admit, it was a real pilgrim race, bringing me back to the rat race we normally embark in our day-to-day life. I ended up with the Four Marys, arriving just in time to get the last beds in the municipal shack(..ehm...hostel) in Borres. We discover the registration to the hostel is in a nearby bar, but after assessing the situation on the ground (it's nearly full!) I decide to drop my stuff first and pick a bed in that very moment and I convince everyone else in the party to do the same. Wise move: as I predicted those who did not do that had to sleep with mattresses on the floor.

Day 5

It was a day not for the faint-hearted. Mist and gale for the whole morning and a gloomy atmosphere around you. It was impossible to stop at any point, impossible to stop fighting with the cold humid wind blowing you away from the side and making you blind on one eye by condensing water on the left-eyed lens. Then suddenly a bench with some mystery cows and shortly afterwards the skies open... amazing views. Hills to the horizon. Open valleys all the way thru. Scorching sun now making it a different day.

In a flash I arrive down in Berducedo, where I decide to give a last chance to public hostels. My sixth sense pays off. That's a definite upgrade compared to yesterday's and (sourtout) it's provided with a modern kitchen where I can do my pasta magic. With the mate Ben and another star team we pull off a decent meal, recruit a big group of hungry pilgrims and get to an outside bench to dine at the sunset. Pilgrim life at its best. We had just spent the afternoon drinking beers at one of the local bars, around which the whole pilgrim population was bustling.

Day 6

Off today for an easy stage to Grandas de Salime under clear skies. Most of the day is spent circumnavigating a large artificial lake - going all the way down to the dam and then climbing your way up again to get out of the hole from the other side. Spectral images of bulldozers taking down whole hills of not-so-flourishing firs...

The clock is striking 12.30pm and I am in front of Grandas's hostel. Seen the lack of stopover options on this camino unless you are ready to stomach 2 full stages... and the annoyance of advance bookings from "cheating-grims", I decided to stay. It ended up being a great choice, as I discovered that the ethnographic museum was a real gem. And free on Tuesdays, which meant I visited it twice for a cumulative time of 3 hours. I was looking for inspiration from the vast range of ancient tools for doing all sort of things. Which one of these could I still find for use in my daily life? What appropriate technologies can I spot?

Also the evening ended up being very convivial, dinner in a local restaurant with Ben, Jurgen and Claudia (the Austrian hippy woman), then joining a merry group of pilgrims which had formed around the Four charismatic Marys. Same story, different day: we already had a full bottle of wine at dinner and stole another one (unfinished) from a nearby table, and I found myself with a beer in my hands offered by Big Ben. I then asked him if he wanted another one, expecting a moderate "No (...we are wise pilgrims etc)", but it was a "Yes, the last one"... except that later a round of chupitos arrived, offered by the barman. Luckily Good Ben ended up drinking mine, too... Obviously the night ends abruptly by looking at the clock and cursing "Fuck, it's 22.30" while realizing that we are past our curfew and risk being locked out, while everyone else around sleeps in private hostels. We leave the others playing table football and rush frantically back.

Day 7

I had a troubled sleep, with plenty of people getting up at any hour in the night to walk in the darkness and away from the (hypothetical) scorching sun. I leave late and I end up walking behind the most beautiful girl of the camino, but I was also enjoying the views from the surrounding countryside. A slowly but steadily climbing up a mountain pass with clear views, then cutting through woods to the bigger town of Fonsagrada, already visible on the horizon since a long distance.

The albergue in Fonsagrada looks high class, there's even a perfect kitchen but no pans or utensils. I suddenly remember that we are in Galicia, the spanish equivalent of Genova or Scotland in terms of tighwardness. There is a guest book in the hostel and I feel inspired to contribute (and with too much time in my hands). My writing is cheesy (I regret not having noted it my notebook). something like:

The true path is created in the mind. An unique experience for each of us. And all these stories will intertwine one day and the world will sparkle with Life. Nothing is impossible to the mind.

Followed by some Thoreau quotes: As you simplify your life, the laws of the Universe will be simpler (Walden, 1852)

Day 8

Eli's here! She came from Brussels to spend a week walking together. My mind has shifted to a different gear. Getting away from the past nonchalance, reflection and improvisation, I now find myself constantly having funny conversations with her and having to meet some expectations. Wait, plan, coordinate, compromise..all these concepts come back to my life. And I am stressed to plan my way back, as I realize I need to start thinking about that, too. It takes me some time to adjust to this new situation and start playing this new game. It involves constant decisions and funny discussions around them. Decisions that I was constantly taking when I was alone without even realizing. Where do we stop, what do we eat etc etc.

