Startpoint: Hospital de Orbigo; Endpoint: Santa Catalina De Sonoza; Distance walked: 27k; Steps taken: the pedometer is upstairs – I’ll tell you later.

We left the hostel late this morning. We met a large black dog before we left. Its owner was brining it to Santiago – it was the most enthusiastic pilgrim I’ve seen so far. But it wasn’t wearing any boots or carrying a pack.

We overtook lots of pilgrims in the first few hours. The two of us who were walking together congratulated ourselves on our youth, speed and stamina. As we stopped for loo-breaks, coffee, lunch, loo-breaks, clothes-changes and loo-breaks, they all overtook us again.

The dinner and breakfast in yesterday’s hostel was a donativo, so we could pay whatever we felt like. After donating all my small change after breakfast, we passed a shed at about 11pm where three young shirtless men sold fresh fruit, bread+cheese, juices, and teas and coffees for a donativo. I made myself a little cheese sandwich and washed it down with juice, then begged other pilgrims for enough small coins to ease my guilt. In the end, I only mustered up seventy cents. One of the other pilgrims had a laden donkey. The donkey wasn’t asked for a donation.

We had lunch in Astorga and reformed the little travelling group that had split so regrettably the day before. The three of us who’d met every few nights and walked and talked every few nights discussed other pilgrims we’d met and gossiped about their friendships and cliques.

In the afternoon, we went to visit a reconstructed Maragato village. The Maragato are a ethnic group in this region of Spain for which Wikipedia gives very little information. The town was cobbled, old-fashioned, picturesque and a little bit boring. As we walked through it, a collection of Spanish pensioners passed by us, all with white carrier-bags. The bags contained a bottle of wine and a large bag of (as it turned out), dried chick-peas.

We found the focus-point of the old-town – a courtyard artisan restaurant and artisan shop. The entire establishment was decorated with large bags of dried chick-peas with ‘Do Not Touch’ signs on them. We considered buying some bars of chocolate, but realised that the artisan chocolate was about the same price as a hostel bed for the evening, so decided against it.

As we left, we discussed whether the two kilometre had been worth it. We decided that the extra walk had been worth it just to know that we hadn’t missed anything worthwhile. Maybe if we’d got a bottle of wine and a kilogram bag on untouchable chick-peas to take home, we would have felt different.

As we approached the village where we’d hoped to stay for the night, we were approached by a frail old-man with white hair and a walking stick. In a mixture of broken English and laboured Spanish, he made it clear to use that the municipal hostel had closed down, but that one of the private hostels was very nice and worthy of our custom.

I don’t know if that old man was genuine and misguided or malicious and on the payroll, but we’re now staying in a fifteen-metre squared sweatbox with ten beds. Three of our roommates left the dinner table at half-past eight to go to bed so they could get up at four in the morning to hit the road early.

As I began writing this post, I was sitting in the bar, drowning my sorrows, watching a Spanish period drama on TV. The year appeared to be around 1850, but as the characters wore period-clothes combined with 21st century make-up, hairstyles, and high-heels, it was a little difficult to tell. As far as I can figure out, the main-character (a 20-year old heiress wearing bangs and Jimmy Choo’s) has just found out that her neck-brace wearing husband has been having an affair with her comatose mother. In a side story, a man in a v-neck t-shirt and goatee has been taking boxing lessons from a sailor.

As I finished writing this post, I was hiding in a bathroom cubicle. It’s the only place I can turn the lights on without people complaining. Outside the door in the bathroom proper, the hand dryer starts blowing periodically as the flies fly beneath the sensor.

Tomorrow we reach Cruz de Ferro, a 600meter climb to where pilgrims traditionally leave a stone from home to symbolise some emotional burden they have brought on the pilgrimage and mean to leave behind. My pack will become 300grams lighter, which is good enough for me.

Bien Camino.