Once again, I am one of the last to leave, still, dawn is only just breaking, the air is cold, and the streets are empty. It's Easter morning. I wish the setting moon, the plants, the fog, the birds and animals, a "Happy Easter," or more often, "Christ has risen!" replying the echo myself, "He has risen indeed!" since there are no other people around, those who I know would care, have gone ahead.
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| Easter Morning, Empty Streets, April 16/L Herlevi 2017 |
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| Villares de Orbigo, April 16/L Herlevi 2017 |
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| Lizard, Easter Morning/L Herlevi, 2017 |
Easter, just miss procession, I can hear the bells ring out from San Justo de la Vega. I'm in Bar Oasis, crowded by locals, all the peregrinos gathered together, elsewhere. I'm crammed in with the locals. When i order my drink, Limonada (I ask for Sangria, he finally explains to me it's called limonada), and gives me three chicken wings, and a few calamari as a tapas...perhaps I look like I need the nourishment, it's a generous helping. I wash all of my socks after I eat lunch at the bar around the corner from the albergue, we don't get the Gaudi voucher anymore. I end up in a room with a family group, and later a Danish woman, who I see again, in Sarria, and then to Santiago. Talk with a French woman who lives near Eileen. Make coffee which keeps me awake all night, along with the family patriarch and myself taking turns hacking all night. Wash all of my socks, so stay in the albergue all evening waiting for them to dry. Museum closed, as usual. I always hit this town on a Sunday or Monday.
David the weed (like Tomas, like Jesus Jato, like San Bol was formerly) that crops up amidst all the well-heeled, sanctioned. A spirit that refuses to be tamed and paved and suitable for generic consumption. A dandelion.
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| The untamed Camino, April 16/L Herlevi 2017 |
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