Walked: 25.40Km
Yesterday it was Saturday, and Huesca is a large city with a lively nightlife. I wanted to go out and dance, but I was tired and I knew it would make today's walk an ordeal. I went to sleep at 11pm and woke up at 2:30am. Since Spain's nightlife ends at 6am, I briefly considered going out and skip sleep for the rest of the night, but in the end I just went back to sleep.
Five years ago I was judgemental about some pilgrims going off to a nightclub, this is not a backpackers' party route I thought. This time around I would judge it differently because I started to enjoy dancing a little over a year ago, when I was living in Montreal. I take note of this hypocrisy, but it's a pattern that I've seen play out in the past ten years, I've become everything I used to hate (a yogui, a dancer, a romantic, intuitive, spiritual, etc).
As I was walking here, I regretted not going out. "Perhaps I would have also regretted going out" I told myself for some meagre consolation. I really didn't expect to find myself seriously considering having a night out on what is supposed to be a spiritual journey.
When I arrived to Bolea, a tiny town at the skirts of the sierra of Huesca, I saw there was a stage in the main square. I thought they were remnants from a fiesta de pueblo on Saturday and I had missed it by one day, but a poster on the wall told me the party will go on until tomorrow night. Ahhh thank you God, life, universe, Tao, I don't know what to call you, but thank you for accommodating these banal wishes that I have on my walks.
When I arrived to the albergue I called the hospitalero. He was sick and he wasn't able to come open the door for me, but he gave me the code for a little box which contained the key. Through whatsapp I asked him: would it be ok if I leave the albergue a little late tomorrow? I would like to attend the fiestas of the town.
"If you are going to the fiestas, you can stay an extra night or even two if you want, free of charge", he answered.
Then I understood. I had a long nap. I cleaned my shoes. I put on my best clothes. I shaved. I stashed cash in my pocket. this is still part of the spiritual journey, but on Dionysian side.
Edit next day: it was OK, perhaps I expected more. Upon reading myself this morning, I shouldn't attribute anything special from the universe in these matters (and perhaps any matter). That's superstition. But there is something about the poetry of life that I can't explain. I see it happen in other people's lives too. Everybody experiences events that rhyme and form meaning, and requires a bit of proactive sense-making.
Today I'm a little bit hungover, fortunately the next stage is short.