Given the less than average dinner we had the night before and feeling like I am already suffering from a restaurant overkill (3 days straight of menu del dia), I want to take advantage of the hostel's kitchen to cook some proper food. So we go to the supermarket and my mind is set on finding the ingredients for a tasty pasta dish, while my travel companion is trying to add more and more items to be able to prepare a salad, following the wishes she gathered from our friend Ben. But my stern looks and dictatorial decision cut the discussion short, and we leave the place in a rush, leaving behind the extra ingredients. "If the others want salad, they can get it themselves" was the winning argument. My travel companion is under shock, in front of this simplification, but had to surrender to my argument by force. I am becoming a monster. I am even thinking of install bayonet blades on my walking sticks to stab fellow pilgrims competing in the hostel rush.

The dinner the ensued was very chaotic, as Claudia and Jurgen had exactly the same idea and got exactly the same ingredients than us, so we ended up pooling up everything and cooking all together, with Claudia as supreme director. Giving to an Austrian absolute power over her italian cooking helpers when preparing pasta was a risky decision, but in the end all went well and the pasta was miracolously delicious, despite onions for the sauce having been cut with the wrong shape. There were rumours that Claudia was a magician and this would explain the success of the food. One of her supernatural powers was to leave very early in the morning and arriving late in the evening, but being invisibile throughout the day. Where is Claudia, where did I pass her today? were common questions amongst the pilgrims. Once I spotted her along the way in some enchanted woods, and a minute later she was gone! Evaporated. I gathered a sigh of relief only some moments later, when I realized the path had done a sharp turn off its track and her gray long flowing hair appeared again...

Another magic travel companion for the day was a 350 years old chestnut tree, melted to a stone wall along the way. I did not feel entitled to take a selfie beside so much wisdom.

We get to beautiful Lugo in the afternoon, and my friend Eli, knackered up to then, explodes in a burst of sightseen enthusiasm, while I am napping standing basically and would follow like a ghost. Only towards the evening my energy is recovered , right when Eli is feeling collapsing. Such was our energy coordination! We finally find some coordinated vibrations at the local pulperia, where we go dine with our new mate Ben and destroy ourselves with delicious seafood, including a double portion of the famous galician octopus! I think I never ate so much seafood in my whole life. Ben is telling us about his italian origins and running thru the astonishing and mysterious story of his genealogic tree... and in that moment I realize how little I know about mine and how my refusal to be rooted in the past, might be eroding the foundations of my identity. How much of ourselves can be defined by free will and how much is locked to a stone in the past? Anyways, here we go again rushing back at 22h to avoid hostel lockdown and straight to bed with a full stomach. Ordinary pilgrim life.

Day 9

A full range of square lights switches on automatically at 7.10 waking up everyone (of the few lazy pilgrim left). We get out and the door locks up behind us. Off we go, pilgrims! Today we are attempting an alternative route, which will enable us to postpone for one day the junction with the ovrercrowded Camino Frances. The tourist office in Lugo (aka the official experts in these matters) warned us that this route is not official, not marked and found only in some (crazy) German guides. "you will get lost" they add. Nothing to worry about, we think, we are with Big Ben, a man with a supreme preparation, holding in his hands a German guide. Our late departure is aggravated by a lingering stop in a nice café on an ancient roman bridge, then at 9am we set off. Destino: Friol.

Markings are not perfect... but almost. We suddenly find ourselves in a gorgeous forest following a river bed on a path of collapsing wooded planks. It was gorgeous! Courage rewards the brave!

Once we left the river we find out that the marked road (someone marked it in green) was separating from the road indicated by the German guide. We take the decision to follow the arrows and give our hopes to see the abbey of Boveda, supposedly one of the marvels of the world. Never mind, our way keeps beeing nice and getting nicer, the path is completely off-road and entirely thru woods and wild fields. The locals we meet on the way don't tell us "Buen camino", look like real farmers and have a dangerous halo. We are truly the only pilgrims, what an experience! We get back into a paved road only a few km before Friol, where we are staying at the local pension with the luxury of having a private room with bathroom.

### Day 10

The abyss. My head's exploding. My eyes are sore. I have mucus everywhere. I shiver. Paying the toll for staying out in the cold and eating out again some junk restaurant food. I should have seen it coming. We attempt a late departure, but after a few minutes I must surrender and chicken back to the room. Poor Eli is trying to support, but I am not a very nice fellow in this moment,I am struggling with a constant pain. And we are in a fucking hole of the world: Friol. Holy shit, anywhere but not Friol, my Lord. F-r-i-o-l.

A sad place to end up blocked.

