I’m in a cloud. And it is not a figure of speech. Nor is it a hallucination resulting from a sleepless night caused by my roommate’s agonizing snoring, an acute case of sleep apnea, which nests murderous feelings in my cerebral cortex. There is no breakfast and the lack of temper is added that heavy mist that soaks you without even realizing it. The world has already started to roll: the roosters playing the bullseye, the hulking cattle with enormous horns looking at us with indifference and the sheep doing their thing, tripping beyond measure. How little they have left, I think, as I admire their ribs and shapely legs. Also the pilgrims and with them a new species that has joined the caravan, the so-called ‘turigrinos’. They are study worthy and easy to recognize. They come for five or six days, often after hiring the trip with an agency and the promise of a ‘compostela’ for which 100 kilometers traveled are enough. Most do not carry a backpack: in Sarria we have seen them load them directly into vans. Also suitcases, do not miss it. They look pristine, equipped as if they were going to hunt bears in the Yukon; some holding hands and walking to the right, oblivious in some sections to the cars coming from behind.
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