A great Spain win the other night. Too bad we couldn´t celebrate. The Albergue stayed open late to accomodate the sports fans but it still meant we had to be back inside by 10:45p. It's really fine as our goal was to be out by 6.45am. Hah. It was more like 7:30, thanks to the youngins, and boy did we pay for it. The morning was beautiful and clear as we started up into the mountains. We passed one semi-abandoned village. It was only occupied by pilgrim accomodations. We then passed the village of Manjarin. With a population of 1. Occupied by Tomás the Templar. A hippy hermit type who has taken over an abandoned shack (of stones) and converted it into an oasis in a desolate mountain landscape. He´s not as spiritual as he is capitalistic. He sells everything imaginable. Except indulgences- thats what the Camino is for afterall.
When we finally stop, at a village with water and food, we stay too long. It is 1:15pm before we head down into Molinaseca. (Thats spanish for Dry Ovaries, cause that´s what you have when you finally reach the bottom.) From the mountain we descend into an arid, Arizona-esque landscape. No water, no fuentes, just a few goats, scrub and mesquite, the smell of which wafts up occasionally and makes one think "if you want me rare, flip me now." We are really dragging. We text Cecelia and Mia to tell them to be sure to grab water before the finally descent or they might not make it. Seriously. I then add that they might think of a taxi or to hitch. Mary tells them not to get into a van with two or more men. She´s so very helpful that Mary.
The three of us stumble into Dry Ovaries. There´s a beautiful old Roman bridge forging the river. There are weekenders from Ponferrada swimming in the river (which is very shallow) There are bars and cafes at the edge of the river. We are revived. Until the albergue.
When we arrive at the albergue about ten minutes later, our spirits are high. Why there´s a bar right there at the check-in desk. (Quite a luxury for these pilgrim accomodations.) I dash to the counter and soon we are savoring a cerveza grande. All seems right. We leave Margie with the beers while Mary and I go uipstairs with our packs to grab a bed. We turn right into a lovely, clean and airy room of bunks. We both head to a bottom bunk, the one witht he electrical outlet next to it. Suddenly I catch a whiff of insecticide. Subtle yet unmistakeable. I lift the mattress. I see the black dots. The signs of bedbugs. Then with a fingernail I flick. Yup, a live one. Mary quickly steps on it. I wish we had saved it, because when the hospitalero comes up, he doesn´t believe that we have seen a "cincha" let alone killed one. He is a jerk. He starts to yell at us that there are cinchas all over the Camino and that we could have our money back and stay in a hotel if thats what we wanted. Yes, thats what we wanted. He is right; there are bedbugs all over Europe, esp on the Camino in France and Spain. But I don´t want to spend a night in a room, let alone a bed, in which I know there are bedbugs!
We leave. We walk down the street to our next option: the municipal albergue. I guess the requirement for the job of hospitalero in Molinaseca was a minimum of 3 teeth and abundant facial hair. That is what seemed to be this particular hospitalero´s career strengths, as it wasn´t personal cleanliness or housekeeping skills. The place was dirty, dirty, dirty. But there were no bedbugs. We said to ourselves that we´d just pretend that we were camping, but inside with bunkbeds. Though there was the option to sleep outside in bunkbeds. Rejected: different bugs to deal with outside. We sleep, unmolested, but determined to get up and out early again. Another hot day to deal with.
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