Well, it’s finally happened to me after years of hostelling and after several months of living in albergues on the caminos of Saint James. I’ve finally been attacked by bed bugs, with bites all over my right leg. I can’t even be sure which albergue it happened at because sometimes it can take several days for the bites to cause symptoms. It’s a bummer because I am usually very careful checking the mattresses before I use them.
I’ve looked through my kit and it doesn’t appear that I’ve transported any of the little buggers with me. I admit that the thought of bed bugs crawling over me, excreting some anesthesia on a juicy part of my exposed skin to prevent me from feeling their bites, gives me the heebie jeebies. The good news, though, is that the bed bugs don’t transmit disease, so it’s more of an annoyance than a medical concern.
There was more great hiking today. I was delighted to see the sunrise for the first time in a few weeks, and I was blessed again with views of a cloud-filled valley from above. When I met up with my new friend, Daniela, she commented that the only time she had ever looked down onto the clouds was from a plane. And here she was now hiking above them. She was in awe.
Not far from the village of Buspol, a sign had been posted asking pilgrims to kindly take a longer alternate route around an area that had been devastated in a forest fire last year. I opted to take the alternate route – they were so darned polite in their request after all – and thoroughly enjoyed walking along a forested road, singing oldies songs out loud into the silence, until I eventually caught up with Daniela at the Salime Reservoir dam.
The village adjacent to the dam appears to be abandoned, with severely damaged white-washed buildings scattered along the hillside, their roofs caving in. The buildings probably housed the dam workers in the 1950s. The only sign of civilization is a beautiful hotel and bar sitting majestically on the rocks above the reservoir.
I stopped there for a cafe con leche, and still enjoying the heat of the sun as I sat on the patio, I bought myself an ice cream cone to make the moment even more delightful. I could have stayed there all day because of the intense beauty and silence.
Near one of the abandoned buildings, Daniela found a wild cherry tree, with fruit ripe for the eating. I was hesitant at first because they didn’t look like cherries I might find in Canada, but Daniela was insistent, showing me how safe they were by gobbling down a handful. Since she didn’t fall to the ground in spasms, I decided to try a few of the berries myself, and, sure enough, they tasted just like cherries. After ten minutes of picking and eating, I had pretty much consumed my fruit requirement for the week.
When we arrived in the tiny village of Castro at about 12:30, it was decision time. We stopped at the albergue for a coffee with cheese and bread and consulted our respective guidebooks. Daniela, although limping slightly from an injured knee, felt that she still had lots of walking left in her for the day and she was hoping to gain a day or two before arriving in Santiago so that she could fit in the Camino Ingles before her flight back to Slovakia. We had already walked about 22 kilometers and would still have another 20 kilometers to go to the next albergue.
For myself, I always seem to have more walking left in me, but continuing would mean I would gain a day that I would have to figure out how to use in Santiago. I had promised myself that I would temper my enthusiasm and use the Camino to do some thinking instead of trying to do big distances every day. After some discussion, I decided to stay in Castro.
So, I say farewell to my new Slovakian friend. We hugged and bid each other a heartfelt Buen Camino. Daniela is a good friend and good company, but as all pilgrims discover who venture on a Camino de Santiago, everyone must walk their own Camino.
