Friday, September 6th
Astorga
6:35am
Finally, the Sixth is here, the day that's been burning itself into my brain
since before I left LePuy. The day I go to Madrid, and tomorrow, to meet
Chris at the airport.
And there's music, to wake the pilgrims.
7:00am
Asked the hospitalero "Que le musique ?" and he leads me upstairs, and shows
me the cassette box. It's
Jose A Buelta, all kind of New Age and Moody. It's good though.
Outside, killing time, chatting with other pilgrims. Another Belgian, who's already
walked 2000kms but reaching Compostelle is no longer important as he's already
discovered the answers he was after, he'll keep going though. Another pilgrim
from Southampton, England, who has cousins in Perth. Then another English guy,
a bikie pilgrim, to whom Australia "doesn't really count", but who
complained
a lot about the hills, "bugger, bugger, bugger".
Packing up this morning, passing Danishpilgrims who are having breakfast in the hallway, maybe they don't know abut the Comedor. Oh well, they were late.
7:45am
I still don't know the name of this bar, although it's the fourth time I've been
in here. Cafe Grande por favor, the morning usual. The TV is off, amazingly,
but the Tetris machine is on, but I'm refraining.
On the way here, passing the first cafe, dumped the old black, now grey,
shirt. Not into any old rubbish bin, nothing ordinary for the shirt I've
worn every day on The Way, but only the best. The bin nearest the Cathedral.
It was more like a funeral. One last check of the pocket, the last rites,
and in it went.
The bus doesn't leave until 10:30, but I'm nervous as hell.
8:05am
Bus Station. Two and a half hours to wait. Reading.
9:40am
Still here, obviously. Less than an hour now.
Bus Stations, almost by definition, are depressing places. People waiting,
and all wanting to be someplace else. No fond farewells here, no tears, no
one waving goodbye to anybody else. Hell, I haven't even seen so much as a
suitcase
among the entirety of all who have come and gone. I'm the only one with luggage.
The backpack.
10:12am
Fifteen minutes, maybe ten. The busses tend to roll in, wait a few minutes,
then roll out again.
10:30am
On the bus. Seat 28. Ticket checked, yes, and the luggage goes underneath.
There was at least one teary farewell, but it wasn't for me.
10:31am
Backing out.
On the way, another kind of way. Even the Way itself will be different when
I'm on it again.
12:25pm
Have no idea about the names of the towns were passing through. but the Spanish
music piped over the bus system has stopped, and the movie has begun. The
Harrison Ford one about the mismatched couple on a island, who foil smugglers,
whatever it's called.
13:56 (according
to the bus clock)
End of the movie, and even in Spanish it was crap. And you can see Madrid from
here.
14:15
And now we're in it. Moving slowly, through traffic.
Madrid
later
Arrived. Bus Terminal. Everybody seemed to be going up the escalator. Followed
suit. Found a plan of the Terminal, have to go back down to the 'trens',
found the 'M' Metro signs, followed them. Get a Metro Map, then to the
Billet machine. Rejected my coin, don't know why, another accepted it,
but I couldn't see the ticket, until some young spunk showed me where it
was. First random act of kindness.
I have to take the Grey Line to the Red Line. Counting stations, off at Sol, the train crowded by then. Through an exit, the one to Calle Major, taking a guess as there's several. It's the right one. |
Stopped. Have to find the Hotel.
Stay calm, breathe deep.
See it. Yep, right there, could hardly believe I was reading the words
'Hotel Paris'. On the other side of the Calle Major. So many people. Walking
across a pedestrian crossing, I'm tapped on the shoulder, and some guy handing
me the outer band that's fallen from my hat. Second random act of kindness.
3:40pm
Hotel Paris. I'm here.
What's with all the African guys selling bootleg CDs and sunglasses?
4:01pm Wanders, and
got a little lost, not though it matters, the Hotel Paris has a habit a reappearing
anyway. Down streets, theatres, restaurants, CD shops which I spent a fair
amount of time in, but didn't buy any. Found a great bookshop though, Casa
Del Libro, with what amounted to a room full of books in English, double-rowed,
and you had to slide the first shelves aside to get to the second row
behind. Bought Nick Caves 'And the Ass Saw the Angel', seems appropriate. Ended up back
at Pans. |
9:43pm
Another walk, another longish one, and basically in search of an ice-cream.
Walked passed a theatre with two white horses out the front, with uniformed
riders,
but one of the horsies was frothing disturbingly. Then passing gardens,
monuments and monumental buildings, more CD shops, cafes, bars, with thousands
of other people out strolling, seemingly in every street, perfumeries,
a Macdonalds, working girls, the black guys on the street still with CDs
and sunnies. Then heading in the direction I thought was right, in
Puenta del Sol, feeling utterly lost. Somehow just happening across Sol
again, I have no idea how. And ice-cream shops a-plenty.