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ENG:

/…/ At the albergue of Melide I tied Roci to a tree from where he is able to graze, and in the other direction to run under the roof in case of raining. Do you think he adapted his toilet to the grass?... So in the morning I had to clean the terrace and I left the place as the last one, like always. I found that if I follow the donkey and maneuver with him deftly, he walks faster than being in front of him leading by a rope dragging our feet behind, as I used to. So our average pace became quite acceptable and we caught up with Renée who helped me to lead the donkey onto an elongated piece of stone serving as a bridge at a flooded forest river, with the bridge being 20 centimeters deep under water. But this goosy animal is not able to detect the bridge under the water and treads very lame on the edges, so then came the most spectacular crisis of the way: as the result of our common forcing Rocinante crawled till the middle of the bridge where he suddenly fell into the floating river, with all my stuffs on his back. And this is something what never happened before.

I couldn’t see the bottom of the water so I scared enough ‘cause I had no idea whether a donkey can swim, I just guessed he wouldn’t like to. I grabbed his rope, with the possibility that he will engulf me as well and will die together. But his leg reached the bottom. I tried to pull him out to the other side, but he was not willing to start to this direction. Only back. Nevertheless, the two Korean girls cheered for us while taking back their shoes on the other side. And then one of them took the shoes off again and came back through the bridge to give a towel to the donkey as a gift. She assured me that they will pray for us – that’s why I mentioned (Part 6.) how lucky I was not to ream them out because of their loudness, for I’m sure these prayers are the reason I’m still alive.

On the left: that's how the venue looks like unflooded. On the right: that's how it looks like a little flooded. Just imagine half a meter more water on the "bridge" and it's already invisible... We demand the obstacle-clearing of the Camino for donkeys! 

At last I liberated the shivering, soaking wet animal from the saddle-pack, however, thereafter it was not possible to make him back to the bridge, I mean into the water. I said goodbye to Renée who I (spoiler alert!) only saw once more, in Santiago when he was just leaving for home.

I started to dry the poor animal. Unbelievable but he was gobbling even while shivering. I think he’s frustration-eater, like some kind of BridgetJones. And Galicia assisted us in its own way: with hail. But finally the old guy didn’t catch cold, we returned together to the motorway, I squeezed the wet stuffs under the roof of an abandoned gas station and we crushed on towards Arzúa on the emergency lane. Arriving to Arzúa, Rocinante immediately got half a bucket of corn from a fellow who got it from a factory, so that the donkey should also have a little joy on this hard day.

Since I left, this is the first time I had Internet access, which was full of good news. First of all, ex-girlfriend has now officially switched into a hidden mode and removed herself from Facebook where she could remember anyone from her past that she’s alive. And from the circular message she sent to communicate this it’s pretty clear why she doesn’t have friends. She shared neither an information about herself (e.g. from what, how and with whom she lives), nor was she interested in anyone (e.g. who lives from what, how and with whom) in the last more than one year, since she stopped to keep in touch with anyone. During her scholarship, when her Americas reference group mates were power-users on Facebook worthy of the western exhibitionist ego, she used it the same way. And now her actual reference group (one person) is anti-Facebook face, so it was just matter of time until she also stops to be active. And those for whom she sent this letter (exactly those who are recipients of this letter of mine, too) are actually my friends... Live long and prosper!

The other thing was a message from Balázs, the owner of the Albergue Delfín in Muxia saying everything’s OK – things we were talking about as opportunities in Budapest: as closure of the winter break I could clean and open the place when I arrive at the oceanfront, and hospitably welcome the pilgrim mates. Even 2 km from here there’s a farm, too, with donkeys among others, and if I can’t find anything else until then, he contacts the people living there and asks about the parking options. Foreigners also used to work there (some kind of wwoofing I guess), it could even be a perspective for me, too. Great, great, great.

Alba has also answered, although pretty belatedly. She is the one whose mother took care of the donkey after I arrived in Santiago in the autumn. I parked Roci at their hacienda of horses and donkeys for a couple of days so that I could go to the Ocean alone. I wrote to her in January if she had an idea for me ‘cause the Italianism was just take me into trouble. She answered me just now that her mother (called Mayka) is totally OK with me leaving Rocinante there for uncertain period of time. Anyway, there wasn’t problem with him the last time either and also he got along well with their female donkey. That’s how I’m sure that there’s nothing wrong with my donkey’s social skills. However, I wouldn’t have liked that, since it’s a big favor and I don’t have any idea how I could return this. At least there was an emergency scenario for the donkey and also for me.

It was getting dark when we moved on, for staying overnight is my life. I was focusing on stables, squatting, municipal albergues to sneak in, but found nothing liveable so we were marching in the seemingly endless and rainy night to the village Santa Irene (approx. 20 km from Santiago) where there’s a covered resting place with drinking fountain which is a luxury thing, isn’t it. In this place, I made my bed on the bench, full-homeless style. It was so fricken’ cold. But now, even in wintertime I didn’t catch cold, just as neither in autumn, and also the disappearing process of my herpes took fewer days than ever. So I definitely returned to my faith (spoiler alert again!) that I will arrive somewhere – just like the history. /.../