Camino Portugues Day 12: A Lady on Walkabout

— TAMEL S. PEDRO FINS

Distance: 15.7 miles 

Time: 7.5 hours

"This belongs to a lady, yes?" 

Carlos, the terribly handsome host, held a pair of dark grey underwear between thumb and forefinger, inquiring of the Pilgrims in the common room as to the ownership of said skivvies. 

With deep, DEEP regret, I rose from seat and snatched them from his hand. Unfortunately I'd dropped them on the WAY to the laundry. Delightful. I made a horrified face at the German girls (there's a different set at every hostel I come to. I think it must be spring break at German universities.) And they offered me a grimace of sympathy in return. 

Thank you, universe, for this opportunity to work on humility. 

The same German boys I met in Rates last night have also arrived. And the peppy one spent 30 minutes telling the host a variety of things with almost no interruption, including a lengthy explanation about why he doesn't think highly of English speaking people. They don't bother to learn any other languages, he says. Um, some of us do...I wanted to say...(certainly not evidenced by my ignorance of Portugues, but that's neither here nor there) and we have many, many bi-lingual people in our countries... This is a good reminder, grouping people by stereotypes and generalizations is ill-advised, regardless of general accuracy. It's a reminder I'd do well to remember here and at home, judgement often getting in the way of my better personality traits. The German boy is now sitting next to me on the couch, and I'm working on letting go of my resentments by not glaring at him. 

Thank you, universe, for this opportunity to improve my attitude toward others. 

Also helping me to improve my attitude are several blisters, reminding me of my own fragility and to be grateful for my health. And what would a Camino blog be without a blister picture or two. 

It's really not bad. I have great shoes and great blister care. And that's not even what hurts during the day. Instead it's the constant pressure on the bottom of my feet that is getting me down the most, driving a constant dull ache through the pads of my feet and up my hamstrings, a feeling most aggravated by the cursed over-presence of cobblestone streets. They are like a pair of gorgeous high heels. Beautiful to look at, murder on the feet. 

But none of that matters the moment I walk into the albergue, this one situated at the top of a mountain hamlet. The bakery truck has just made its evening stop, and the Spanish man has joined the German boys to loudly make fun of my purchase of two loaves of bread. But they can go ahead and suck it. 

I mean...Thank you, universe, for this additional opportunity to improve my attitude. 

So, on this fine day I have walked nearly 16 miles, made a sexy Portugues man hold my dirty underpants up in front of a room full of people, added a new blister to the six I already have, and ate enough carbs to shock even the Europeans. #winning