From Here to Somewhere

My shells from Muxia are on the nighttable, and my hiking boots are, sadly,  in a corner. i have about 5 times more clothes (and all of it clean!) than at any given time in the past two months, and more storage space than i could realistically hope to fill for the next year. the residence-provided duvet cover lends the room an infirmary pink cast though the light being as dim as it is, and the pipes make a ridiculous sound every time persons in rooms unidentified turn on their sinks.
Orientation tomorrow! the same bed tonight, and tomorrow, and the next and the next. How odd. Free internet! a Kitchen with cupboards all my own! Classes soon, and hopefully friends- it took until today to really internalize that Cambridge is not Cambridge. But Cambridge is good enough:)

Santiago de Compostela, 15:15 yesterday. Walking to Finisterre probably derailed by the aftereffects of the freak hurricane that blew by this area early today....just in the sense that I'll be walking around enough in the rain in a couple of days. Also, I really really want to wear normal sneakers and oh, jeans.

But it really feels...inconclusive.

Just over 50 k to go...

The last 4 km a day are always the hardest. A couple days ago it was because after a pleasant climb up O Cebreiro first fog, the wind, rain and a temperature in the 40s accompanied me to the peak and a town which was definitely the yang to San Pedro de Atacama's Yin. And after the O Cebreiro albergue debacle (which is to say, shortly after I got there at 3, all the beds in the huge place were taken, giving people further reason to get up at some unreasonable hour the next morning solely to find a bed in Samos...) I decided to opt out and opting out either meant stopping at Triacastela or pushing forward to Sarria. The day when you look around, look at the beautiful blue sky and decide that 20 km is just not enough, whty not do 40- momentous indeed. Luckily, I got a free french lesson out of it by way of a Belgian walking companion. Another yesterday, with 37 to Ventas de Naron. Now we're in Melide, out of the mountains which is sad, but ever closer to Fisterra, and through it all casting knowing glances in the direction of the people we see blatently getting out of cars to hike the last  5 kms into town. They missed the monastery at Vilar de Donas, thats for sure- it was 6 km out of the way, but worth it all the while. (and whats another 6, give or take?)

I'm in Ponferrada, after a night in the nearly nonexistant town of Foncebadon (before that Astorga, which was quite nice). More hills now, which can´t really compare to the mountains but with 100 kilometers behind certainly feel like it. And that is that!

...that was stuck in my head all morning, but I can´t remember it now. Train to Leon, where even the Spanish sun gets up late, apparently, but finally dawn rose over the CAthedral and I peeked inside (worth the three hour wait) before setting off. Wondering what the locals make of all this- one guy had to redirect me twice (although to my defense, the signs were dusted over by construction). Followed others on through the end of the red soiled mesita, and am now in the quiet town of Villar de Mazarife. Listening to others scream in pain as they administer their various blisters etc...and somehow I signed myself up for a 7:30 paella dinner run, apparently, by Germans at another alberge. we´ll see how that turns out...

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My bag is packed, and maybe I'm bringing too much stuff but maybe that is also because I downgraded to a really really small bag this time around. We'll see...

Overnight train to Leon tonight, which arrives at the efficient hour of 5:30, which is in reality not so efficient because the Leon cathedral doesn´t open until 8:30 or so. And from there I'm off, crossing Northwest Spain on foot, taking it one day at a time...

So. Here I am in Manresa, Spain, about an hour from Barcelona. And I`ve been here since Monday, and haven´t done much of anything, which is quite the record for me. For ex, the prospect of 4 days lounging on an Adriatic island (courtesy of a ferry schedule) nearly caused me to break out in hives, until i was fed homemade Croatian wine. Which is clearly why (if all goes well) I´m planning on walking around 300 kilometers starting this weekend, on the Camino de Santiago. Clearly.

The hard part is a) I´ve wanted to come to Barcelona for ages, ever since i was 12 and was here for a day, and now i barely have time...and b) I'm torn between carrying my backpack or a smaller lighter one (but with less support, and a distinct USSR theme that seems anathema, historically speaking, to the idea of a Christian pilgrimage...), but as it is, I will be parting with most of the 13 kilos of stuff that has been my mobile home for the last 5 weeks. And well, mailing it ahead to Santiago de Compostela but- Separation anxiety, indeed!

The Turkish Quarter, and the river. Also, a bundle of Hvar photos up at www.flhphotos.shutterfly.com. woo.