“La energía de la tormenta limpia todas las preocupaciones y la negatividad. También puede generar energía electrica para iluminar los corazones que se encuentran con ella.”
Copied from Nicole, gift from another pilgrim.
“the energy of the storm cleans up all preoccupations and negativity. It can also generate electrical energy to illuminate the hearts that it meets.”
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Nicole!! At lunchtime I had WiFi and found an email that our dear Nicole, and Anabel her bike, were in Finisterre yesterday and so would probably meet us somewhere today. Youpie!
Also met two Gallego pilgrims, father and son from the Lugo coast, our first. Blue eyes, different accent, different vibe. Lovely! There’s so much I want to ask them, starting with the traditional song or vocal trad of Galicia. What I get on that subject was that there is the ‘Hymno Gallego’ which, along with their language, was forbidden under Franco, himself Gallego. The common story of peoples being severed from language, culture, tradition, country, in the last couple of hundred years is such a painful one. Let’s not do it anymore, people. Let us instead love, enjoy and learn from our sister and cousin and neighbour and far-off stranger from a strange land cultures that we are lucky enough to meet and find ourselves in.
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The albergue is a little pilgrim village of its own in refurbished stone houses with turquoise doors. We’re lucky enough to get the little holiday house casita with only five beds in it and its own bathroom. Wonderful! And only a few minutes after us, Nicole and Anabel arrive! It’s a big bear hug moment then flurries of stories get passed back and forth, threads of connections and reconnections and mainly just the simple happiness of a friend met again in joy.
As we’re heading to the local joint for dinner, Alberto turns up in the early dark. Hello! He’s with some other pilgrims who are planning a wickedly wonderful adventure of going on through the night to arrive at dawn in Finisterre. It has planted a seed in his head, not for tonight but for tomorrow night, the last last etapa between Finisterre and Muxia. *Goose’s eyes light up at the prospect of a crazy adventure in spite of all good judgment*
At dinner Renato is saying ‘Escucha mi’ which means ‘listen to me!’ to the waiter, as he often does with hospitaleros, us, etc. in what strikes me as quite a rude way. But then a penny drops for me, in a ‘you keep using that word. I don’t think it means what you think it means’ kind of way. And it turns out he has been confusing ‘escucha mi’ with the Italian ‘scusa mi’ and has been meaning to excuse himself rather than demand attention. When we realise this we are all in stitches around the table and Renato himself catches on a few minutes later making us laugh even harder. I make the mistake of ordering at random from the Spanish menu and get a main course of assorted salted animal pieces with an accompaniment of potatoes and cabbage. There’s wine drunk, flan eaten and here we are on our last evening before the end.