Back on the road. Back with a bottle of white wine at my side, this time in the Spanish town of Negreira. There’s a guy next to me right now doing the same thing I am only in pen and paper format. I assume that his approach is more romantic, but I feel that it’s more ephemeral. I write this blog primarily for myself, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs that my imperfect memory can later follow back to the moments I’m living right now. If I were to do it “old style”, not only would I be unable to share any of my experiences, but, with my handwriting, I would be unable to understand what I wrote within a few a few short months. Still, when I see the fervor with which this guy is writing, almost ripping the paper, I feel that anything I might have to say pales in comparison. Good. He’s gone. On the bright side, few things bring random strangers together like uncomfortable bunk beds and a nice looking common room.
Leaving Santiago felt right somehow. I am now a traveler again. The road now takes me through more farmland and it has suddenly become much lonelier. Whereas before I met dozens of pilgrims every day, today, there were only four. It’s a different kind of journey and I’m not sure if I prefer it. Two years ago, I had fantasies of spending months at a time in a log cabin, with only the bare necessities and surrounded by really good books. I’m still sure I could spend years like this, just reading, but strangely I find myself enjoying the company of other people more and more. I have unexpectedly become less of a misanthrope. I wonder how I’ll see the world a couple of years from now.