The Town I forgot the name of.

Starting on Sunday with one hundred percent in my head. Infact my eyes were dilated when usually they've been bleary. Churros and coffee and too many young boys drunk and possibly unable to pay attention. Attention span of a gnat. I just want to relax and consider I've three more days until this is over. Actually I've not had this kind of experience ever on Camino. The last experience like this was coming back through Leeds City Station. It's eight on a Saturday. Are we all the same in Europe and the world? It's probably true. The grocer makes money from us always. The rich get richer and the poor pickle their livers.

Yesterday they fed me here with a large plate of various pork products and I can't escape Jamón, salchichón, lomo. Then I retired to the calor gas fire and tranquility in the haze induced by fine fine Sidra, sin sulphate.

***

The wind and rain blowing forcefully against me: direct and at my head, brought me sagging into a town without an Albergue. Yet not all was lost! It is Sunday/Domingo and the hardworking priest/padre showed me towards a room in a Sunday School place. However, as I've no sleeping roll I quarmed at only having a bleak table for company - and so close to Christmas. There was a well placed amigo who spoke perfect English and now suddenly I've a double mattress on the floor. Only two days away from "Christmas" I think I've just made it through an awful few days still mentally intact, minus the afternoon's Rioja... Feliz Navidad...and I do believe my experience of "Christmas" is exactly what I set out to find: it found me.