Camino de Santiago, part VI -- fini -- Sights and Sounds

We almost always started walking before dawn and in each small village, somewhere in the distance,  a dog would be barking, sometimes two, but usually just one. One lonely dog warning the village that once again the wily peregrinos were afoot and planning to murder a poor dog who was doing his best. Since each village had its alarm dog and the peregrinos passed through each day, apparently all the dogs escaped the morning carnage but just in case, each morning they were on the alert. Farm dogs, on the other hand, were much more casual: Even when greeted with a cheerful "Buenas dias, perro" they didn't raise their head. One cow dog emeritus was comfortably laying in the doorway of the Alto do Poio albergue -- and didn't move (or raise his head) when ten or fifteen peregrinos stepped over him.
     A rooster or two would chime in but they didn't sound like they were worried about landing in a peregrine's frying pan, rather they were telling the ladies that they were up and ready for love. 

After a rainy day walking to El Ganso, the weather cleared in the afternoon and the walkers (including us) hung our day's laundry. While it was drying, I wandered around the village (one main street of four blocks, one cross street of two blocks) looking at the few occupied houses and the many ruins. I passed a young woman doing her laundry and quietly singing "O mio babbino caro" (Gianni Schicchi) -- That's the music that swells whenever a sweeping view of Tuscany appears on TV --  It was such a quiet, peaceful and intimate moment I felt as if I would be intruding if she realized I was listening. I walked on, but slowly and I hoped inconspicuously.
     We walked through Viloria early Sunday morning. It was very quiet, no traffic, no one stirring except for one tan dog who followed us for two blocks and then lost interest. I stopped by the village fountain to get a rock out of my shoe and dw walked on, getting a hundred yards ahead. As I walked by an open door I faintly heard a guitar playing Romance de Espana -- so fitting of the time and place.

We thought it remarkable how few wild animals we saw. Some birds, including LBJs (little brown jobs) crows and magpies, an occasional hawk or buzzard -- no game birds although there were some, since hunters with dogs were out in a few places and we heard a shot or two. We saw no deer, coyotes (or the equivalent), foxes or anything similar -- odd since we were usually walking before dawn when we would have expected to see something. (and we tended to walk quietly, without talking, singing, humming or making any other sundry noises)
     At one point I was following a couple of English




guys who were yakking about economics or some such when suddenly one of them blurted out: "Look! Another slug!" Which indicates how few wild animals were available to watch. Two women we met claimed they saw a bunny. We were skeptical.
     In some areas cows were plentiful, including cows with bindis, and cows with horns.

Generally, the weather was very good, although some days were too hot in the afternoons. But some days it did rain, rain a lot, rain all day. 
    

Some of the people we met and particularly enjoyed:  Sophia and Sophia ( young Italian girls, walking with their families), Bernt and Ulrich (German, having a long walk), Gunilla (Swedish, divorce), Hue (Korean, worried about being old and unmarried -- she was 28), Sarah and Jill (U.S. -- young women having an adventure), Natalia (Ukraine, worried about her family), Steve and Tim (U.S. --divorce and lost his son), and a French couple (both one year older than I -- we would intersect every couple of days, and each time the man would exclaim: "Ore-e-gone!" -- and the woman smoked, which annoyed dw since the woman was older and smoked and still moved right along.)  The Camino is remarkable for the ease of meeting, connecting, and then parting from a wide variety of people.

BOOKS: Amy Falls Down (Jincy Willett):  I first read Jenny And The Jaws Of Life (by Willett) when I saw it was strongly recommended by David Sedaris. Since then I've read her next two novels and now "Amy". I wouldn't call Willett a humor writer but she can be outrageously funny. "Jenny" is a collection of short stories and her other three books are novels. In the novels Willett's main characters are clearly an autobiographical/fictional mashup. I particularly enjoy Willett's word choices and sentence constructions, and how she lards the pages with (frequently irrelevant to the story) asides:
      "(Amy's) thoughts wandered, (his) words reminding her how, as a child, even while being terrorized by Krafft-Ebing, what frightened her most about the sexual act was the probability that she would not be able to read while it was going on."
     Commonly I put in a book entry just as a notation of what I'm reading. Jincy Willett, however, is an author I really recommend.    And so it goes.  DJA










 

Astoria For Valentine's Day (and we discuss HOT AIR)

Actually, we went several days before Valentine's Day but the romantic thought was there. It was a low budget mini-trip. We stayed in a motel a mile out of town. The Crest Motel is on a bluff and has a great view of the river. (Our lower priced room had a couple of trees in the way but the view was good enough) And we brought food from home to nuke for dinner.

We did buy a couple of excellent lunches. (Astoria Coffee House & Bistro, and Bridgewater Bistro) We toured the Flavel House, (the exterior is very nice, the interior is more ordinary -- it's basically a standard Queen Anne house), we window shopped, and looked at a couple of very good art galleries (neither of them had a single painting of crashing waves -- back lit, sap green -- in sight) 

From the motel we walked three miles to and from town. We looked at and listened to the sea lion dock. (A dock in the harbor that has been abandoned by boats and conceded to the sea lions) The dock provided a fun moment: The sea lions overloaded one side of the dock and it flipped over. There was a great flurry of barking, squawking, and diving into the water until they all realized they panicked about nothing so there was another great round of barking, squawking, pushing and shoving until they were all resettled. (Quit shoving! I'm going to bite you so bad! I was here first! Get your fat ass off me! etc. -- so it goes in the sea lion world)

We watched the tide rotate four anchored ships. We watched one ship weigh anchor and leave for Portland. Another came in and anchored where the one had left. Two entered and headed directly for Portland (one for grain, the other a car carrier)

Low key describes the trip.

During the drive, we somehow came to discuss things fundamental. dw said it can be very annoying when one's pooper doesn't work properly. "What's the problem? It's just a pipe -- you eat, the food gets mushed up, and the residue comes out the other end. Why is that so hard?"
     I pointed out that one's arse is actually talented: "It can tell the difference between a fart and a log, for example."
     "Not always. What about a wet fart, or a fart with a surprise?"
     "OK, it can occasionally make a mistake, but it always does its best."
     "And I guess doing its best is all you can expect from an asshole."

I did say it was a low key, low budget, low inspirational trip.

BOOKS: The Bear -- History Of A Fallen King (Michel Pastoureau) Fairly interesting -- a chronicle of the bear in European myth and legend and how Christianity suppressed pagan worship of the bear. Pastoureau has the habit of literally asking questions and then answering them -- a device that annoys me but the book has some moments: "Archbishop Hincmar of Reims (845-882) vigorously denounced 'vile games with a bear' " --- Alas we don't get any details about the vile games so we must vigorously imagine some, keeping in mind that bear-baiting and other bloody "sports" weren't considered vile.
     And Le Petomane (Jean Nobain and F. Caradec) -- a biography of the Fartiste (a professional farter) Joseph Pujol, whose stage act included farting various sound effects and farting songs such as "O Sole Mio". 

JOKE OF THE DAY: I tried and failed to find a good fart joke, so this will do: (for emergency room nurses and EMTs everywhere) What did the green grape say to the purple grape? "BREATHE DAMMIT, BREATHE"

HISTORY: For punishment of malefactors, Delaware kept the pillory until 1905, and the lash until 1972.

WORD OF THE DAY: "Oojah" -- A thing whose name one cannot remember, does not know, or does not wish to mention. My life is full of oojahs.     And so it goes.   DJA