A600AASS Day 7 - Hospital de Òrbigo to Astorga
20.10.22
16.5 Km
I made it 8 Km before the pain kicked in. A win. But we walked through rolling hills today, and the downhill sections were excruciating. A loss. A Chinese pilgrim gifted me some traditional liniment, telling me it would be spicy on my skin. She wasn’t wrong. I just wish it was a little more effective against the pain. To be fair, topical ibuprofen isn’t doing much better.
For the unprepared, the generosity of the Camino is unexpected and, at times, a little overwhelming. Today, there was a donation-only refreshment stand, then the lineament, and then the offer of a massage ball from a woman who used to be a Canadian mounty. Each time someone offers me something, I say “Really? Are you sure?”, but nobody wants anything in return.
For the past two days, Chris and I have been walking with Michael, a young guy from the south coast of England. He’s quit his job designing Formula 1 tracks and hopes the walk will help him work out what to do next. That makes him one of two types of folk you tend to find on the Camino. The other are the retirees. Nobody’s taking conference calls during their lunch breaks.
Our destination today was Astorga, a town famed for its chocolate and the episcopal palace, designed by Antonio Gaudi. Far from the fractal genius of his Barcelona buildings, the palace looks more like a Vegas casino magnate’s idea of ye olde European castle. Maybe the knee pain blinded me to its glory, and to that of the town, but it seems to be a sad shadow of what it once might have been.
While Chris and I checked in to an albergue, Michael walked on. Unless he takes a rest day and we keep going, we might not see him again. It’s one of the pleasures and sorrows of this walk, I guess: people walk in to your life, share this experience with you, and walk out again. Hold things lightly, and let them go.
We found ourselves looking for something to eat during the witching hour. Too late for lunch, too early for dinner, we floated through empty streets like hungry ghosts. We first contented ourselves with local pastries, then with red wine and tortilla at the Hotel Gaudi before going in search of hot chocolate. You’d think this would be easy in a town famed for its coca products, but in the end, we found only one open bar that served it. The women sat outside and smoked. Inside, the men either stood at the bar, or played dominos at the tables, arguing loudly as pieces were shuffled and laid down like runes.
As we made our way back to the albergue, it began to pour down, the fulfilment of a threat that had been present all day. I was glad for an excuse to climb in to my bunk, elevate my knee, and sort through my photos.
I need to rest. My knee needs to rest. My striver mind tells me to keep going, embarrassed by the failings of my body and appalled by the idea of losing time in some illusory schedule. A physiotherapist has a sign at the entrance to the albergue. Perhaps I’ll given them a call in the morning.