sunrise on the Camino

"I'm not complaining," I insist, sitting on a velvet-striped couch that looks as though it came off a tv sitcom in the 1970s, looking at a glassed-in courtyard that holds the dichotomy of an old ten-foot stone pillar topped with a cross and a trellis covered in fake leaves and plastic pots. "But there's no bathtub."

This decrease in quality of hotel, down to one-star today after beginning with a four-star hotel in Viana do Castelho, has been manageable because there has always been a bathtub. After a long day of walking, even if the room is small and the bathroom a cheap reno, I can climb into the tub for an hour, put my feet up on the wall and recover. It takes the achiness out of the day and slides me into an evening of wine, seafood and laughter.

But this latest place, in which we stay for two nights and get taxis to the beginning of where we left the Camino the day before, the rooms are so small that I had to rearrange the furniture in order to open my suitcase. The window is minimal and while I can see the top of the cross in the courtyard, there is little opportunity for breeze or sun.

However, I'm not really complaining - it's not my style. Although I have yet to bathe.

We tend to cross paths again and again with the same pilgrims, and we have met interesting ones from all over - the Walk draws many nationalities. In the church of Padrón (yes, the place of the pimientos), a rather fed-up man dealing with change for postcards while also stamping Camino passports, perked up when my friend said she was from Vigo, a nearby town, and the next person said she was Burmese. Kind of says it all, doesn't it?

The Portuguese Camino has become popular of late because it's shorter than the French one, and of course we're in the best season with the heat of summer gone but the rains of winter not yet arrived. We get up in the dark every morning because here on the Galician coast we are so far west that the sun doesn't rise until after 8 am, and all day we walk. We stop when our feet demand it or when we're hungry. We have coffee in simple cafes where we are often given croissants, fruits and nuts alongside a one-euro espresso or cafe con leche.

At the end of a day of walking, we eat a late dinner together, usually after a bath and a rest, as most Spanish restaurants don't start serving until after 8 pm. Then we sleep. 

I appreciate the ease, the repetition, and the lack of agency I have to make any change in this routine. A simple rhythm, no decisions needed. Just one foot in front of the other, hour after hour. It calms the mind. The last two days have been long - averaging 26 kms each day - so in spite of the enjoyment of the routine, I think we're ready for our Saturday arrival into Santiago de Compostela.

Today included a boat trip up the river Ulla from Vilanova de Arousa, following the route that the disciples of St. James (Santiago, for those who hadn't put two and two together) took when they brought his body (in a stone boat, no less) to bury in Santiago de Compostela. Beneath the altar of the church in Padrón, behind glass and etched with symbols, is the rock used to moor the boat where the river ended and the disciples continued overland. 

I lit a candle for my father, enjoying the quietude of the church. Content in my life. Even without a bathtub.

I must add that it is such fun to see the dynamics between six women all used to being in charge. We're not at Lord of the Flies level, though. Not yet. There will be no war dances nor sacrifices. Not unless the bar runs out of Albariño, or if the last place has no bathtub.

"If you're tired, learn to rest, not to quit."