Day twenty El Camino

The sky a few minutes before 8:00 a.m.




and a few minutes after:




A spot to remember: half way from St. Jean-Pied-de-Port to Santiago:




Not to be confused with the spot, somewhat further on, and more ceremoniously marked, half way between Roncesvalles and Santiago:






And here is a close up of Cluny, who said so. You can see the ordinance in his hand:





These small hut-like structures are likely to be bodegas:





Res ipsa loquitur!




At our coffee stop this morning, we met an older Englishman, who now lives in Spain in a van, or maybe really in Alicante but travels around in his van, and who, we determined, rightly or wrongly, prowls El Camino in search of women. He promised the proprietor of a certain cafe that he would deliver a forgotten tube of cream to a peregrino who had moved on to Sahagún. Apparently, his efforts tired him out:





We meet him later on when we went out for dinner, and discovered that he was not having too much success with the ladies. He did, however, tell us quite a bit about the history of Gibralter, and I gotta tell you that he is damn mad that the Spanish are having trouble respecting the terms of the Treaty of Utrecht, you know, the one that was signed in1713. And there you have it!


A bit of an excursus on our accommodations for the evening. The descriptive blurb promised a hairdryer in the room. Indeed, there was a hairdryer:





But before getting verification of that amenity, first, let us approach The Hostal:





Is that REALLY our hotel or a refuge for addicts? Well, there was a reason for the severely ominous exterior. It was a Thursday, and Thursday is the day off for the family who runs the place:





Not only did that have aesthetic consequences, but there was no one to tell que no había papel higiénico en mi habitación. (There was no toilet paper in my room.) Fortunately, Tanya and Ian could spare some.

I wanted to open the window for some fresh air, but in this ruin, just a few feet away lived many pigeons:




Despite all the off-putting aspects of this place, the room was spotless and had all, well, almost all, the necessities. In the morning, breakfast, served just past the bar (the bar where lots of locals gathered before 7:00 a.m.), was surprisingly exellent. A tall glass of fresh, and I mean fresh, sweet orange juice, a very tasty roll, several slices of a fine cheese, a basket of fruit (most of which was not ripe, but OK), and delicious cafe con leche, as much as you wanted. Also, the young man who ran the place, was as nice as could be.

By the time we left, este hostal had a whole different look:





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Location:Calzadilla de la Cuesta to Sahagún