Day 20: Stopping Time

We said farewell to Gordy in the morning, as she had to take off to get to Santiago before her flight back home. We left as the sun was just peeking behind the clouds, setting off the most stunning colors.

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We set off on the side of N-120 once again, and soon came upon the Puente de Orbigo, a medieval bridge originally built im the 13th Century and site of two epic battles.

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Kat popped into a bar for her first cortado of the day and met up with Mar who is having some hip pain. There, we learned the tragic news of the senseless killings in Oslo. As pilgrims, we do not always have access to the Internet and the news, and the “real” world seems so far away and in many ways, inexplicable. We only hear bits and pieces.

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We seem to have adopted Alex, the young Italian from Bilbao, as our little brother. He joined, half asleep. We had a choice of going the shorter route along N-120 and the longer, more scenic route. We chose the latter.

It was a beautiful walk up and down hills. B found a playground while waiting before entering the tiny village of Santibanez de Valdeiglesias. The rest joined in and we had a blast swinging and trying the seesaw. It was like being 8 again, ignorant of the horrors that can happen in the real world.

We found the one open bar where it seeme as if time stood still, we tried looking for a newspaper only to find it dated June 15. A small bit of munchies later, we were joined by two other Italain speakers, Max and Alex.

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The six of us set off past cornfields and the dairy cows that had passed us earlier (we did a faux running of the cows). B and Alex (#2) took off. Alex is a Greek living in Italy who is a music editor who also owns sheep at home from which he makes sheep’s cheese and wool. He stopped at almost every plant and herb to check them out. After reaching Finisterre to honor his god, Poseiden, he will head to Morocco to study Arabic for three months.

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Kat walked with Max, who said his wallet was stolen in Leon. He has worked in a number of manual jobs after living in Sarajevo for six years. He had gone there after his military service in Italy, expecting to volunteer after the war there for one month.

Z followed with Alex our brother whose wolf dog has one problem: he is afraid of cats. He loves his mother more than anything, but by the end of 25km, he declared he needed a shower more than his mother at the moment.

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At the top of one hill, we found an old brick building and a stand of teas and juices. A hippie lived there, offering the beverages for donations. He said he has lived there for two years, claiming he has found paradise. We hope that he has because it seemed more like he gave up on trying to live in the real world and escape into his “paradise” that he over emphatically claimed. He seemed to want to stop time outside and live in his own world instead.

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We continued on until we saw Astorga, a charming city know for its chocolate, in the distance. As we got to the Albergue Siervas de Marias, we saw many folks in wheelchairs buzzing around town, including a man on an electric wheelchair pushing a man in an electric bed.

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The shower offered two options: the shower that wouldn’t stop or the shower that needed to be turned on every five seconds, enabling half an ankle to be washed at a give time. We then wandered to the center where we had a much-needed lunch: macaroni (needed carbs other than bread), fried eggs, and perfectly fried potatoes.

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As we ate, we ran into Bernie, the wonderful, saucy Australian, and we all set off to find Gaudi’s masterpiece. Bernie first bought one of Astorga’s chocolates designed in the shape of the Palacio de Gaudi, built in the 13th century. Though tame by Gaudi’s standards, the bishop had refused to live in such an expensive and whimsical place, offending Gaudi who refused to return to Astorga.

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The cathedral next to it was intricate and interesting as well.

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We didn’t do much for dinner other than pastries at a shop that has been around since 1906 and now social center for a group of senior women playing cards. We tried the local specialty, mantecados, little cakes, which were delicious.

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After a stroll in the park, we returned to the albergue where a police car took one of the young Italian girls that had just started two days ago because she was dehydrated from heat stroke. Thankfully, she returned quickly. A professor of Classical Mythology and History from the Canary Islands promised B he would help her carry her bags up mountains (we won’t forget!). We then met an Irishman who told is of a Finnish guy who had his pack stolen right off his back on his way to Burgos. Apparently, a group of gypsy boys surrounded him, cut his pack and ran away with it.

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Now that there are more pilgrims and more folks doing this for a week or so, Z has forbidden B to run off ahead into the mountains. It is time now to stick together at all times and take the next two weeks to be grateful for what we are doing and to savor the Way to Santiago.