Camino Two: 7, Sprechen Sie Deutsche?

I’m getting behind with posts for Camino Two. You get pretty tired on this pilgrimage lark, walking seven hours a day. Then there’s laundry, sustenance, and socializing. Those are some of the reasons that you never seem to have enough time. The number one reason of course is the availability, and the price of, wine.

Just the other day I came across a price list where coffee and tea were 1.50, soft drinks were 1.20 and wine was 1.00. I’m not really on a budget but that day I pretended I was and chose option three, the vino.

Anyway I’m behind, so in an effort to catch up, I’m gonna skip a few things. So, the walking is the walking is the walking, it’s the same every day. Long and tiring. Most of the small towns and villages are OK but largely unremarkable. Food along the way, similar. The local people are real friendly to the walkers. Anyone will help you. Refreshing in the 21st century.

Right, off we go. Next stop after my shoebox room in Najere was Granon where I stayed, for the first time, in a donotivo. This is an albergue where you pay what you want. Got that. You evaluate your experience and pay accordingly. Anonymously. Very popular with pilgrims on a budget. I got billeted in a two bedded room. My roomie was Mito, a 70 year old Japanese man and the politest person I have ever met. In this 12 bed place albergue, the other ten people were all Germans, of various ages. We had a communal dinner, all part of the donation, the only extra being the wine at 5 euros a bottle.

After initial introductions the conversation continued … in German. Me and Mito, sat at opposite ends of the table by the way, were completely excluded. I collected a bottle of wine from the side table and left my money. I shared the wine. With everyone who couldn’t speak German. The whole bottle was decanted into mine and Mito’s glasses. We drunk it quickly and left them to do the washing up. Mito and me went to the only bar in town. We stayed out until after 9.30. Wild. We just don’t care. Crazy dudes.

The villages were very close to each other the next day. I had to pass eight to get to my preferred overnight stop, Villafranca Montes de Oca. I had plugged myself into my iPod with a bit of indie rock, singing along. Have you noticed that you can’t always judge how loud you’re singing with the cans on. Walking through one of the villages the trail took a ninety degree blind corner. I didn’t see the bar, and because of Wheatus blasting in my ears I didn’t hear the many pilgrims enjoying breakfast on the terrace.

They stopped eating and talking as I rounded the corner, singing at the top of my voice, holding nothing back. All wondering if I was really ‘just a teenage dirt-bag (baby)’. And if so why I wanted the whole of Northern Spain to know about it.

I found an albergue attached to an upmarket hotel, like the one a few days ago in Estella. I was allotted a single bed, nobody above me, yay! It was in a little cubicle with a light, locker, and a power point. Luxury.

After the usual shower, unpack, laundry etc. I hit the nicely appointed bar. Great wi-fi in there too. Had wine, naturally, and made for the hotel restaurant. Twosomes got to share a bottle of wine with the pilgrim’s menu, but a singleton, like me, got a bottle to themself. Blimey I had already had a bottle in the bar. I resolved to drink down to the label. But I mispoured. Ok then, just to the bottom of the label. When I got there it seemed a shame to waste the rest, so I didn’t.

Great nights sleep. No snorers. Perfect. Until I woke in the morning, scratching. I was covered in bites. I counted 68 and there were plenty more on my back I couldn’t see. Got dressed, grabbed coffee and hit the road, hoping I would find a Farmacia on the way.

The Camino gives you time to think and so I thunk. About my itchy bites. What kind of biter was it? What if the biters were the type that took blood? There would be a lot of blood missing with that amount of bites. I could now be deficient in the blood department. I probably need a blood transfusion. How do you arrange that, in the sticks, in a foreign country? I resolved to ask The Little Nurse when I phoned later.

The Little Nurse is an expert in blood related problems. A former Phlebotomthingy. You know. Err. Mist. That’s it. A phlebotomist. She will have the answer. Then suddenly I remembered. The Spanish word for blood is sangria. So whilst a blood transfusion might be difficult in the circs, a sangria transfusion is a completely different kettle of eggs. Easy peasy. I got a jug of it for second breakfast at the next town. Although still itchy I felt a lot stronger.

Later, on the phone, I told The Little Nurse how clever I had been. She was less than convinced. Her actual words were ‘bloody idiot’

Pffft.

• Hey you followers, where are the comments. Even my own family, Jeez.
• Also where is the sharing?
• There’s a few pix on IG
• Likes, even likes, would be a start.
• Just kidding. Don’t even care. (I care)
• To follow Camino Two start Camino Two : 1 Onward And Upward, Definitely Upward.
• Other links are at All the Links
• Shout out to Jayne Wales