to Santander
A peaceful slumber. And the food poisoning is past, but so too is el Camino de Santiago for this season - autumn is thoroughly here in northern Spain, with heavy rain this morning and gales yesterday, on Meseta Central.
Coming out from the albergue municipal for a coffee in the corner café where the clientele is only locals. As the hostess gets her day ready, with tortilla on the bar, serving those clustered closer to the televisual quiz (where it looks like three dimwits are playing for pennies: the answer is coloso, a giant of an answer!) and considering my one night in Santander. There were flights last night to Stansted at €14.99, but now it's €120. Probably for the best as the journey from Stansted to Leeds in 2023 is too expensive and, although I love Cambridge, it's been seen too often.
The BlaBlaCar host(€13) picked me up opposite the Iglesia de San Pedro, Frómista, where I was under the porch of a Caja Rural way from the deluge. Now we are an hour away from the airport and we've left the night time behind for daylight and it's cloud cover and scenery. Passing through tunnels beneath the Cantabrian Mountains, which drape across the top of Spain like a crumpled scarf more akin to Wales, Scotland and the Lake District than the arid South, the we approach the top of Spain!
One final night in Spain before back to dog sit and then consider the next time I will be out here...
On the whole, as is always the case, the experience was wholesome: holistic, challenging, crazy, simple, up and down, right and left, straight ahead into the sunset, daunting, repetitive, beautiful, pointless, satisfying. All the emotions of a life well lived on the path.
Climbing up to Alta Santander I walked into a Argentine bar vending local vino, Cantabrian, and eat two proper empanadas. Maybe a third then I find my way onwards?
How can it be more humid, drier and warmer than Frómista: because in autumn the roles are reversed? The Gulf Stream is here and so is the Bay of Biscay; trousers is too much!
Private room in an Airbnb on Calle Argentina: but then to be redirected to a ballerina school. Pure scam! Hilarious. After 15 days hiking I didn't think I could fit into ballet shoes... Now I am in a pension near the harbour, train station and bus terminus: Angeline. I don't think I can move after I was 'drugged' by the fantastic food in the Dominican Republican bar behind the nonexistent Airbnb on Calle Alta.
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