May 31st, 2017
Sobrado des Monxes to St Irene (Alburgue de Perigrino)
Km Walked: 38
Km total: 795
Well, that was the worst night at an Alburgue by a wide margin. It was so awful I hesitate to even write about it, because it makes me so angry. How can such a pristine monastery make me feel like punching someone in the face? This is something that can only be explained if you had to share a small, enclosed room with 6 old men.
You see, old men are the demographic that snores. So when you have to share a room with a whole cluster of them, you know that you’re going to be in for quite the concert.
And the show did not disappoint! There were 4 different people that snored last night. And one of these people snored at an epic level I have not experienced before. It sounded like a rocket blasting off into space, or a lawn mower getting hung up in tall grass. He had a growling mess of a wind pipe, jammed up by fat and old age, unable to properly bring air into his lungs and push it out. The result of which was a kaleidoscope of grinding and gurgling noises that penetrated the small room.
I laid in my bed smiling and hating myself. My earplugs could only mask some of the noise, maybe about 50%, leaving the rest to penetrate deep into my cochlea and send aggravating signals to my brain.
I slept only a few restless hours, unable to get the snoring noises away long enough to fall asleep. And once I finally did, being woken up by that one guy choking on himself and gagging into the night.
When it was time to wake up, I couldn’t have been happier.
The morning went by quickly, and by noon we had entered into the town of Azura where the Norte route ended and dumped us into the Camino Frances, an entirely new dimension.
All morning we saw only a couple of people and were by ourselves pretty much the whole time. But once we stepped into the Frances, the Camino turned into a super highway. We passed person after person, small cafe after small cafe filled to the brim with pilgrims, and we felt like part of a moving human train, chugging along down a crappy dirt path by the side of the road. There were Alburgues every several kilometers, advertising their businesses with posters and flyers on the trail, and bars trying to get you to stop for a drink or a snack. There was so much activity that the “trail” ceased to be nothing more than a moving tourist trap, each corner another establishment trying to convince you to stop and buy something from them.
For all of the negative things I said about the Norte, I am sorry. The Norte is a paradise compared to the swaths of people walking on the Frances. You can hardly find a spot to take a piss. And when everyone passes you they say, “Buen Camino”, and you hear this about 100 times an hour.
Tonight we are at our last Alburgue. I think that is all I have left in me. If I had to stay in another one, I would surely cry.
Upon entering at 6:00 PM, there was already a guy snoring in the room. He was a large old guy laying on his back, mouth ajar and opened wide, sucking in air like a Hoover vacuum. It’s always these guys. And it’s so predictable!
There is nowhere to hide. There is nowhere to run. This is my reality for the next 12 hours. Wish me luck…
