The next morning, we had an unhurried breakfast before going down to the bike shop to say goodbye to Aitor and Ibon. They seemed to think our heartfelt thanks were superfluous, after all it was only natural to them that one would offer such warm hospitality. Having no idea where we would ride that day, we asked them for advice and Aitor recommended following the Camino de Santiago (details to come) for a while. It sounded good, so we headed off (after having said goodbye of course), following the blue signs emblazoned with yellow shells that direct pilgrims along the trail.
Before long we were out of the city. The network of signs was a bit sketchy in places but we backtracked after each missed turn and managed to find a nice, quiet road to ride down. The Camino went cross country outside the city's bounds and we weren't too keen on riding over rain scoured dirt paths, so we bade goodbye to the mark of the shell and went our own way to the shared destination – Puerta de la Rein.
It was quite a nice route. Green fields and forests flanked the road and we'd pass through a quaint little town every so often, only stopping occasionally to consult the map. It rained constantly, not a drizzle but not a downpour either, however, having already mastered the art of layering, I wasn't too put out by it.
At the thirty km mark, I started to feel really hungry and was getting a bit irritable as a consequence. We stopped and ate lunch (half a loaf of bread each smeared with half an avocado and a few slices of tomato, topped with herb salt – delicious), but my nerves remained a little on edge and after Luke's decision to listen to his iPod while riding meant he didn't hear my directions to turn, I snapped and sent a few harsh words in his direction. He took my apology well though (he's much more even tempered than me luckily) and a great final run to the finish meant we both emerged in fine spirits:) The water on the road from all the rain dramatically reduced the rolling resistance of our tyres, so with the last twelve km to Puerta de la Rein being almost completely flat, we went flying along almost as if we were riding road bikes! It was really a lot of fun and meant the less enjoyable middle of the day was forgotten.
Having done the riding for the day, all that remained was to get some food for dinner and find a place (hopefully not too expensive) to stay the night. A few small food stores (including one where all of the items were behind the counter meaning that you needed to know the name of everything you wanted:S) satisfied the former need, but the accommodation prospects weren't looking too good. There were no Pensions to be seen, and the two hotels were priced accordingly at 80 euros a night. Technically we could have afforded to stay in one, considering how much money we'd saved over the previous two days, but I really hate spending that much when all we really need is room to lay out our sleeping bags. Luckily there was another option: the Albergue at the local church for Peregrinos (pilgrims) on the Camino de Santiago.
I did say I'd explain what the Camino de Santiago was earlier, so here comes my brief description, which is far from comprehensive or completely accurate. The trail, which has been around for centuries, is generally taken as starting from Sainte Jermaine in France (although people often did and do start from different points) and going all the way to Santiago in Spain – 1200km in total. All of this was originally done on foot (and perhaps with a donkey or some kind of packhorse) and some people still do the journey the hard way, but one is nowadays also 'allowed' to ride a bike or even just drive or catch a bus/train.
Santiago is the most westerly part of Europe and for people long ago, it marked the end of the world – no-one knew what lay beyond. For this slightly pagan reason, it was regarded as a highly spiritually charged place and thus people made long pilgrimages there seeking redemption, inspiration or a resumption of faith. A great many churches lie along the route, and out of respect for the courage and virtue of the pilgrims, some of them opened their doors to pilgrims, allowing them to stay the night. These places are known as Albergues and nowadays if you make the pilgrimage, lodging is available to you for around five euros per night.
I'd spotted the Albergue as we came into town, but felt a little guilty about asking to stay there as we had no real intention of going to Santiago. The hefty prices demanded at the hotels were enough to overcome my reservations though, and as has become our custom, I left Luke to look after the bikes and went to find the seminary to ask the priest to open the door. Quite a few young boys were standing around the church and at first I thought they were just locals 'hanging out' (weird place to loiter though) but when I went inside the building and saw a sign labelled 'Dormos', I realised the church must double as a school. They were very fervent in that town. One of the boys asked me in an almost awed tone how the trail was known in the English speaking world. Sadly neither my Spanish, nor his English was sufficiently advanced for me to grace him with an answer, and I felt another pang of guilt.
Two Italian women were already staying there though, and I reasoned that since the infrastructure was already in place, it wouldn't be taking advantage of them to stay there for one night. We would leave no trace the next day – it would almost be like stealth camping really. The priest – an old man, as is the norm nowadays – was happy to come and let us in. He took our five euros, but only after making us officially sign up as pilgrims with passes (a 50 cent fee).
The Albergue was more than sufficient. There was a relatively well equipped kitchen, a large bathroom and a bunk dorm that could sleep 16 people (and I think there was another larger one upstairs). We set up our things, and after going for a run, I bought a few things from a night market and we cooked a slap up dinner of chickpeas with onions, garlic and red pepper (actually not too bad even though I couldn't sautee the onions properly, lacking oil).
The only downside of the place was one of the Italian women who spoke English. She seemed alright when the priest introduced us to her, perhaps a little overbearing, but tolerable at least. Later though after we had eaten dinner and were settling down to go to bed, she came over for a chat. Initially it was fine, just your average discussion between pilgrims about the trail (I had to pretend we were going to Santiago and describe how we would celebrate when we arrived there:P). Later though, she began to worry about our safety and gave us some inane pieces of advice. At one point, Luke went to the bathroom, and she came and sat right next to me and said
“I probably shouldn't tell you this, but the people in this country are bad. Do you know about the vaccine for dogs??” (she pronounced it in the Italian style and I had to ask her to repeat it several times before I understood what she meant)
“Uh, no?”
“There are people who don't want you to get to Santiago. They want to find some way to rob you of your energy and vitality so that you won't be able to keep riding your bikes. There is a vaccine for dogs, and when you are sleeping, they will come and with a very short needle, they will inject it into you here” (and she grabbed my wrist and pointed at my vein there) “or here” (pointing between her eyes – was she taking about Botox:|?)
“Do you remember when you were a child and you had your vaccinations? It was just a little prick and then you didn't feel anything else. They will do it so carefully that you don't even wake up. Now I tell you this to warn you and I am sorry to scare you, but it is a sanitary technique. You must sleep with your friend. Right next to him so that no-one can harm you. I must go now and move my bed next to my friend.”
(And then she tried unsuccessfully to move the heavy iron bunk bed next to that of her friend, waking her up in the process)
The way she spoke left me with no doubt that she had spent some time in an 'institution' to put it euphemistically. I can't help thinking that many of the pilgrims must be like her, searching for answers in religion and clutching ever deeper, reaching in vain for an explanation.
In spite of that conversation, I slept very soundly that night.
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