Thank you! (most effective when said with eye contact and a look of desperate gratitude for being spared extra kilometers down the wrong path.)I have never been able to sleep at night. From reading by night light as a child to overnighters in a practice room in college, to present day 3am popcorn, the deepest part of night has always been a time existing only for me, a time when I belong to only me. It has never mattered the contents of my day. I could wake at 7am to run a marathon and still lie awake at 2am that night. This, of course, has led to many groggy mornings cantoring for Sunday masses and the Camino is no different. I woke early today, spent my day walking across this welcoming country, and still I lie awake. But the mat I am sleeping on is surprisingly comfortable, the cool wind battering the house is a lullaby and I can almost see the stars through the tiny skylight 3 feet above me. So, if my thoughts race with the frenzy of a dervish, who am I to fight?
Earlier in the evening...
"When you get to Porto, you must buy a cavaquinho," João said with much conviction. As if one ukulele in my backpack wasn't enough, now I needed the Portuguese equivalent too! Our pilgrim number had grow to the overwhelming number of two. Alexander had joined us, a tall, light eyed, 29 year old man from England and after showing Alexander around the albergue, João announced that he would be heading home to Lisbon for dinner. While packing up, he asked what we each did for a living.
"I am a teacher," I say.
"Ah, I could tell. What do you teach?"
"Music," I reply.
João sits down heavily and props his chin on his hand. "I just LOVE music! And Opera...ah! I will stay and have dinner with you both."Over a dinner of omelettes, French fries, beefsteak and iceberg lettuce at Maria's bar just around the corner, we chatted of passion and music, work and the Camino.
"The Camino will change her life," João said while nodding towards the bar's overworked proprietor, "just a few extra dinners a day will make a difference!"
I said a quiet "obrigado," as Maria took my empty plate and offered me a tired smile in return.
After João wished us a fond "Buen Camino," and locked us snuggly in for the night, Alexander and I continued talking a bit more, centering our conversation on politics. Alexander, who works in government for the trade ministry, confided that coming to terms with Brexit had physically made him ill for the first few days.
After working for changing governments, Alexander succinctly summed up his plight by saying, "My job is to make the best of decisions that I had no part in making." And with that he was off to sleep as I began my nightly ritual of contemplating ceilings.
Alpiarte to Vilafranca de Xira: 20km along the N-10 highway and the Rio TejoI am in the middle of a balloon fight. The walking has ended for the day, and we had a wonderful lunch of bread, smoked peppers, cheese and tomatoes, before Alexander headed back to the hostel for a short siesta. I have remained on the park bench, covered by a canopy of kind trees, and surrounded by pigeons. (I am a messy eater.) There is an empty gazebo to my right and a tiny cafe to my left on the river's edge. A group of about ten middle school girls, armed with the freedom of summer and egged on by one wayward little brother, have just finished a burping contest and have now commenced to an all out Armageddon of water ballooned fury. Their aim is atrocious.
