A600AASS Day 15 - Samos to Sarria
28.10.22
15 Km
Bone tired.
After landing in a wide, comfortable bunk after 15 kilometres on muddy paths in the rain, I’m starting to get a feel for where the term might come from.
The alarm went of at 5:30 in the morning, ringing out, quietly at first, through the vaulted room. The phone belonged to an American woman. I’d earlier learned she’d been staying at the monastery’s albergue for a few days on account of some injury, and would be staying there for a few more yet. As far as I could tell, she had no reason to be awake.
After the alarm reached full volume and completed another cycle or two, she ambled over to turn it off. Angry murmurs hissed through the air.
And so the day began.
Up until now, Spain has been a hot, dry place to me. Barcelona, Madrid, Seville, and the Balerics have been my source material, uncovered through a mixture of holidays and research assignments. Against this experiential backdrop, Galicia has been a revelation. The landscape of the past few days has reminded me of the Lakes District of England more than anywhere else. All verdant greens, rushing streams, and cool, forested valleys, the incessant rain of the past 24 hours has only reinforced the impression. We reached Sarria soaked through and decided to stray no further.
There wasn’t much occasion for photos.
Tonight, we met Maria Jesus, or Chus for short. She grew up in La Coruña, lives in Monterrey, recently separated from her Australian husband, and is taking a few months to see if she wants to return to Spain.
She talked of the anguish of having her kids spread across the world, and her joy at them finding their paths. She reflected on the individualistic ambition of Australians and Californians and the intense social contract that binds Spanish communities. For a couple of bone tired boys, her wisdom and first-day freshness brought a gentle, dinner-time joy.
Yesterday, we spoke with Robert, a Dutch guy who, a couple of years ago, left a management consulting partnership and found his true calling leading small tours through cities. A couple of days ago, he’d found Jesus too and was full of the joy of the newly awakened.
Our conversation and his questions about how I’m feeling — not what I’m thinking about or wanting to do, but how I’m feeling — brought me to tears outside a cafe in Samos. I’m still processing what it all meant, and holding on — gently, gently — to the hope that he brought.
Chris and I argued over breakfast this morning. We argued over lunch, too. The exhaustion of walking for 11 days without a rest is getting to us, the rain soaking tiredness deep in to our cores. But these wide, comfortable bunks are bringing us back to a better version of ourselves, and tomorrow, we’ll start again.
