Day 36: A Cadavo to Lugo (30,7k)

Spoiler alert: my new self-image as Mother Theresa doesn’t last all that long.

I wake up at seven thirty to find that almost everyone has left. I’d read before going on the ol’ Cam that the pensioners would be shining their little head torches and rustling their endless plastic bags from about five in the morning, but on the Norte, this never happened. I guess the sun rose earlier back then, all of thirty-six days ago when it was still September and technically summer. So maybe people thought they may as well wait for sunrise, whereas now, it’s dark until nine-ish, and especially on foggy mornings like those Galicia seem to favour in October.

Full of important thoughts like these, I have some blueberry yogurt DE ANIMAL BIENESTAR and head off towards Lugo. After about 8k there’s a cafe, and as usual, everyone is there. Obnoxious Meathead sees me from far off and raises his hand to wave, or so I think, but instead of a hand I get the finger. Hmm.

I enter the café and tell Waffles, who believes this is “just the relationship he has to people,” rather than a definite sign he heard me slag him off so brutally that one time. Either way, I feel mine and Obnoxious Meathead’s recently improved relations cool back down fairly rapidly. Waffles also says him and his two lackeys took over the bar when they arrived and that he had to wait twenty-five minutes for a coffee while they all had two each. I believe it. You couldn’t make up the rudeness of this gang.

Anyway, I have the most amazing breakfast sat at the bar in the sun pretending to understand a Galician newspaper. They quote locals in Gallego, but write text in Castellano! Fascinating! Everyone else leaves. Why be part of rush hour. Just have another coffee and enjoy solitude.

Today’s walk is long but easy. No rain. When we enter Lugo we are within 100k of Santiago, which is all you need to walk to get the certificate. So we are prepared for some paper-chasers, and sure enough, the albergue is full of shiny new people in pristine sportswear. I try not to be a grouchy old newbie-hater. It goes so-so.

I take a shower and have just laid down for a nap when… you got it. Obnoxious Meathead & Co arrive. HOW CAN ANYONE SPEAK THIS LOUD. Any remaining empathy from the previous night evaporates as they start shouting at/by me in their attempts to make jokes. Sample exchange:

Spaniard 1: “I had a really bad impression of the Swede before but after last night I realise she’s not half bad.”

Spaniard 2: “She had a really bad impression of you too and now that she’s got to know you it’s worse.”

They clearly think we’re friends. Fuck. I stare at my phone and pledge to never approach my spiritual teachers again. Also, I learn that the rubber ring is for “hand muscles,” not autism. Taxi.

But it’s a party in the Lugo, so we escape out onto the crammed streets and walk the walls around Old Town – the world’s biggest surviving Roman walls, how’s about that – before joining the crowds below for some weird music performances and standard wine. As all munis, our albergue shuts at ten though so it’s not a long night. But pretty.

Back in the characteristically sterile Xunta de Galicia-run albergue, I settle into my squeaky top bunk as, around me, all three of the Spaniards snore loudly.

100k. That means we can be in Santiago in four days.

#albergues #endings #Galicia #CaminodelNorte #travel #hiking #CaminodeSantiago #annoyingpeople