AIREXE

In my journal, I wrote that the day's walk had been almost too easy.  I arrived at the Ligonde albergue before it even opened!  I don't know why the Ligonde albergue is actually not in Ligonde, but in Airexe.  I'd been by here before and admired the bucolic views and the lightness of the place.   On second viewing, it still had the same feel, and I decided I would stay here.  I was feeling so well that I could have done the 10 km to Palas de Rei, but I was worried that by the time I got there it might be crowded.  I was, after all, in the last stretch of the Camino; where the pilgrim population is swelled by the coming together of all the routes, and by the addition of pilgrims walking just the last 100km.

Since I had lots of time, I decided to take it easy and do a big wash; all the stuff I hadn't washed yesterday.  I consigned my clothes, including my coat, to the washer.  BIG MISTAKE.  Within moments, there was soapy water everywhere, and the machine was making horrible thunking noises.  Everything except the clothes on my back was soaked and still dirty.  Off I went to tell the hospitalera, and before I knew where I was she was on the phone to her daughter, who appeared in moments with a bucket to take my sodden stuff up to her house to wash and dry it.  A few hours later she came back with everything clean and dry.

Now THAT'S hospitality.

Once I got my clothes back, I wandered around the tiny village, stopping in at the Restaurante Conde deWaldemar for something to eat and drink.  The rain set in, so I stayed, watching the cows being herded down the street from pasture to barn.  Some of them stopped to drink in the trough right next to the outdoor patio.

Some German women did the same, despite the sign which said that the water was undrinkable by humans.  I wondered that they weren't drawn in by the Germanic sounding name of the bar.  I wondered about that name myself, but now that I could read Spanish, I learned from newspaper cuttings on the wall that the Conde de Waldemar (not his real name) was a local boy from Sarria who had made good as a stage magician and hypnotist, and that he'd ploughed his fortune into the restaurant.  His descendants were still running it; but seemed to be much more interested in flyfishing than magic.  The beer taps, however,  spoke of the arcane mysteries. 

 For me a more mysterious thing was the ancient carving set into the wall of the church as a sort of corner stone.  The church itself wasn't young. How much older was the carving?  Was it Roman?

Between thunder showers,( chubascos) , the sun came out , bathing the walls in rosy light, and  turning the streets to silver.  The cattle made their way once again to the pasture.  The farmer had his umbrella slung over his shoulder, just in case.

  Back in the albergue, the sun warmed my shoulder, and the calefaccion, the radiator under the window warmed my hip.  Life was good.