The path emerges from the woods and joins a side road that intersects the main road through Aguiada Calvor. Right at one corner of the intersection, a building is almost obscured by scaffolding and a huge truck. Several men are powerwashing the stone pavement in front of the building. There is supposed to be a Xunta (in Galicia, this is the name of the albergues that belong to the municipal network) in the area, so I stop to check the map and the intersection. I finally spot our ubiquitous regional pilgrim mouse on the front of this building, almost hidden behind the scaffolding. My heart sinks. It looks like the albergue may be closed for the season and the next one is another 4 km away. Just to be sure, I ask one of the workmen, "Abierto?" Yes, yes, it's open. He calls to the man who is actually operating the machinery to stop, and then indicates that we should pass.
Inside, there is, indeed, a woman at the reception desk. She's, I don't know, terse? bland? bored? Anyway, Jerri arranges for two beds and receives the instructions that we can use the laundry and the kitchen, although she warns that the latter is not furnished. She takes our money, stamps our credencials, and goes back to the common room, where she sits and picks up her knitting. Jerri and I head upstairs. That's when it becomes apparent, something I had not realized sooner, that this albergue is unusual.
Oh, it's the usual municipal albergue, with dorm room...
Have you figured out what's unusual? Hint: what's missing in these photos? Answer: people! That's right--it's 6 p.m.--we had been worried there would not be two beds available--yet we are the only people checked into this albergue. There's no noise, no gear or laundry hanging about, no personal items or sleeping bags claiming bunks, nothing, nada, zilch. We note it but are too tired to really care. As we stand by the boot/shoe rack in the hallway, the thought of showering and then putting my boots back on to go eat is almost painful. I suggest to Jerri that we eat first so we can then take our shoes off for the day.
The receptionist and the men outside all tell us there is a bar nearby, just 30 meters down the road. It turns out they mean it is 30 meters to the beginning of the path off the road; it's actually quite a walk to what appears to be the only place around to eat. The bar is attached to the house of the family that runs it. When we walk through the small foyer, to the right a door opens into what looks like the family's personal kitchen. Women are in there cooking. Here, too, we are the only pilgrims.
By the time we return to the Xunta, we are still the only two pilgrims in the building. It's a bit nice not to have to wait for a shower or to use the laundry machines, or to have to hurry or do what we can to preserve our modesty. I'm able to use an outlet in the common room without feeling as though I'm hogging it. Still, it's also a bit creepy.
At some point, a man comes. He could be maintenance, the next shift, possibly both. He's checking on something in the kitchen area and chatting with the woman. Then she collects her things from the common room and I hear her call "ciao." I think she's talking to the man. Perhaps, though, she was talking to us, because soon Jerri and I realize we are now alone in the building. The man is gone as well. Okay, this is really creepy. We wonder if either one of them will return. Should we turn off the lights when we go upstairs? We opt for leaving a light on in the kitchen so, if one of them does return, it won't be to total darkness. Then we go to bed. What else are we going to do?
During the night, it begins to rain. I didn't think it was possible for the place to feel any more creepy, but it does. Between that and my aching feet (the blisters are improving, but what I'm putting my feet through makes them just plain hurt), I have trouble falling asleep. I try to read but my Nook library is for some reason missing and my library download has expired. I take ibuprofen, prop up my feet, and do my best to be comfortable. It takes a while but after the long day, sleep wins.
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