Stage 13 – Tosantos 20km /

In the misty dark and rain we left what our fellow lodger somewhat light heartedly designated ‘the Crack House’. The best thing about the place were the door handles; straight out of robo cop, “thank you, you have entered the correct code”. The rest of the place was a shambles, presenting a disturbing juxtaposition of ultra modern tech and abandoned squat house, and there was no one there. In the kitchen the half eaten remains of someone’s meal lay spread across an unsanitary looking table, there was a wheely-rack of jackets standing randomly in a hall, wall paper peeled off cracked walls, a half melted hair-drier sat on a shelf next to ten volumes of Spanish Mills and Boon and an encyclopedia. The water-swollen chipboard bathroom vanity was moments from collapsing and when Di filled the sink and pulled the plug, water poured out the under-sink cupboard onto the floor. The cupboards and fridge were half filled with opened and unopened foodstuffs and the cracked and crumbled court yard, painted faded-swimming-blue, was home to an abandoned scooter and cracked red plastic chairs positioned to preside over a scene so desperately depressing that few would dare sit there, clearly no-one had. The Bates hotel from Psycho. It’s no wonder we were sent door codes by email, never to meet the owners.

In our anonymous hosts defence, the beds, with sheets and blankets, seemed clean, the showers were hot and towels were provided. Job done, but it just felt creepy.

It was cold today, ten degrees, and raining. We were breathing steam and even as the colours came back to mother earth’s morning mein the mist, cloud and rain kept all but our path and near adjacent fields cloaked in grey.

Most places were closed at that hour, but a truck stop, a little off route (Castildelgado), was doing a roaring trade and we hooked in for coffees and croissant. Men dressed like truckies the world over leant on the counter quaffing espressos before taking a smoke outside and hitting the road. We must have seemed a strange lot in our ponchos boots and backpacks.

Pilgrims on the road typically keep a straight line, some bent forward, focussed and determined, others upright and casual. Before us on the trail today we could see black dots doing that delicate sideways-diagonal, tippy toed, hop skip and jump required to navigate mud and puddles.

One more coffee stop (with cheese and egg puff balls – at Villamayor del Rio) and a few more kilometers on got us out of rain and we stopped for brunch of mortadella, cheese and boiled egg on corner thins on park picnic table just out side of Belorado. This last little town had lots of really nice murals and a very pretty old town.

Spirits bouyed by the lifting weather and with most of the work done, we punched the last 4km in good time and got to Tosantos at about 1pm.

The albergue here is over four hundred years old and runs on donation. Florian, or ‘Flo’ a large, warm and welcoming German fellow gave us the low down in deep calming baritones; at 6:30pm we prepare dinner together, at 8pm we eat, after that we do a meditation and read out letters from pilgrims then we clear and clean the dinner things.

It was delightful but I’ll fill you in tomorrow as its lights out.