Passing the sight of water crashing along eroding cliffs, night soon began to shroud the mountaintop farms with grazing goats dotting the landscape. Soon, I drift off. Four hours later, I found myself dismounting a very comfortable bus where I was able to stretch out on the empty seat next to me for a make-shift bed. I find the motion of trains, planes, buses, and automobiles very soothing and can actually sleep much better in them than strange beds and sofas in foreign places. I realize just how comforting I find the act of moving to the point of leaving my home for extended periods of time to do so. Upon my exit from the warm shelter of the bus, I am welcomed to the city of Oviedo by rain; reinforcing the idea that this is no welcome home party. After finding a cheap room, I descend into the street and wander as nostalgically as I can through streets of a country that doesn’t seem at all familiar to me anymore. I find the cathedral, quite a beautiful centerpiece to the city, and watch the scene unfold behind water-blotted spectacles.The people quickly pass by the brightly lit structure, their heads ducked under umbrellas. A young couple stroll past me. The man, holding the umbrella for both of them, has a stack of books under his other arm. Meanwhile, the girl’s arms flail wildly about as she recounts some story about another girl at her school. Leaving the soft, blurry glow of the street, I am drawn to a crisp fluorescent light of the mall next-door. Blinded, I stare at the reflection of the glossy white marble floor. I feel as if I were staring into a mirror as ghost reflections begin to bounce into my head. I see myself standing amongst friends in my old hometown in Spain at the mall we’d spend hours socializing in. We are laughing and I feel happy. Suddenly, my big turquoise and orange Nike high tops I bought in London snap me out of my momentary stupor. I find myself staring at the exit. I wished it wasn’t raining. I wished I had a friend. After downing a coffee and some tapas for dinner, I returned to my vacant room I’d desperately been trying to avoid and wished I hadn’t packed those damn shoes.
As I fought with the already crammed pack that previously contained my much more compact practical shoes, I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of using over a quarter of my space for an extra pair of shoes- on a walking pilgrimage, of all things. As I manage to finally cram the last of my things; including a fat book of collected letters by Hunter S Thompson, I feel accomplished. Unwinding, I light one last cigarette before bed. It’s a Nobel, the first brand of cigarettes I started smoking over three year ago when I lived here. I remember the first day I tried a cigatette, with my older Spanish sister, and the dizzy feeling I got after spending an afternoon chain-smoking with her. I wonder what she is doing at that very moment, and wonder if she still smokes cigarettes. It makes me think about change, in general, and the seemingly too high expectations I may have had upon my return. I think how some things never seem to change, and pray that the camino helps me reflect on the changes I need to make in my own life. Cigarette extinguished, my head hits the pillow, and I drift off.
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