Forgive my lack of posts and updates for the bulk of my time is devoted to the pilgrims at the albergue here in Grado. Plenty of time to jot down thoughts in my journal, but bangin’ out a bitchin’ blog post is much more difficult. I’m not even mad; this gig is such a welcome chapter of my Life. And soon, my Life will change yet again for the better. I go from one happy moment to the next – yes, Life is good.
But you didn’t come here to read about how much I’m enjoying Life and brimming with excitement for Our future. If you’ll allow me, curious reader, let me tell you about being a hospitalero.
If you’re familiar with existential literature (which you should be, peasant) then you’ll recognize the title of this post comes from John Gardner’s brilliant piece, Grendel, which, if I really had to pick a favorite book, would definitely be a contender for that moniker.
Exceptional book, Grendel; creates such a sympathetic anti-hero and makes you think – the hallmark of great literature. This post will make a lot more sense if you’ve read Gardner’s novel; otherwise, you’ll just think I’m nuts.
What? I can’t enjoy philosophy too?
What are you getting at, you loon? I hear you say to an empty room. Well who’s the loon now?
Meat and potatoes, comin’ right up. And might I recommend you give this a listen as thou read: Dark Paradise
I actually wrote this last week but didn’t feel it appropriate to post until I felt it necessary.
Before I buggered off on San Salvador without telling a Soul – what a heart-wrenching, foolish mistake that was – I stayed in the monastery in Leon. And here I am again, having successfully completed this pristine Way, mostly intact and in good health. And once more, nestled amongst them in their hundreds, I realize just how much I can grow to dislike pilgrims.
On the day I started San Salvador, I left Leon rather late by Camino standards – half past 7 – even though I was awoken at 5 by those goddamned bed chasers. You’d think we were all forced to sleep outside, this constant hustle and bustle so many pilgrims concern themselves with. As if the beds evaporate overnight, and everything becomes completo at approximately 11.
Christ, pilgrims, get your shit together.
Oh, yes, this is a rant. A rant against those who are here on the Way by not being here on the Way. If you think this might apply to you, even in the slightest, then, yeah, it’s probably about you. You’re That Guy.
If you’ve been following along, you know I’ve been walking San Salvador these past few days. And I must say, it is worlds apart from Camino Frances. Case in point, this is the first time I’ve had an Internet connection in ~130km.
The trail was a tough son-of-a-bitch, lemme tell you, and there were many times I wondered why I left the safety of Frances for this maddened Way.
On your first day you’re dick-slapped with a 700m ascent, followed by an immediate cunt-punt of 1000m descent. The locals look at you as if you’re lost (which is completely plausible, given the markings), none of them speak English (or German, I’ve learned), and you won’t find much in the way of amenities along the Way.
You really must be mindful of what you’re packing, but you cannot forget food and extra water; half the fountains aren’t guaranteed to be potable and all the stores are closed willy-nilly. Better bring extra medical gear whilst you’re at it. You’ll pass through half a dozen towns with even fewer albergues.
The bars and restaurants along the Way (two, tops) don’t have Wi-Fi, pilgrim menus, or any local knowledge to exploit – and they close early. The steps are long, mostly uphill (or treacherous downhills), through uninhabited and undeveloped land, and you won’t see another Seeker the entire week you’re walking. And when you’re done walking your +25km day, you have to wait an hour or two before the hospitalero shows up to open the albergue because he’s still at work – thought you were getting a hot shower at noon, did ya? Ha.
It’s a bitch of a trail and it is completely different from Frances. In fact, apart from the shells and yellow arrows, I would wager this trail has nothing in common with Frances.
In short, fuck, sign me up again.
Lemme give you a few reasons why this trail stomps so much ass that they have to import colons from other countries just to meet the demand.
Disclaimer: Free-write is a technique I learned from a good friend of mine, an excellent writer – far better than myself – and something he does often. You simply write as you think/feel and whatever happens, well, it happens. When I feel blocked, I let loose with all guns and see what happens. In the madness, there might be a nugget of wisdom. What follows is a free-write, full of vulgarities, slurs, and random thoughts throughout the entire wall of text. There is a thread throughout this entire mess, but you must take care to follow it, lest you end up at the Minotaur’s lair.
For whatever reason, I listened to this on repeat until I felt finished. Give it a listen: Elton John, Tiny Dancer.