Day 32 or Would You Like Some Algae With That?

Notes on Day 32, March 27, Vega de Valcarce to O´Cebreiro

Last night was quite possibly the coldest night I have spent in my entire life. No amount of girl scout camping could have prepared me for this. And I am thinking that there has to have been something Christina and her husband could´ve done to mitigate the meat locker temperatures (they had a space heater, don´t ya know), unless the hospitalero´s speech at dinner last night was an indication that he finds the ´suffering´ part of the camino essential. But good God, there is enough physical discomfort on the Camino without manufacturing more out of some puritanical spirit of imposed penance.

Speaking of penance, in medieval times, walking the Camino de Santiago was one way you could earn a plenary indulgence for your sins from the Catholic Church. In other words, you could buy your way out of purgatory. I don´t know, but I think this little trek has earned me enough plenary indulgence credits that I can pretty much be an evil terror the rest of my life and still make it to heaven.

This morning Elainie gave me some spirulina (I have no idea if I am spelling that right). It is algae. ¨Eets for energy, for today. You put een water.¨ I tell you these Europeans (well, Elainie is Brazilian, but anyway) are the biggest herbal, voodoo, homeopathic remedy pushers you´ve ever met. Already Corina gave me some fizzy drink to prevent me from getting sick. Ana gave me three green herbal capsules to take when I did actually get sick, and so far Elainie has given me ¨infusion¨ for digestion, special tea for sleep, and now algae for energy. I want to ask her if she has some special fungi to help me sweat out my ex.

So today we have the steepest climb of the entire Camino and she tells me I am going to need energy so she put a teaspoon full of the dried green algae flakes, which look like fish food, into my water bottle. I went along with it, just hoping this stuff was not going to give me projectile diarrhea or anything. Elainie swears by it. ¨With this, you will go to Santiago today!¨

I was the first to leave the Brazilian meat locker this morning. For fuck´s sake you could see your breath cloud inside the building. It was warmer outside, in the rain too! And the first bit of trail followed a low valley. The trees were encrusted in spongy lichen making the wooded glens look like they were blanketed in green snow.



Yesterday I watched some news footage of the flooding in Galicia, (I will be crossing the border there this afternoon), and I can already tell the rain is overwhelming the ground. It cascades in white sheets and rivulets right down the hillsides, creating waterfalls and streams where none were in dryer days. All this water makes me have to pee.

Peeing outside is no longer the elaborate affair it once was. Now I just drop, squat and go on the trail if necessary. I am like, lightning quick.

I am excited to cross from Castilla y Leon into Galicia today. Everyone keeps telling me I have to try the marisco (seafood), the pulpo (octopus), and vino blanco (white wine) there. With each drooling recommendation my expectations have soared exponentially so that if these gastronomic delights are anything less than otherworldly I am going to be mega disappointed.



The closer I get to Galicia, the more I see derelict buildings with rotting grey beams exposed, buckled stone walls and warped, caved in doors. Time has forgotten these places. And this is farm country, so there is a loneliness already to the landscape that is magnified by its empty barns and sheds.



I broke my hike today at a small bar run by the most incongruous pair. A four foot tall, white haired abuela wearing a decades old smock, a moth eaten black sweater and slippers. She is straight off a post card of ethnic Galicia. And her grandson, a punk haired, Playstation II addicted teenager. The difference in generations could not have been more stark. I sat with them for over an hour while I peeled each layer of clothing off and dried it by their welcoming and white hot fire.

Being wet at this altitude blows. The rain gets you from the outside, but with all the rain gear you sweat on the inside. You think ¨I´ll just pop in this bar for some hot tea and get warm,¨ but the minute you stop moving you get cold and you can´t wait to get moving in the rain again.



As I climbed higher that afternoon, the rain was turning the snow on the ground into slush and the trail was transformed into rivers of muddy poo, or pooey mud, I am not sure which. And my guidebook has promised stunning views of the Valcarce valley from this elevation of 1300 meters, but I can´t see shit. Just a wall of white fog that will not budge.

And then I was, and I am not trying to flatter myself in anyway here, I believe propositioned by the scariest looking octogenarian Spanish farmer I have yet seen. He stopped me on the trail and asked me if I was alone, and like a moron I said yes (actually, this is a fairly common question from peregrinos who are curious if you are doing the Camino by yourself or with friends). Then he asked me if I wanted an ¨hombre para la noche,¨ a man for the night. At least I thought that´s what he said, and he kept leaning into me and finally grinned showing a mouthful of metal capped stumps where teeth used to be. I may not have very high standards, but dental visits are a must if you are going to get into my bed, dude. And between that and the personal space invasion, I spurted out a hasty ¨gracias¨ and an ¨adios,¨ and got out of there before I became the top story on the evening news.

And then over a piping hot bowl of sopa de gallego that night in my hotel restaurant, I was hit on again! But this time by a much more respectable septuagenarian, who kept calling me guapa. ¨Guapa, guapa, I know guapa,¨ I thought. ¨Yeah! Brad Pitt is muy guapo!¨ I remembered Elena telling me the word for handsome in Spanish that night we watched Seven in the albergue in Los Arcos. And then another old man doddered into the restaurant, quickly ascertained my predicament, and humorously offered me his cane to beat off my pursuer.

By the way, my dessert tonight was a hunk of cheese made right here in O´Cebreiro, tangy and sweet, and covered with honey, (I passed the bee hives on the way in). I am in love with this cheese and want to take it home and make love to it. Una queso para la noche, por favor!