Day 32, July 9th, 2023
It is a nightmare. Alex snores like crazy, even with earplugs, I can hear him. But that is not the worst of it. The mattress is completely worn out, but that is not the worst of it either. The worst of it is that I have at least forty mosquito bites - on my arms, hands, feet, legs, butt, back, basically everywhere. They even bit me through my sleeping trousers, my whole body is burning! I have to restrain myself from scratching because most insect bites tend to swell up immediately.
Without brushing my teeth or washing, I flee the room and gather my things outside. A roommate from last night also comes out, and I think she has been bitten too, but she doesn't have a single bite! How can this be? I eat an antihistamine tablet and hope I don't swell up. Oh, how itchy I am!
100 Kilometre
It is still dark when I set off at six o'clock. My GPS guides me, as I can't make out any yellow arrows yet.
After eight kilometers, I meet Alex and his German hiking companion at a café. Neither of them has a single bite, so I don't understand it.
At the entrance to A Pena, I finally pass the milestone that marks the last 100 kilometers. It looks rather unremarkable, standing there covered in graffiti at the edge of a field. Originally, it stood between A Brea and Morgade, but was moved here after a resurvey of the Camino de Santiago.
From now on I must not forget to collect two stamps a day, because those traveling on foot or horseback need two stamps per day for the last 100 kilometres to avoid having their Compostela certificate revoked. Cyclists, on the other hand, must have two stamps per day for the last 200 kilometres.
I am getting very emotional. Now it is official, the journey is almost over. I am crying a lot, especially with all the music I have been listening to so often along the way. Songs that will remind me of this journey in the future.
I still have quite a walk to do to get to the new town of Melide where all the hostels are supposed to be. Once there I experience the less pleasant side of the Camino once again. Exactly as Angela said, it is hot and noisy, the streets are full of cars and lorries, and the pavements are teeming with people.
I only skirted Portomarin, no idea why. I must have taken the wrong turn somewhere. I figure out later that after the bridge over the reservoir, I should not have turned left, but should have gone straight ahead up some stairs. Shortly after, I miss two adjacent milestones, one marking the historical route to the left and the other an alternative route to the right. And when I turn right into the woods, I realise that I am unknowingly on the alternative route and have unfortunately missed San Roque. I could have gotten a stamp there and certainly something to eat. There are no more villages marked on my map until I reach Gonzar. I hope my stamp from A Brea will be sufficient for my credentials.
Gonzar
The heavy iron gate of my hostel in Gonzar is closed when I arrive. I knock, push down the wrought-iron latch, and find myself in a small courtyard. To the right is a small bar with a few tables and chairs scattered around. An older woman and a younger woman are sitting at one of the tables. The younger woman approaches me and says they don't open until 1 p.m. I apologise and am about to leave when she finally invites me in and allows me to check in early. I soon understand why: I will be the only pilgrim sleeping in this hostel today and they don't want to lose me as a customer. There are no other bookings besides mine, only two private rooms have been reserved. So I have a 40-bed dormitory to myself. This dormitory isn't really a dormitory but rather a huge, rustic room with low ceilings and solid brick walls, divided by a small corridor. Several wooden bunk beds with proper sheets fill the room, and it is actually cosy, just rather lonely. I decide on a bed in the far corner as there the emptiness isn't so noticeable.
Vadim
Before the kitchen opens, I take another look outside. Diagonally opposite the hostel is the small parish church, in front of which sits someone I know - it is Vadim, the church sleeper! He grins when he sees me, and I am pleased too. Proudly, I show him the small scallop pendant he gave me in the village square in Hornillos del Camino, which has adorned my neck ever since.
I ask Vadim if he would like to eat with me, but true to form he declines, swearing he has enough food. Later though he comes and keeps me company for a while as I have just finished eating my meal. We try to have a deep conversation which is difficult given his poor English, but basically it is about God, faith, life's purpose, and so on. Vadim says that many people think he is crazy because of who he is. Here on the Camino he feels 'liberated and cleansed'. He would love to always be somewhere else, there for others. He says he has never had as many friends as he does now on the Camino. And he feels safe wherever there is a church. Vadim has so much hope, and there is so much positivity in what he says and how he says it, but I also hear a lot of sadness and, at the same time, uncertainty about what will happen to him after he reaches Santiago de Compostela.
»Tränen waschen die Augen«, sagt er, als sie mir die Wangen runter laufen. Ich stelle mir vor wie es sein muß alles verloren zu haben, dann für Monate unterwegs zu sein mit dem Ziel Santiago de Compostela, weil man überzeugt davon ist gerufen worden zu sein. Was aber, wenn dort nichts auf ihn wartet? Was wenn alles nur aus ihm kommt, weil die Hoffnung das einzige ist, das ihn weitermachen lässt? Was ist nach Santiago? Aber vielleicht ist es genau der Weg, der ihn retten wird und gar nicht das Ziel. Ob ihm das bewusst ist? Doch, ich glaube schon. Einer wie er wird seine Antworten bei Gott finden und nie alleine sein, solange er seine geliebten Kirchen hat. Und über kurz oder lang wird der Weg für ihn Früchte tragen.
Vadim will heute noch weiter laufen und macht sich schon bald wieder auf den Weg. Ich hingegen gehe zurück zu meinem Bett, döse und surfe etwas im Internet. Aber irgendwie fällt mir die Decke auf den Kopf mit all den leeren Betten um mich herum. Wo sind denn nur all die Pilger?
Als ich zurück in den Hof komme, sitzen dort gefühlt alle Einwohner Gonzars und Umgebung an der Bar und starren mich an. Wohin sollen sie auch sonst gehen um mal unter Leute zu kommen, denn mehr als die Kapelle und ein paar Häuser ist hier ja nicht. Angeblich soll es in Gonzar mehr Kühe als Einwohner geben, was ich mir gut vorstellen kann, denn ich sehe nichts als Kuhställe, als ich durchs Dorf schlendere. Die kleine Kapelle ist wirklich das Highlight, wobei ich glaube, daß da auch nicht mehr als zwanzig Leute rein passen.
Mein durchstochener Körper juckt höllisch, als ich mich hinlege und schlucke eine Antihistamin Tablette, um nicht komplett durchzudrehen. Waren das überhaupt Mücken?
Ich werde mir jetzt einen Griswold Film anschauen und dann versuchen zu schlafen. Ich möchte mir auch keine Sorgen machen über David, der just in diesem Moment den alten Morris 1000 von Loughton zum Cottage fährt, in der Rushhour und in bulliger Hitze. Noch dazu ist der Akku seines Handys fast leer. Warum kann er das Auto nicht außerhalb der Rushhour nach Hause fahren? Und warum sorgt er nicht dafür, daß sein Handy genug Akku hat? Ich wette, er hat auch kein Wasser für sich mitgenommen. Ach, ich möchte nicht darüber nachdenken müssen.
Die Tablette wirkt schnell. Zwar wird der Juckreiz nicht besser, aber ich werde extrem müde. Ich schaffe es nicht, den Griswold Film zu Ende zu gucken.
Strecke: 25,9 km / Schritte: 38051