During dinner at the pulperia, Paula shared an incredible story about her previous night’s roommate: a remarkable 75-year-old French woman had been trekking all the way from the south of Portugal.
Most people start their journey on the Camino Portuguese from Porto. Many people, like me, start from either Valença/Tui or Vigo to qualify for the compostella, because those towns are about 100 km away from Santiago and can be completed in less than a week. But this woman had gone even further, covering approximately 700 km at this point.
And what luck: in Pontevedra, she became my roommate.
When she mentioned walking from Algarve and completing the Fisherman’s Trail before continuing on the Camino from Lisbon, I made the connection. “My friend told me about you!” I exclaimed in excitement. “She was your roommate yesterday, and she told me there’s a French woman on the trail who had been walking from the south of Portugal.”
As we chatted, I learned that she had been walking since April, and her language skills had adapted to the road, blending French, Spanish, and English. This was not her first Camino; she had also completed the Frances and Norte routes ten years ago.
I told her that she’s living my dream and I want to be like her.
“You’re still young!” she reassured me.
We woke up at the same time: 6 am on the dot. Yesterday, the French woman told me that it will be hot today, and my weather app confirmed the same. It will be sunny all the way through, no clouds, so I was really determined to wake up early and not procrastinate.
After finishing my camino morning routine (yes, I have a camino morning routine now!), I headed downstairs and discovered that our breakfast was being prepared. Hector’s mom, Gloria, was making orange juice and some cake in the kitchen. Though her English was limited, we managed to engage in a small conversation, relying on my rudimentary grasp of the Spanish language.
I wish I spoke better Spanish, though. The French woman—I didn’t get to learn her name, sadly—was able to converse with Gloria at ease. If I could speak Spanish, I could ask for the cake recipe and have more meaningful conversations with her. She seems to be a delightful and cheery woman and I’m sure she has a lot of great stories to tell.
Learning German is my top priority now, but I’m sure that Spanish is going to be the next language I tackle next. This is most likely not going to be my last camino, and many other countries also use Spanish, and I have quite a lot of friends who speak Spanish to practice.
With a satisfied stomach, I embarked on my walk for the day.
Though walking alone, I checked in on Paula and her blisters via text. I informed her of my early start and offered assistance if needed. Over dinner the previous evening, I learned that she preferred a later start, usually commencing her walk around 8 am, whereas I reveled in the coolness and serenity of the early morning hours. We implicitly agreed to walk separately but we knew we’ll meet again in the evening for a shared meal in town.
This arrangement suited me. My camino is my solitude and introspection time, and I enjoy letting my mind wander as I explore new landscapes and trails. But at the same time, having someone to share experiences with in the evenings would be nice too.
The sky was cloudless and that’s how I knew that I’m not going to make any sketch today. Knowing that the heat would definitely put a damper on my mood, I thought I’m good with skipping one day to sketch to get to town faster before the sun gets unbearable.
Today’s journey offered a mix of landscapes: half of it took me through peaceful forests, while the other half led me along paved roads. Although I’m not a fan of walking on roads, the upside was that the path was mostly flat, which was a welcome change after tackling hilly terrain for the past two days. Gloria had assured me earlier that today’s route would be easier, and she was right.
The forest trail was a definite highlight. Most of the time, I was sheltered by the shade of towering trees. It was along this trail that I unexpectedly bumped into the woman who had been my roommate in Pontevedra. During our stay, she noticed me sketching and had complimented my artwork. Today, she recognized me and greeted me warmly.
As we walked through the forest, she asked about my art. She assumed that I studied art in Berlin. I chuckled and confessed that I was actually an engineer and sketching was just a hobby. She seemed genuinely surprised, exclaiming, “I thought you were an artist! You’re so talented, you could make a living from this!”
She also shared some details about herself. Despite being British, she had been living in Spain for 20 years and considered it her true home. “I don’t feel a strong connection to the UK anymore,” she explained. Then, she asked me how I felt about Indonesia now.
It was a loaded question that made me pause. I had been contemplating my feelings a lot lately. Just the previous night, I began to long for home, although my idea of home had shifted to my cozy apartment in Berlin, even though it wasn’t fully furnished yet. I missed the familiar Indonesian food, of course, I always have, but I could still prepare my favorite local dishes in my own kitchen. A lot of things had changed since I left Indonesia, one of them is that my family moved out of our family house, so things were different now.
She told me about her experience walking the Camino Frances last year, mentioning that it had become much busier this year. This made me reconsider my initial plan to do the Frances route. I started contemplating the Norte instead. She also mentioned that even the Portuguese route had gotten crowded, especially after the central and coastal routes merged. “Yesterday, the river trail was packed with pilgrims,” she said. “It was beautiful, but I didn’t get to enjoy it because it was packed with people.”
This surprised me because when Paula and I walked that same trail, it was peaceful and quiet. We only encountered a few fellow pilgrims, and we all kept a good distance from one another. I guess our impromptu orange juice break was a fortunate decision after all.
The British woman walked very fast and I couldn’t keep up with her, so I told her I would take a break and she can go ahead and I’ll see her later. Turns out I wouldn’t see her again for the rest of the day. I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again.
That’s the beauty of the camino, I guess: some people come, some people go, but it doesn’t make the connections any less meaningful.
I was pretty much focused on the walk until I got to Caldas de Reis. I reached Caldas de Reis right at lunchtime, and the albergue was still empty. I was looking forward to stay in the albergue because it has a swimming pool, but it turns out to be the most commercialized out of all the other albergues I’ve stayed. I much prefer smaller, more homey albergues.
After Paula arrived in Caldas de Reis a few hours later, I decided to head to the restaurant first. It was reputed as the best place in town, serving traditional Galician cuisine. I patiently waited in line to be seated, but I couldn’t help but notice that the waitress attended to everyone else, even those behind me, without acknowledging me, despite speaking to her in Spanish.
We ended up in another restaurant where they had run out of most of the traditional dishes. We settled for hamburgers instead. I didn’t mention the earlier situation to Paula, but it certainly dampened my mood.
The restaurant experience wasn’t the ideal way to wrap up the day, and it left me eager to leave Caldas de Reis. I’ll need some time to let it sink in properly as my thoughts started drifting in various directions. Nevertheless, despite the less-than-ideal meal, I’m grateful for the company I had with me. I was expecting to go through the camino fully by myself, so this was a nice surprise that is much more than I asked for already.
