San Martín to Astorga - part 1

The Camino gods were very kind to me that night; I slept right through it. It was like sipping a delicious cocktail of amnesia. I couldn't remember a thing, not one pee-shuffling, rustle-crinkling, snarcky-snoring thing. Just nothing and nothingness. Oh, how exquisite sleep can be! But I have to warn you, the Camino gods are funny gods, for in the early morning darkness who should appear at my bed with a flashlight to wake me up out of that beautiful drunken slumber? Why none other than Mr. Edelweiss himself!
Puente de Órbigo. Dating from the 13th century. Complete with jousting area. He had come to fetch me to get going on the road. When I think about it now, it's a darn good thing I wasn't a Musical Theater major, for I would have surely broken out into a Broadway belting tune due to the spotlight he was angling onto my face. I couldn't believe it, and not wanting to wake the others, I couldn't say to him what I wanted to say in that moment, which were mostly not very nice and loud things in German. I adjusted to reality and unzipped my sleeping bag and sat up hunched over under my bunk. He was making his way out of the room already. When I was dressed I went out to find them and said once again that they could go on without me, that I wasn't ready to go yet, not to wait, and that it was ok. I got more of the same ambiguous ja, ja, and reasoning such as they needed to eat breakfast anyway too. I kept my mouth shut because in between the annoyance and pestering I knew they were only being nice for some reason. I hadn't the foggiest idea why, but intuitively I felt they were acting out of kindness. I went back to my bunk, gathered my things, pulled
Puente de Órbigo.them out into the hallway to finish packing so as not to cause noise in the sleeping room, and didn't rush one little bit. Unfortunately, and the Camino gods surely knew this too, I didn't need to anymore. I was a practiced pilgrim by that time and knew my packing routine by memory. Things were together in no time at all and I had no more excuses to give other than the need to eat a bit of bread and chocolate and to take my morning dose of banana flavored cough syrup.

We left the albergue area and turned into the street. It was another uncomfortably cold morning. My hood was up, my pants were long, I had all the layers on I had available, and I had my Had scarf around my mouth and nose again. I also had the gloves from Co. again. It made me feel badly to take them knowing how I felt inside about not wanting to walk with them. I didn't fight it however, because there was no reason to be stubborn considering it was an act of kindness,
Puente de Órbigo.and because Co. was stubbornly insisting. We set out in the dark, even with my slight delay of getting ready. I didn't say much, no ever one did in the cold and dark of the morning. I pulled into myself again thinking about how I could resolve the problem. I wanted an elegant solution with understanding on both parts, but I feared that it may not be possible. My words just didn't seem to be registering.

I was also thinking about my goal for the day. I didn't like that much at all. It annoyed me immensely and immediately, but I felt I had to think about it. I wanted to reach Murias, which was just 3 kilometers further than Astorga. My main reason was that I preferred not to stay in the city. The other reason was that it would make the next day that I had already begrudgingly calculated, not so long. If I could make it to Murias it would be about a 30 kilometer walk for the day, which was certainly not a problem for my feet. My upper body was making some objections, however. That morning I woke up with a tightness in my chest that
Puente de Órbigo. made me worry again. I didn't know if it meant that the medication was taking effect, or if meant I was getting worse. My body seemed to be giving me mixed signals. During the day and the warmth of the sun, I tended to feel rather good. In the early mornings, and certainly in the sleep deprived nights, I tended to feel not so good. I suppose that isn't so revelatory, but by mixed signals what I mean is that during the walking I had every reason to believe my health was steadily improving. It was also easy to shove any aches and pains off onto the inconvenience of albergue living. At any rate, in addition to the tightness in my chest, the antibiotics had started to give me a loose stool, or as I affectionately like to call it, the squirts. I wasn't quite at the 6 alarm squirt alert yet, and my intestines weren't gurgling or feeling weird, so I decided to wait and see before I started mixing more medications into my body. And since we are on the subject, let me digress a bit and speak to those who may be thinking of going on this walk. If there is one medication in your pilgrim bag before you head out, anti-diarrhea medication should be it. You can easily get it on the road too, either at the pharmacies (should there be one handy in your time of need) or by asking another pilgrim, but don't forget that people tend to be sheepish about announcing that they have the squirts, especially if they can't speak the other person's language. Gesturing that situation could get rather comical and possibly
Jousting anyone?misinterpreted. In addition, as I have said before, I highly recommend having a little mental chat with your sphincter before you begin, as I did. It's sort of like dog training: where the head goes, the body follows. So talk to yourself. Tell your sphincter how much you love it and that on the road you promise to let things go when there's a knock on the back door. Getting all squeamish and prudish about needing to make a big stinky in the shared albergue toilets is a good path to intestinal trouble. And listen, if that doesn't convince you, think of it this way: do you really want a case of the cinnamon buns to deal with while you are walking? Yes, please go ahead and laugh at that one now, because you won't be laughing then if it happens. Claro?

When we reached Hospital de Órbigo it hadn't been dawn for very long. The sky was still waking up to another day of deep blue. We walked across the very long medieval bridge further into the village. Along the way, before and after, Mr. Edelweiss wanted to make a couple of miniature detours at albergues that he knew. I wasn't in the mood for tripping down memory lane via all the albergues in each village. My irritation was beginning to rise again. I could only think one thing: Oh Deb—why are you HERE?