Mongolia?, Ireland?, Limland? Eiffel? Me gusta (I like)
Swollen eye. Perhaps that’s why I hit the wrong path .
A new day, a new sound, is a Dutch saying. I open the eyes. Gosh, what a sleepy eyes. Nothing sleepy eyes, but in my case swollen eye. The night before last night I already felt some itching at my left temple. Is that brown pigment spot in front of my burn starting to degenerate maliciously?? Probably not so fast, and yet not just in one night. Must have been some shit musquito or midge. My entire right eye closed. Starts getting better though, especially if you laugh a lot. That’s a kind of massage. First, a nice shower, but there is no heating. Towels neither. If I use my own towel, it won’t dry before leaving. In many hostels I have experienced that they have hot water but no heating, no towels. I developed a habit , to dry myself in those situations with wads of toilet paper and the minimum residual moisture on my body I dry with my towel. Works quite well. Only, if you’re not careful I have scattered tiny pieces of toilet paper sticking to your skin. Especially in my beard region, they stick well. Looks kind of weird, so better watching myself in the mirror more often. But then I see that swollen eye again. Who cares. Just let them think I have strabysm.
The walk began beautifully. I walk out of the village. After 500 m. I hear someone shouting behind me. Did I loose something? You walk wrong! Oh, muchas gracias. Pretty nice. After some km. I arrive at a beautiful old bridge Ponte Fitero. Stop to make some pictures. Something must have gone wrong. After a while I saw no more directional signs. I thought, now it’s over for today. I’m on the wrong path. How can I save my wife and children? Why does this happen to me? The sun was south, but according to the GPS the south was in another direction. Who should I believe? The sun. Or the gps? The sun, of course. Finally, I asked the way to the village. Straight ahead said the first one, back said the second one . Yes, but I walk the Santiago route in reverse. That makes it obviously more difficult for the advisors to tell me the right way, because they all think I’m heading for Santiago. I definitely lost two hours because of the detour. Which is 8 km. And today I had already planned a long route.
Along the way says a French pilgrim: in Hornillos they also accept your horse. Wow, chic, I happy again. A child’s hand is quickly filled. Only … Then I have to walk even further than planned. It’ll be dark because Hornillos is 10 km. further than I intended. And then in the evening I still have to find a place for Leon and you never know whether it also will rain. That somewhat tempered my joy. And exactly today I went wrong, so the total mileage got close to 35-40 km. Poor Leon. But if Leon wants to be pittied he should not have become a horse.
I walk across plateaus, with masses of modern windmills, through valleys which are carved into the plateau, graft landscapes, beautiful old stone villages with often beautiful historical churches. It’s a relaxing idea to know that I have shelter for tonight. The road runs through an old church ruin at San Anton. A strange kind of infrastructure (picture). A bus speeds at only a few centimeters distance past Leon. Occasionally I meet a pilgrim who invariably takes a picture of our threesome. I had taught Tosca to walk right next to me when a car approaches. Often she already takes her place before I hear the car approaching.
At the inn the friendly landlord tells his visitors stories of pilgrims, one with a donkey, the other with a dog, a cat (I think a real one), one with a domesticated owl on his shoulder, and one donkey with a horse and dog, from the Netherlands. He found pilgrims sleeping in the strangest places, he even found one in the cemetery.
After preparing for myself and eating warm and totally inadequate instant meals, the innkeeper gave me a big bag of old bread for Leon . I also served myself with it. And a student history / archaeology found me patheticalyy poor enough to offer me half a pan of her cold pasta that she couldn’t finish . Pasta pur, without anything to it . Hunger makes raw beans sweet (is a saying), so let’s swallow that bite . Do you want half of my soup , she asks helpfully . If you have any more wishes , you say it, she says. The soup was a bit cold , but I thought I’d better keep my wishes to myself . In a few days I have to walk my horse over the rooftops ( childrens tale in the Netherlands about Dutch Santa Claus, Dec. 6 th) . Then Leon and I have to be in good shape. Now I want a beer , and then the sleeping bag .
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