Day 37: Arzúa to Salceda via Marquiño
I’ll keep this short, because the day certainly wasn’t. Still, the Camino does provide, and today, our Camino angel appeared in rough guise.
The day was supposed to end at Salceda. We walked a bit out of our way to stay in a nice Casa Rural we remembered from 2013. We met with Completo, and practically collided with the tour bus pulling in as we hauled our sorry asses back to the Camino in search of a bed. 
A young Irishman who walked the Portuguese Way, but went off to meet his dad at Astorga along the Camino Frances, met us as we double-backed.
“Don’t go there,” we said. “Completo. You can see the tour bus parked on the road.”
“Fuckers!” Brian yelled in accented English.
He explained the situation to his dad when his dad and a Scottish film maker, Graham, came up on us at the intersection.
“Do you think we’ll find anything in Salceda?” the dad asked. “It’s been crazy since Sarria.”
Their group of three walked ahead of us, guaranteeing they’d snatch the last available beds. We watched Brian criss-cross the road, shaking his head “No” before they left Salceda.
Andrew pointed to the pensión Brian earlier crossed to. “We can ask,” he said.
“Completo,” the gruff hospitalero stated.
“Donde vamos por un albergue?” I cried. My Spanish sucked, but the hospitalero, José, knew what I asked, and could read the grief and pain in my face. He watched me for fifteen minutes as I drank my Coke and tried for a plan B with Andrew.
“Uno momento, por favor,” said José.
“Uno momento” became 90-momentos. That gruff Camino angel called as far away as Lavacolla, a town close to the Santiago airport. Had there been a place in Lavacolla, I’d have slept outside anyway. Walking another step was nearly out of the question.
Then, José instructed us to wait at his pensión until a hospitalero from a place called Marquiño arrived to pick us up. This other hospitalero would take us about fifteen kilometres away and off-Camino to his hotel. It cost us 36 Euros for the night, but we had a private room with bath and hot water after 5:00 p.m., and a ride back to Salceda the next morning. (I didn’t want to cheat by being dropped off closer to Santiago in the morning, although Andrew considered the option. He worried about my leg.)
Later that night, José drove an Italian couple to Marquiño for the night. It was well past 8:00 p.m., and they, too, were without a bed. José never financially benefitted in any way from this arrangement. He helped though, at first, I’m sure he preferred to look away. It was a late night for José, and Camino Angels need sleep, too.
I discovered I can be too tired to care about hot water that runs rusty from unused faucets, or so hurt that I’ll trust a complete stranger to drive us into the middle of nowhere in a foreign country. The Camino provides, all right, if you can trust and accept gifts disguised as isolated, failing hotels, and gruff exteriors. 
And I whisper a prayer of “graçias” because we are okay. Again. 
“Graçias, José. “Buen Camino and Ultreia from two very grateful Canadian pilgrims.
~Penny