I believe these are bodegas. I am amazed. Tosca is trying to get me a bottle (snitch) Leon dares everything: bridges, locks, guarddogs
often narrow passages are not meant for anxious pack horses.
It was calm, fairly mild weather. Watery sun. And I was sure about a shelter for all three of us tonight inthe town Mansilla de las Mullas. It was a lot of boring walking along the road. Here and there we passed artificial caves, covered with a lot of soil, where wine is kept:
Bodegas: cool in the summer, relatively warm in winter. Far away one could see the impressive mountains of the Picos de Europa, topped with snow. I enjoyed the prosperous course of my journey and the prospect of today being able to organize everything, like exploring the route on my ipad, loundry, shower etc.. Also, I would arrive really early, so I could do some shopping for Sunday.
Mansilla de las Mullas: beautiful ramparts at a river, with lots of grass between the river and rampart. Possibilities for Leon. I unpacked Leon in front of the albergue, lifting all 60 kg. luggage bags, saddle, horse blanket etc. inside the inn, tied Tosca onto the inn courtyard and walked with horse Leon to the riverside, outside the city wall, a long walk. While I was looking for a place to tie Leon for this night, I heard someone shouting at me from a bridge over the river . Do I get help? You bet: The manager of the inn! The dog absolutely can not remain in the courtyard. Fuck you, asshole, I thought, but I did not want to force anything. At such moments you’re really pissed off. So I went all the way back again with the horse to the inn, recharging Leon with all the luggage. But before going on I entered once more the inn, the manager no longer being there, in order to search where else I could go this afternoon. For searching I needed the inn’s wifi. Another setback: Wifi didn’t work there. At such moments you think, is my enterpise worth all this fuzz? Why am I doing this? Being denied to the inns, finding no shelter, cold, rain, etc. Do I still necessarily have to prove myself at my 63th? Old fool! Fortunately I spoke with a Frenchman in the albergue. I asked if he had a list of hostels on this route. Indeed, and phone numbers. Yes, salvation! 5 Km away they would accept me with my horse and my dog. So in a good mood on to the next village, Reliegos, 5 km. I went wrong, so there were 7 or 8 km. Leon was given a lawn by the friendly caretaker and doggy Tosca could be tied up in a large room, which was not used. What a mumps. Typical of this trip is the changing sense of “Himmelhoch jauchzend, zum Toden betrübt (heavenly happy, sad like the deceaved), but in reverse. All village no wifi. But in the inn were two bigots. One was a French guy of 53 years old. Has walked this route 29 times. Along the way he always drags two pockets in which he collects all the waste of other pilgrims. Specially for this purpose he had some pick up instrument with him. Actually, he was a professional pilgrim. So apparently there are other weirdos than me on the road. I told him in French that I need the internet to search on my ipad for an inn tomorrow that is open in winter and that also accepts animals, and which is at the right distance, etc. etc. J’en ai, voilà pour toi. Oledeladio, he gives me a list of hostels on my route in Spain, whether they are open during the winter, phone numbers and facilities and the distances between them.
Not devoid of any healthy selfishness I accepted immediately this generous gift. And you? I asked Now you have no list with hostals any more. I know the route by heart, says the experienced weirdo-bigot. OK, allez then. Angel delight! The other is an Italian pilgrim, praying only. She had walked from Italian Asisië and spoke four languages (she said). Her French I understood less than the Spaniards understood my Spanish, but that could be my fault. The conversation went on pilgrimage, the litany of Brigida: I had never heard of. This lady had that in Italian, a whole book; he had the litany of Brigida, whatever that may be, in French. The Italian lady was sorry that she had never been able to learn the entire litany by heart. Yes, my tablemates had a somewhat different frame of reference than I had.
– Brigida (February 1), patron saint of Ireland, was baptized about 455 by a student of St. Patrick. She was the founder and abbess of the convent Kildare (Ireland) and lived in seclusion from the world in a cell under a large oak tree. Brigida churned the milk from her cow and gave away milk and butter to the poor. The saint is therefore often depicted with a cow lying at her feet. Brigida is the patron saint of livestock and is often invoked against diseases among livestock.
About Brigida I consulted Wikipedia:
In addition, she is also regarded as the protector of the poor, mothers and children. She was especially venerated in the Celtic regions, but also in the Lower Rhine region and in the Netherlands.
I visited he local “Petik” (shop): Closed. “If necessary, call”, was written on a note at the door. It was Saturday night 7.30 p.m. Too late to ring the door bell, I thought. Back at the inn the French professional pilgrim said: you should have rang the bell; So in the dark and drizzling rain I went back to the store and I did. With my new food stock I returned to the inn. The food was cooked, we had diner together. A phone call for a shelter tomorrow for my two animals and me in Bercianos del Real Camino and then I can go to sleep with a safe feeling. Praying for me the other two will do (I hope!)
Geef uw mening