Glowing in the dark

It's late. Almost half past nine in the evening. While in the real world of Spain just outside people are probably just having dinner, here in the world of the Camino just about everyone is in bed. It's lights out at ten. All around me people are glowing in the dark as they use their smart phones or in many cases their iPads to check their email, surf the web, maybe check on the weather forecast for tomorrow's walk or perhaps read a book.

Or maybe they are updating their blogs or diaries.

Simon from Australia "I live in Tasmania but I'm from Queensland" is working his iPad mini. Linda from Canada who I had the misfortune to mistake for an American "When did I tell you that I was American?" is working her Samsung Galaxy S5. I realise later that Linda is just like the woman in the Camino movie, 'The Way'. She was also angry and if I remember right was also Canadian as it happens. The South Korean girl looks like she is watching a movie. the Korean couple "South Korea" the guy clarifies, as if I might have thought he was from the North, are both fast asleep and have been pretty much since they arrived.

Dinner with Simon (the one from Tasmania), May "M-A-Y like the month" and Brendan from Ireland. May and Brendan are 'in their seventies' and have 6 children. "Brendan has 81 first cousins" says May. "Your Christmas card list must be long" comments Simon, but Brendan (who like Simon, is a bit hard of hearing) misses the irony.

May and Brendan are here for the fifth trip, to finish the Camino. "We're Irish" explains May, "we're doing it backwards. We did the last part first and now we're doing the rest." They both have cheat sheets of handwritten notes of Spanish words which their son's au pair (who is Spanish) has helped them prepare. I'm thinking 'this is your fifth trip here and you still can't say 'bocadillo' or 'gracias?'

The conversation turns to accommodation. The Irish are staying in a hotel room. "I want to sleep in a place with a door" says May. The subject of snoring comes up. "No problem for me" says Simon, "I just take my hearing aids out. Of course sometimes it might be me who snores, but I have an oral device that helps keep my airway open. " As it turns out this is deeply ironic.

No sooner are lights out in the room and an enormous spluttering and then rumbling accompanied by various other noises begins. Simon has fallen asleep. Everyone quickly rustles in their bags to retrieve their earplugs. The amazing cacophony emanating from Simon's bed continues the whole night, but thankfully the earplugs do their job.

In the morning Simon joins me at breakfast. He opens the conversation with: "I had trouble breathing last night." I bite my tongue. "Did I snore much?" I feel sorry for him, as much as I hated the snoring.