Buen Camino!

The beautiful Rio Min[y]o flows through the Spanish town of Sarria, fast and clear. From the little bridge that crosses at the Rua Malecon, the fish are thick as thieves, and look like Appalachian brook and rainbow trout – though the river is famous for its eels. We settled down with our new group of friends at one of several restaurants along the Malecon plaza, overlooking a little section of rapids in the Min[y]o river. When I found a dish of scrambled eggs with nettles and eels, I’m thinking, “Who could pass that up!?” Kate, our new Spanish speaking guide with a north England accent (she’s from Lancaster) had just asked in our orientation if we “had nettles where we come from.” On our recent hike to Chimney Rock I had pointed out stinging nettle to the boys, so I clarified the Spanish brand: “Stinging nettle?” “Yes,” she said. “Watch out for it… though they actually eat it around here!”

So as Amy and the boys shared two plates, steak and pork loin (we had originally been told it was “tail of pig”), Andrea, our Canadian/Qatarian fellow traveler, enjoyed a brothy cabbage soup, Tony and Kate, our blind companion and his wife, who hale from near Manchester England(!), tried out the baked hake (a filleted white fish), and Kate, our vegetarian guide, filled herself on a plate of hot, green peppers… I worked my way through a dish that looked for all the world like scrambled eggs in spaghetti noodles, with a good measure of blue-green, sautéed algae thrown in. Though I have no regrets in my order (I would honestly say the dish was good), I confessed to Amy back at the hotel that the faintest hint of a gag reflex slowly crept up my esophagus throughout the meal. Though it’s against my personal culinary ethic, I had to leave two, maybe three bites of little baby eels undigested!

And so we begin – as benignly-eventful as I had hoped. The six-hour bus ride out of Madrid was the closest thing to airline-quality First Class we’ve ever enjoyed, and when we arrived in Lugo, at least a dozen obvious pilgrims filled the station. We followed three of these travelers (from Milan, Italy) to the ticket window, and 45 minutes later were following them, and their broken Italian-Spanish (which is one “pescado grande”-of-a-lot better than my Spanglish), through the streets of Sarria, in search of the Alphonso IX hotel. (Which, by the way, is probably the nicest digs we’ve had in all of Europe.)

More on our Camino campan[y]eros later, but we like them all so much, at this point, and have a premonition of good things to come regarding our rapport on the trail and off. What a nice bonus this will be if it comes to fruition.

Several hours ago, on the bus from Lugo to Sarria, as we passed (with way too much speed, I might add, for our comfort!) through the beautiful rolling hills of Galithia (the province/“state” which looks something like the Shenandoah Valley and contains much of the Camino), I said to my three closest companions, “This is my best day in Europe, so far – hands down!” After our night with these new friends, I’m even more convinced.

We will begin our travels, “a pie” (“by foot,” not by pie) tomorrow at 8:30 a.m. And as we prepare to embark, we’ll be thinking of you, and wishing you, too, on whatever road you may be “traveling,” a “Buen Camino!”