It was hard to stay grumpy though as we reminisced about our dinner experience from the previous night. We had started the day at the gates of heaven, surrounded by nuns at the convent, but we think we may have dined with the devil (perhaps someone is on to us). We had a communal table in the hostel restaurant and were happy to welcome the man who sat down with us. He seemed a bit antisocial, but we carried on as usual - offered him water and passed him food. However, not too long into the meal he began muttering under his breath. He didn't appear to be talking to any of us (or to the television overhead), but occasionally when we looked up, he would glare back. Foster swears he saw him blow smoke from his nose (and he was not smoking). He continued to mutter throughout the meal, and we just said a little prayer that we would not find him in our bunk room after dinner.
Once our fiery friend slunk away, a couple of other pilgrims joined us - one from the US and the other from Ireland. They asked the kids what the most memorable parts of the Camino had been for them so far, and their answer was typical...not the culture, not the food, not the scenery...it was the snoring people in the hostels. This led to a hysterical conversation in which we acknowledged not only the snorers but the "folks who release some gas" (as our Irish friend so politely put it). We talked about how you learn exactly who those people are and recognize them on the trail. When pulling into a new town for the night, it's important to say hello to fellow pilgrims you recognize in the plaza and check up on their walking experience. With the snorers and the gas passers, it is also important to casually ask where they are staying for the night, and, then, make a mental note to stay somewhere else!
So, within 15 minutes I had forgotten about my croissant crisis and was laughing again. And, magically, a cafe appeared with the best coffee I have found so far in Spain. Life was good again. We stopped and enjoyed coffee, tea, and hot chocolate before heading straight for the next town of Sahagun. En route we found field after field of blooming sunflowers (my favorite), and life was doubly good. We paused for lots of photos before continuing on in pursuit of lunch.
Sahagun was a fairly large town with a market big enough for picnic lunch shopping, and we enjoyed a lunch of champions: chocolate sandwiches warmed by the sun. Then, as we exited town on a fairly busy, paved road, we were overrun by hundreds of sheep and their shepherd - a bizarre sight given that fact that we have walked through farmland for days without seeing a herd.
Then, the afternoon hell began. We opted to take a small diversion off the traditional Camino, onto the Calzada Romana, to stay away from the main road. The guidebook describes this path as "the most perfect stretch of Roman road left in Spain today." Apparently Emperor Augustus must have had some servants to fan him as he traveled along this road, because it was far from perfect in my book. I'm not exactly sure what a "Roman road" is, but I think I might live on one in Vermont. It seemed to be a dirt road. Period. The less than perfect part was that it was baking in the sun. No shade, no water, no towns.
When we finally stumbled into Calzadilla de los Hermanillos, we felt roasted to the core. Ice cream at the first bar we spotted helped with that. This evening, however, we are going to need some serious attitude adjustment. Tomorrow begins with 25 km on the beautiful Roman road through an equally deserted stretch of arid wilderness. Our plan is to start at 5:00 a.m. with headlamps and get some distance behind us before the sun rises. I'm wondering if perhaps our fiery friend is leading this pilgrim parade.
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