Zamora

I met a Norweigan woman and a Canadian woman at breakfast who were walking the silver way. They had met each other on the Camino forum and decided to walk together which I thought was awesome. Gaby, the young Canadian, had specifically chosen this time of year because she didn't like the sun, in contrast to Mari, who glowed with a Malibu shade of tan. They told me of the kindness they had encountered on the road, including a three course dinner and pool party, and we left the hostel together to confront the day's grey skies. We parted ways at the monastry, and I was soon regretting my decision to wear trainers instead of walking boots. The ground was sodden and my pearly white New Balance's were soon a murky brown. 

The path continued monotonously through Castille y Leon's farmland. I encountered a few pilgrims, most of which were Austrian but none as beautiful as long-gone Helmut. I was warned to drop down onto the main road to cross the bridge near Granja Morereula because the river had burst its banks and flooded much of the camino. I crawled along the asphalt at a snails pace and saw some more pilgrims, including an American couple who seemed very confused as to why I wanted to greet them. I shuffled over the bridge, embarrassed by my hearty 'Bon Camino', and had a sandwich. I started talking to a Spanish woman with some sort of partial face paralysis who was driving to Cordoba with her partner and dog. She had travelled around much of Europe and insisted in dropping me into the next town. Her husband struggled with my rucksack which was satisfying to watch and his wife cooed empathetically for my task ahead. 

By late afternoon I was in Zamora, and I wandered the streets and it's many churches until my couch surfing host Carlos had finished work. It was here that Laurie Lee had met the three German boys and had a night at the dance halls. I wasn't sure that my feet were quite up to that, and after Carlos picked me up from the albergue I had a siesta. I met Carlos' parents at the flat who were such cards, I wish I could have spent more time with them. In the late evening me and Carlos went out to see the night life and have some food. It was warm with cooking and bodies in the streets, the punters called out to one another and Carlos was very popular. We started with patatas bravas and weaves our way through many a culinary hotspot until we collapsed in a rock cafe for chicken drumsticks. All the young people were out, like birds of paradise, cosmopolitan in their various cults and quite a change from the rural Galicia of old people and outdoor slippers I had grown accustomed to. I felt giddy with excitement and exhauastion, like I could run a marathon or fall into a 100 year dream. I did the latter, sleepwalked the cobbled streets home, Zamora purring like a contented cat curled around me.