Samos

Saturday, June 9
A lovely walk from Triacastela to Samos. It´s a detour off the main camino so there are fewer people and it seems less trammeled. In places it wasn´t so clear which way to go, but I made my way, mostly along the Rio Sarria, the path muddy from last night´s rain. Ferns crowded the camino, stone walls were almost obsured by moss and vines.

There´s only one bar along the way (Bar Charly) where you can have a coffee or a sandwich. I wasn´t hungry then but an hour or so later I was famished, not having eaten anything all day except cafe con leche and tostados (toast).

Thank god for my little tins of tuna. I strayed off the path, lay my poncho on the damp rocky ground, and ate from my pull-top can with the broadest blade on my Swiss army knife. Heaven! There´s nothing like simple but profound needs (like hungar) met.

Arrived in Samos around 2 pm, a beautiful town along the banks of a clear-running river, along which geese amble and cows graze. The town is dominated by an enormous Benedictine monastary, founded in the 6th century, which also houses the town´s albergue. I waited in line with the other pilgrims for the place to open, then filed in, hoping for a bottom bunk. I got one, but as I felt the damp mattress cover, smelled the funk of my fellow pilgrims, and saw that the only windows were very small and high, I quailed (is that a word?). There were wonderful celtic-knot style designs painted on the wall (I got pictures, some of the last before my camera battery went dead), and on one hand I wanted to stay at the monastery. But as people lined up for the few showers, and a man claimed the bunk a few inches from mine, I thought I might bail and go look for a pension.


The brother who stamped our credenciales and signed us in was very nice, saying if I just wanted to rest on the bunk and then head out, that was fine. But I was itching to go, and I shouldered my pack and walked along the road until I found the Hotel a Veiga, where I have a great room overlooking the river and a stand of chopos, impossibly tall and slender and elegant trees that may be poplars. In my room are crocheted doilies, someone´s first communion photo, a big firm bed, a bidet, and a big sink where I washed some clothes with hotel shampoo. All this for 24 euros.

The hotel also had a big comedor (dining room) overlooking the river. I dispensed with the usual meu del dia or menu del pegregrino--course after mediocre course--and ordered a la carte. A green salad (not the ensalada mixta, which they load up with onions, hard-boiled egg, canned tuna, and tinned white asparagus). Just lettuce and tomato (I´d walked by some beauitful lettuces in a row earlier, and had to stop myself from stealing them Peter Rabbit-like). When they brought a caddy to the table with the salad, it contained oil, vinegar, salt, and a delicious ground red pepper. I also ordered fried calamares and a glass of Bouza do Rei Albariño white wine (8 euros the bottle, 1.5 for a glass). The meal was simple, the wine excellent, and I was very, very happy.

By the way, that Bierzo white I had in Ponferrada must have been off, because I´ve had Bierzos since and they´ve been fine, if unassuming--crisp, with a hint of sweetness. But this Albarniño was really delicious. It tasted of not having to stay in the monastery.

Went to vespers at 7:30, with 15 monks singing, trying to fill the cavernous gothic church. Thunder and lightening came and the rain poured down hard, audible on the roof hundreds of feet up. Mass was at 8 and most pilgrims who came for vespers planned to skip out before mass, but the rain held us hostage, clustered in the damp church entrance (kind of like a mud room), hoping it would let up. Some people gave up and went back in to mass, but I stripped down to my tank top, bundled my clothes and held them against my chest, and sprinted outinto the rain and back to the hotel.