Day 11

I am still stuck in bed, while Eli decides for a late departure, after convincing me to take a taxi to the next stage, the astounding monastery of Sobrado dos Monxes. Reluctantly I leave my privilege of a single room and get a lift. The monastery is amazingly beautiful and, as Eli put it, it went as far as reconciling us with Christianity. Oh those vaults, those mosaics, those perfect inner courtyards! Oh that inner church with armonious proportions and sober but expressive empty spaces. Oh how the lights is channeled in from the top and lifts us up to the skies! Even my headache seems to be lifted for a moment and my feverish shivers replaced by shivers of emotion.

Another little pleasure of the day is to be able to cook and eat plain food, and to be forced to actually enjoy it by chumping it slowly and carefully and feeling its real taste. Bland pasta, white rice, oats in water. They taste great when not embroidered with ultra-rich (salty,fatty, sugary) condiments. Good bless the church and the fancy induction kitchen!

Those happy moments are short-lived, though. Shortly afterwards I am to meet the worst nightmare of every pilgrim: the crazy Austrian guy! An old man constantly entering and exiting the room and each time ruthlessly flicking on the main light! And when I am trying to sleep nearby and instead I am boiling with anger... he anticipates me and speaking loudly (it was past 22h already, mind you!) tries to convince me to get some pills from him. Maaate, I just need some fucking peace! leave me aloooone! I was thinking, realizing that it was pointless to talk with someone who was obviously missing a screw. As feared, the daily behaviour of this man, was even too pleasant, compared to its mischievous nighly conduct. It is an untireable snorer going on loud as hell for the entire night, despite my attempt of waking him up by pointing my bed light to his face. With the force of desperation and some degree of luck, I rumble at the bottom of my backpack and find some forgotten earplugs. Salvation.

Day 12

Captain Eli finally decides to leave the boat, and off she goes towards Arzua, where she will catch a bus to the airport, but not before destroying her feet completely (let us not forget that she was walking the whole shebang on sandals). For what concerns me, after 2,5 days of obliteration, I am now fit enough to leave for Boimorto with the simple ambitions of doing half a stage and collapsing in a probably empty and desolated hostel along the way. The option of sleeping over and asking for mercy to the monks had evaporated some time earlier, when the Austrian man woke up, flicked on the mains and started the long process of doing his bags, checking his sticks and thoroughly massaging his legs with balm for a good hour.

Walking was good, decent, I was feeling "normal" again, half-normal. I got to the place and even dropped a "number 2" in a field. Life functions getting back on track. The hostel is deserted and the hospitalera has something very strange about her. Her first question was about where I obtained my credential in Irun. I've seen less weird conversation starters.. Then the worst case scenario happens, she approaches me with a massive sandwich in her hand, which I am forced to accept. Some liquid is leaking on the floor and I soon realize that the spongy bread is full of an oily steak and red peppers. Not exactly the most digestible meal. Luckily I manage to move away to a lateral table and to hide two-thirds of the "stomach killing bomb" into my large pockets. It's still leaking, but I manage to retreat to even safer grounds and erase all evidence of my military operations. If she catches me, I am a dead man. I feel like the main character of Stephen King's novel "Misery mustn't die", a paralized man at the mercy of a crazy lunatic woamn. With the aggravating circumstance that that sandwich is disgusting!

I then spend the afternoon looking through glass walls to rain falling in a pond. Mucha tranquilidad, if it wasn't for the hospitalera constantly making noise with her phone.

Luckily, before darknes, another Pilgrim arrives, she had walked more than 50 km in the pouring rain, and is getting ready to walk other 50 the following day. I nostalgically remember those days of youth two weeks before when I was like that...

Day 13

Nothing to report, really. Another half stage to Arzua and by now this is simply a tormented via crucis. I'm moving forward slowly and with no soul, no excitement. I arrive early in Arzua and I am confronted with the horde of pilgrims from the camino Frances. Lots of oldies, kids... and expecially men. Where are all the women?

People seem void, uninteresting. Or is it, a trick of my mind, after avoiding the Frances for so long? The hostel is stuffy, made of oppressive dorms, the air malsane to say the least. Perfect breeding ground for Covid or all sortof other diseases, for what it matters.

All the bars are full of loud spaniards on the inside and too close to busy roads on the outside.

It is just, really, unbearable.

I can't wait leaving this place.

Camino's chapter's over. Reinvent yourself.

Day 14

A sense of anger. Of having been deprived of my holiday by the gods, of having again missed the chance to live fully. Anger of being invaded at home with nowhere to escape... the air feels chocking when thinking of my mum and dad inviting themselves every week. A film in my mind starts, running through my past and finding trauma everywhere. Hello depression. You're gonna be my faithful companion for a few days, I guess. Welcome, I'll magnanimously accept you. This, too, shall pass..