It was a long journey and no shortage of bad control. Rescued from a river and out of many a dutch the ball finally hit the streets of Santiago de Compostela.
When I was wee i was guilty of dribbling head down and not passing enough. On the camino i couldnt pass it fast enough. Going through Ciruena with Ozzie Murray we battered the ball up through the deserted streets of this amazing Spanish ghost town. Its just 8km after azofra one of my favourite towns and its about day 7/8/9 depending how fast you were going. I started at logrono so it was only day 2. I'd met Henk from ghent and Rosvita from Gothenburg the evening before. I never saw Rosvita again until Santiago but i was lucky enough to bump into Murray & Henk at various stages. These guys were morning people....out at 7am ...night lights burning bright....while sleepy fat Al would usually leave at 8:45... I would say cheerio....but somehow i would finish at 7pm on a day thry cut short and lo behold our paths crossed again. I was just wondering who to share the two beers I'd bought in O'Cebreiro when Murray traipsed into the albergue. A long slow day for him was unusual....but he had started at Le Puy so he was long enough in the tooth to make his own rules for walking. Later that night after dinner with Dave from Beijing.....i got caught out by the oldest bit of western stupidity....peking...ooops...sorry...yes i know, it has always been Beijing...i will stop digging......but it was another great night of international diplomacy. Dont visit other countries .....just talk to people on the camino....they live in their own country and you are invited into their world and perceptions....its priceless....but before I forget who walks in but Russ who I'd got pissed with at the edge of town albergue at templarios. Superb night. RUSS had just done one of the longest days i'd heard of. Ponferrade to O'Cebreiro. We were onto our fourth beer when the restaurant owner at Venta Celta reminded us the dorms close at 10pm.
A quick stumble along badly lit streets with flagstones raised just enough to trip you every second step ensured ny blood stained feet made it safely to the Albergue.
Where above me in the bunk was Henk from Ghent the Genk supporter. Small world.
We had all worked out that get to Triacastela for a bit of lunch then take the high road over san xil to Sarria. The trick was how long a lunch you had.
I found out later they all hit triacastela at 11...i arrived 12:30 as smug as a smug thing for my long lie. I met Fiona who i hadnt seen since sinking a few in el acebo and ponferrade. In fact Ponferrade was another story altogether. After siesta just before midnight we found a bar playing "i'm all kost in the supermarket" . It git very messy but back to Triacastele where we had a bit of lunch, some wine, Fiona left then i had a wee beer to get me on my way at 2:15. From 4pm when we met up again for a beer....it all gets messy. Stopping for beer is fine but in the afternoon with good company....you drink slower. Fiona wisely stopped 7km out and I arrived in Sarria at 7pm....a seething mass of sweaty sloth. One wash later its tapas time!
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