Triacastela to Sarria - Day 25

Leaving Triacastela via San Xil rte, April 23/L Herlevi 2017

Via San Xil. Smoke in the morning. Another day, another fire.  This one right by the road.  Scary.  A man behind me calls it in.

Fire reigniting, April 23/L Herlevi, 2017

Route seems shorter, but then last time I walked it, I walked Alto do Poio to Sarria, which is almost 2x as long. Lots of teenagers.  They join at Hospital, so from Samos.

Maureen's distaste for Monastery.  Anger at church for abuses in Ireland.

I take wrong way, lose arrows, because they match the lichen.  Am lost, don't turn back, even though I should.  Pray for God, saints, Mary to be with me even if I make a mistake, do something stupid.  Pray for a sign, there is no one around, and at some point no evidence of footprints in the dust, so no longer on the Camino.  I can see Sarria through a smoky haze in the distance, a white city from here.  Eventually turn a corner and see rooftops, decide to try to get to them.  As I get closer I hear voices talking, a man and a woman, with back packs, when I get down to where they are, I see a yellow arrow on her back.  HA!

And say "thank you" a million times, and then immediately detour again, to a alleged cafe.

In need of belly scratching, April 23/L Herlevi 2017

Get a sandwich to carry along, eat it in Hospital.  Basically walk into the outskirts of Sarria with the teens.

Stay in one of last albergues.  Go up and look out balcony down to street, just as Jims are passing underneath, I don't call out. I think I will see them again. I know they won't be staying here. And I have unexpectedly fallen hard for Ireland, and I've decided one of my standards is that I don't get involved with someone else's man, and he's married.  I never do see them again. Sad about that.  take the opportunity...when there's a toilet, use it.  Water, fill the bottle.  Food, eat, bed sleep.  Someone you like, say something ("hi" "goodbye" and it's not just them, I have a bad habit of not making contact, have lost friendships over this.  Friendships with people I like.)  No (more) regrets.

Maureen invites me out with her friends, we meet up with the Brazilians.  A cyclist from Bilbao joins us, he reads me a list of what makes a pilgrim that he took a picture of earlier, from his phone, translating it, even though I generally get the gist of it.

A large group of teens parades up and down the street, not sure where they are staying.  We wave and cheer each time they pass.  They seem really happy.  I'm feeling dehydrated so order water, someone gives me wine anyway, I don't know whose glass it is.  Someone passes around a glass of Pacharin.  We talk about what it's made out of.  (The man in Villamayor de Monjardin, showed me a picture of the fruit when I had asked, because I tried it there.  He had said it was fruit fermented in Anise liquer.  After I got home, I looked it up, and it is made from sloes, which are the fruit of blackthorn...the plant I think I probably managed to photograph on every single day of my camino, because I thought it looked pretty every time I saw it.)

Blackthorn flower, March 31/L Herlevi 2017

I hurry back to the albergue, wondering if I am now sharing a room with a bunch of teens...I'm not, the woman who runs the albergue likes to keep it quiet, and in fact, comes into my room to turn out the light at 10 pm because I'd fallen asleep with it on.  I have a room to myself.