< Norte Day 17 — Norte Day 19 > < Norte Index >
24 kilometers, 5 hours, passing through Tamón, and Trasona (industrial area).
The previous night’s hotel, for how dated it looked, cost a pretty penny. But the location was perfect. I had four key sights to see on this Camino: The Guggenheim Museum, in Bilbao; “El Capricho” by Gaudi, in Comillas; the Church of San Pedro, in Gijón; and the Monastery of Sobrado dos Monxes, in Galicia. That night I stayed 100 meters from the San Pedro. I posted a video of its interior—with the organ playing—on the Grandpa’s Gone Again Facebook page. Another upside to the location was the option of cafes and bars on the plaza in front of the Hotel Asturias. They were more expensive and much busier, but the food, wine, and energy were great. Years ago, I learned people watching from my wife. I, originally, considered this practice to be rude. But it’s all in your intentions, I suppose. I learned, too, from a friend to appreciate our differences and to imagine—or in my case, make up—people’s stories. To have an interest in how they came to wear a flapping hairpiece or to like brightly colored clothes.
To make the most of my stay, I waited until 8:00 a.m. for the breakfast included in the price of the room at the Hotel Asturias. I certainly got my money’s worth that morning, not leaving the hotel until nearly 9:00 a.m.
From the hotel’s front door, I turned right and walked a short few paces to the marina and the waterfront on the opposite side of the point of Gijón from the beach I had walked along the day before. A marvelous morning, with no rain, the city came to life before my eyes. Other than the amount of time it took to get out of the city, it was a wonderful walk.
On the edge of Gijón, the trail passed a huge industrial complex before turning directly uphill and into the countryside. It still took some time to get away from the sounds of the city and its industry, but by late morning I happily strode along in nature. This bit of countryside came with rain, some of the heaviest yet. Fortunately, it did not last too long. After the Monte Areo (the mountain area), the Camino came back to a freeway system and more industry—much more. A huge steel plant, built along the Ria de Avilés, went on for miles. As part of the plant, what I surmised to be energy and support, including R&D, went on all the way to Avilés. From above Avilés the next morning, I could see sections of large pipes ready for loading at the nearby port.
Well into the day, and in the midst of the steel plant, I came to the first restaurant I had seen in a while. Wanting more to sit down than anything, I went in. The place, as with most around the plants, catered to industry and their employees and served hearty excellent meals. I ordered a sandwich and a coke to gather some energy for the last few kilometers into Avilés. As usual, good food, and inexpensive. I had asked for a bocadillo (sandwich). After a few options suggested by the young woman behind the bar, all with meat, I settled on chicken. You never quite knew what to expect in the size of the sandwich you would eventually get. This one weighed in on the heavy side and at about ten inches long. The mouthwatering beast had several layers of moist, thin slabs of chicken breast. For the sandwich and coke, my bill was €3.80.
Back at it, the route followed highways and busy streets paralleling the freeway all the way to Avilés. As I homed in on the municipal albergue, locals began to point me in the right direction and right to the door. I love Spain. I had been on the wrong side of the block when I started my search. Quickly, an older man in a second-floor window clicked on the glass to get my attention, then pointed, directing me around the corner. Another man caught me at the corner, like this event was being orchestrated, and led me to the albergue’s courtyard entrance.
A decent albergue, with all one truly needs, I thought it a nice, quiet place. It had all the important stuff: kitchen, hot showers, a bed. I entered the courtyard from the street and made my way to the door. In the patio sat Hendrik, the only other pilgrim there, that usual amiable smile on his face. We had the pick of the 48 available beds in one large room beyond the shower rooms and the kitchen. Another young man came in later. Hendrik thought him Spanish for some reason. Turned out—when I tried speaking to him in Spanish—to be from Rhode Island. His name was Adam. We ran into each other a few more times along the way.