But I manage to fall back asleep just when a terrible headache was driving me crazy.
St wakes me up a few moments before arriving in Compostela and now I feel more relaxed.
On the street, while we are looking for a room for two nights, a lopsided young man with a disappointed attitude begins to rave in English: «Santiago, Santiago; Santiago is a very normal city, with its own chaos, its own messes, streets full of big shops and work in progress. And I have not found God. Where is he, where is he?!» He stops for a few moments and, still in English, he starts singing Vasco Rossi: «Bring me God, I want to see him, bring me God, I have to talk to him.»
I wonder what that guy expected from Santiago; did he think he saw angels floating at a man's height or something like that? St smiling tell
