Day 23, Villadangos to Astorga

Approaching the town of Astorga (pop 12,000)

June 27

This could be one of those days when I don’t get to post a blog. I’m on the top floor of a fancy hotel in a very nice attic room, but the internet doesn’t quite reach this far. I’ve got a connection, but it’s so weak if won’t even load my emails, although it’s working on it. The trouble is, that every time I leave the room, I have to take the electronic card with me, the power in the room goes off and my old laptop very quickly has its battery go flat, so nothing keeps loading.

To go back to the beginning: Last night I was in the very frontier town of Villadangos, where the heavy traffic thundered past until late at night and started up again before 6am in the morning.

I’d met two nice Irish women in the lift earlier on and thought I might talk to them over dinner – no one else seemed to speak English.

Dinner wasn’t until 8pm, so I was pretty peckish. When I went in, I saw a large table set up and half occupied and I thought the owners had shoved all the pilgrims together, which sometimes happens. It’s a good option, as you get to meet other people.

However, on this occasion the table had been set for a party of 12 German pilgrims and I was gate crashing. When I realised, I tried to move to a solitary, lonely, pathetic table on my own, but they insisted I stay, which was nice of them, even though I felt a bit awkward at first. They were all in the army – they’d walked as far as Burgos (I think) last year, were doing a few more stages this year and planned to finish next year. 

They had a car and one of them drove their luggage each day. I mostly talked to a man called Alex and his daughter, who made an effort to include me in the group.

Breakfast this morning was at 7am, so I presented myself promptly. I shouldn’t have bothered. Apart from the coffee and juice there was a large piece of crusty white toast and a sea of meat – ham, chorizo and some sort of beef as well as cheese. Oh for some fruit and muesli.

I was alone in there. Turned out the Irish had woken me with their talking a couple of rooms away at 5.30am, then left at 6am,  and the Germans had left soon after 6.30am to get a head start.

I wandered off at 7.20am. The various guide books had the day at 26km or 28km – I was to clock up more than 30km (what you don’t know doesn’t hurt).

The first town was San Martin del Camino, at 4.7km. I gave it a black mark, because the various alburgues had painted out the yellow arrows on the road and inserted their own, to lure you past their establishments (bastards). I didn’t do too many extra metres, thanks to my extraordinary powers of deduction (and a bit of blind luck).

After another 6.6km I reached Puente de Orbigo. By now my fluent Spanish allowed me to recognise that this town had something to do with a bridge.

Here’s a quote from my guide book: “A noble knight from Leon, Don Suero de Quinones, scorned by a beautiful lady, threw down the gauntlet to any knight who cared to pass as he undertook to defend the bridge (and presumably his honour) against all comers. Knights from all over Europe took up the challenge. Don Suero successfully defended the bridge for a month until the required 300 lances had been broken. 

"Together with his trusted comrades he then proceeded to Santiago to offer thanks for his freedom from the bonds of love and for his honour now restored!

“Apart from its link to such chivalrous acts, which may have been an inspiration for Cervantes’ Don Quixote, it also witnessed the battle in 452 when the Visigoths slaughtered the Swabians and subsequently provided the scene of confrontation between Christian forces under Alfonso III and the Moors.”

With such a lot of drama at stake, I hurried on to the bridge, ignoring the lively looking bar on the right and instead going into the alburgue café on the left after the bridge.

Big mistake. I later discover from the Germans that the bar before the bridge was fantastic and they had their first of two breakfasts there. On the other hand, the one I went too was synthetic and unfriendly, the coffee was no good and the toilet was so dark I could hardly see.

On the toilet subject – I had a dodgy stomach this morning (too much meat?), so toilets were on my agenda. You have to buy something at a bar in order to use their toilet, so a few kilometres on I stopped at Villares de Orbigo and had another coffee and a croissant as an early lunch. I was a bit gutted when I found their toilet blocked and overflowing, so I tightened my stomach and pressed on, wishing I’d thought to just use the ladies (but that would hardly be chivalrous).

After a further 2.5km, at Santibanez, I came across the Irish ladies, sunning their blistered feet. I gave words of sympathy and pressed on, stopping for a couple of glasses of lemon juice at a temporary shelter where things were by donation.

At Cruceiro Santo Toribio I caught the Germans. It was a lovely spot, where you crested a hill and there was the town of Astorga (pop 12,000) laid out below. 

There’s some sort of redemption when you see your goal ahead like that and it gives the body a boost. It wasn’t as close as I hoped, but I marched on with renewed vigour, eventually reaching my hotel just before 3pm.

I’d thought I may have missed it at one point and I’d retraced my steps in the middle of town, only to come across Linda and Chris. Linda pulled out her phone, found Google maps and set me straight.

By then it was in excess of 30 degrees outside. 

I checked into my lovely attic room and inhaled both bottles of beer from the mini bar, had a shower and checked out the facilities.

The spa/swimming pool wasn’t all it seemed. It was too hot and too short to get a proper swim, so I went out and got myself a haircut (meeting the Germans on the way – they’re checked in here too and greeted me like a long lost friend.

As I searched for a supermarket I came across the two despondent Irish ladies, who were very tired (and one was in pain). They hadn’t yet found a place to stay, so I walked with them awhile – as far as the Gaudi church, which looks like something from a fairytale.

I found a supermarket and for 50 cents each found two beers to replace the two I’d taken from the mini bar (at 2 euro each), plus another two, which have sustained me as I type (at 6.5 percent they may lay me out).

On the subject of washing: every day when I arrive I throw my socks, undies and T-shirt into the shower, hanging them in the window of my room to dry. 

Lately I have worn the same shirt and socks to walk in every day for about a week – always clean when I put them on. It makes a mockery of the seven shirts and a similar number of pairs of socks I have with me. I haven’t visited a laundry yet and I don’t think I stink at all.

So now it’s well after 6pm. I don’t plan to eat here, but will walk back to one of the big squares and have something simple. Maybe I’ll run into someone I know, but I’m happy to be a bit solitary tonight – this is a big town and it’s nice to just watch the passing parade.

I’d no sooner stepped out on to the street when the Irish gals walked by. They’d found somewhere to stay and were on the prowl for a supermarket. Fortunately I could oblige. 

By this time it was nearly 7pm, but the temperature clocks were still showing 30 degrees.

I wandered into the Plaza Mayor, where there were loads of restaurants. I was going to go for a pizza and a glass of wine – I didn’t want to wait for the Spanish dinner hour. I found myself in front of a restaurant with a pilgrim menu at 11 euro and a friendly waiter. “Que hora cena? (what hour is dinner?)”, I asked him in my best Spanish. “All day”, he replied in English. Seemed like my sort of place.

I was soon seated with a bottle of wine, a large bottle of water and a menu. It was great. After all that heavy meat stuff early on, I had some lovely pasta, some battered hake (classic fish and chips) and a strange liquid citrus dessert – like cheesecake soup. 

Some of my German friends dropped by to say hello. 

From time to time, some ancient figures holding big hammers beat on the bell in the clock tower. I accidentally drank an entire bottle of wine and after paying and leaving a princely one euro tip, I wandered off, dazed and confused (but clutching the remains of the large water bottle), back to my hotel at about 8.30pm, when I noticed the temperature had dropped to 29 degrees.

So here I am – early night. Not sure I’ll get online – the signal is so faint it almost doesn’t exist and certainly won’t sustain a posting tonight – maybe in the morning. It’s very hot though – not sure if I can go to sleep. I don’t have to get away early – only a 20km day tomorrow.

Here's today's photo album: https://photos.app.goo.gl/bawBpim7tFrgKcUdA