( though not far, since I started at mid-day), I got as far as Escamplero and, while sitting at an outdoor cafe there, I started to have a change of heart. The whole thing just felt wrong. I was tired of feeling not quite clean, not quite dry, not quite warm, not quite well, (my cough had returned with a vengeance) not quite fed and it would only get more difficult to extricate myself from all of that the further into the Primitivo I got. At the albergue, a sign told me that the monastery I wanted to stay at the next night was closed for a fishing tournament. That was probably the thing that made up my mind for me. Even though I met a lot of really nice peregrinos that night, it wasn't enough to make me want to carry on. As I lay there in the damp and chilly dark, I thought about what I did and didn't care about. The things I wanted were to see Lugo, and to see the friends from Canada I'd arranged to meet in Santiago. One eensy weensy part of me also wanted a compostela, so I decided to take a bus from Lugo and start walking again there.
The next morning I waited a few hours for a bus out of Escamplero back to Oviedo. The stop, by the way, was not at the stop, but by a milestone on the far side of a different road than posted. Thank goodness I´m not afraid to ask stupid questions. I had lots of time to think about my decision, and to feel defeated and defiant by turns.
When I got back to Oviedo, I went to a locutorio where I saw that Anna had eventually got back to me, and was heartbroken that she had missed my emails. Apparently it was a big fiesta there (ye gods, these people love to party, and to smoke too much and eat too much fried food. Its a wonder that they´re not dropping like flies by the roadside. But no, they walk up and down mountains for fun, fuming as they go!) But for me, the die was cast. There wasn't quite enough time to do what I'd decided and go to Madrid too. I'd already bought the ticket to Lugo.
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