Stage 3: Bodenaya – Borres

It has become very lazy to leave Bodenaya. The community dinner, find the clothes folded and clean in the morning, the music, the community breakfast … But nothing is forever, they say. And it seems to be true. David and Cris have dismissed us, one by one, with a warm hug. It is the best way to leave Bodenaya.

The day has started lame, at least for me. The blisters have prevented me from walking normally, especially the first hour. So step by step I have gone to Tineo, where I have arrived accompanied by a Mallorcan and his Valencian friend, after explaining a part of each one’s life. Borres was closer.

On Tineo we have separated, they have stayed for breakfast and I have taken the opportunity to mistakenly take the steepest street in the town, which I have had to do first downhill and then uphill. It has been a good warm-up in the face of the climb that awaited us at the exit of Tineo. Once finished, I took the opportunity to eat.

One of the things I like most about the mountain is eating where you want. You just need a comfortable enough place to put your ass. Nothing else. So, when I found it, I settled down, pulled out the bread, the olive oil, the tomato, the cheese, and the knife. And I assure you that, for a few minutes, I have felt in fucking glory. Luxury food.

The way has continued, without anything remarkable, to Campiello, where it was time to provide food and energy. Many of the pilgrims with whom I had shared a night at Bodenaya have arrived while shopping, and have stayed here, in a recently opened hostel. It will be the last time we will coincide. Despite the insistence of some, I continued to Borres, to a less recommended hostel, but that was where the way took me. My way.

Whistling towards Borres

Reaching Borres is a moment, and I’ve done it by whistling Do not forsake me, oh my darling, which is the song of High Noon, unconsciously premonitorily. In the bar, where you have to go to register and seal, there was a Valencian with whom we had met the first night, and a group of people I did not know. In the hostel, a group of elderly people, also unknown, with a great snorer napping.

I have settled in quickly (settling in a hostel always is) while a girl, from the shower, sang Nino Bravo. I haven’t recognized her (when she got out of the shower, of course), but she did: she was the girl on the map on the first day. She has apologized, saying that with sunglasses and cap I looked like a psycho-killer kidnapper of pilgrims. She was Magdalena, a 26-year-old Pole. He lives in London and his favourite colour is dark red.