I’d made great time the last few days, and made it to Orense, the capital of Galicia. I would be catching a train from there to an event loosely based on Burning Man called “Nowhere,” located, roughly, nowhere, in the middle of the Zaragosa desert in western Spain, clear on the other side of the country.
After meeting an absolutely adorable Galician boy in the often-bypassed tiny Camino pueblo of Campobocerros — and on whom I had developed an intractable crush – I decided to take him up on his offer to look him up when I arrived in Orense. It was a big(ish) city about only about 40 minutes away from Campo by car — but several days by foot.
My Spanish still pretty much sucked at this point, so I had someone help me call him.
He seemed surprised, but came to pick me up at the pilgrim hostel nonetheless. I did my best to explain that the hostel would be locked later, and so I couldn’t come back.
”Nunca más,” I understood him to say – “Never again” would I have to return to the hostel.
“I’ll have to stay with you,” I confirmed, unsure if I’d heard correctly. Would that be OK?
”Claro que sí,” he replied, nodding, and we went back to the small apartment he shared with a roommate.
Whereupon, having 3 ½ days to kill before heading to the festival, I promptly overstayed my welcome.