To pilgrims and hospitaleros,
To my companions,
But above all,
As a kind of a moral compensation,
I dedicate this story
To a friend of mine, who got robbed (by me) in Grandas de Salime.
This story (as many other stories these days) started in the World Wide Web: from a few lines of a stranger’s blog. I don’t know what exactly put that spell on me back then, but the very idea of walking an ancient pilgrim route in Northern Spain got deep into my soul. A year later, three of my good Russian friends and I embarked on a pilgrimage of our own.
Step by step, mile after mile, even our names soaked in the vivid country surrounding us: for those 14 days we became Pedro, Alejandro, Elena and Maria.
5th of April, 2013. Moscow — Oviedo.
It’s 6:00 AM after a sleepless night, Moscow-Barcelona flight. I am struck by a sudden discovery: the Spanish are amazingly beautiful. Raven black hair and pleasantly crooked noses: graphic, dark, exotic, masculine beauty. Never before, had I been so shamelessly feasting my eyes on stewards and stewardesses.
I am not afraid of flying. Taking off is one of my favorite sensations. Another one is the moment when the airplane below you drops down while everything inside you jumps up in anxious anticipation. I want to see the sunset — I am sitting by the window, and the view is breathtaking! — but as our plane gains altitude, I feel like I can’t fight sleep any longer. Читать далее