No. That simply cannot be. WHAAAT.
A shower? As in somewhere one cleans oneself? Are you nuts, it looks like a pig sty with a garden hose attached!
Naturally I didn´t say this to the smiling Spanish woman as she showed me around the ´hygiene´ facilities in the Azofra hostal... I nodded blandly, physically wincing about getting naked in that filthy hole. Seriously, they had better showers in Auschwitz.
Never mind, there´s a little pub two minutes away that is harking my name... Drunk angels in heaven are playing the harp clumsily, tempting me in for a San Miguel. I reckon I can walk off a beer or seven tomorrow; considering I might go for a P.B., which will be a hell of a slog. Taxi anyone?
Yesterday afternoon I arrived in the central Spanish city of Logroño, infamous for its ancient bridge and beautiful church architecture; and I should know- after all, I slept in one. Now, I didn´t know quite what to expect when the only option available was kipping in a church. It´s a tad creepy, is it not? Casting aside the complementary communion wine and bread/out of date God biscuits, what else can make you comfortable and sleepy in a place where they conduct funerals? Will the crucifix statue of Jesus come alive in the night, like some warped religious Toy Story? I´m relieved to say that it was one of the most unexpectedly enjoyable evenings of my life.
Not only did I receive somewhere half comfy to kip; the shelter was free, as was a communal dinner and breakfast this morning. A huge group of utterly different people perched around makeshift tables in a back room, all united by one thing: the pilgrimage. El Camino. We ate, we drank, we prayed; bit awkward that was, considering I helped translate it into English without believing in a thing that was said. Still, I returned to my good old Catholic ways for one night only, however hypocritical and disagreeable that might be. The inner choir boy still burns brightly apparently.
31 km trekked today, pretty satisfactory though nothing outstanding. My former companion Dominic (not in a romantic way, jeez), who was mentioned on a previous blog, is staying in the same hostal again. An attempt at close to 40 km tomorrow has been vaguely mooted, but we´ll see if I wake up feeling like a champ or a little wiener before making a rash decision. I was also fortunate enough to walk with a Spanish chap this morning named Manuel, who unfortunately didn´t act resemble or act like his Fawlty Towers counterpart. Nevertheless, he was perhaps a much more interesting man because of it; this Manuel contracted Polio at a young age, yet hasn´t allowed his severely withered left arm to prevent him from walking the pilgrimage. Nor has it halted his ambition of becoming a professional photographer.
Once again, inspirational people by the bucketload. At this rate I´ll be walking with Batman and Mother Theresa by the weekend... Just a shame that all the flies are still as big as pigeons, the Spanish insects must survive on steroids. Oh, and a flying creature settled on my shoulder today; resembling an Apache helicopter with teeth, it was about the same size too... I will never become accustomed to these ridiculous insects.
Muchas gracias,
George x
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