Foncebadón

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Staying in a communal municipal albergue is always a test for me. It's not the bodies I guess? Although it might be going from a personal solo peregination to a cluster of egos fighting to be the head boy and head girl in a pursuit I have very much outgrown.

Back to solo. Predawn and it's the birds, dog walkers and a couple of peregrinos I let go ahead: I dislike the repetition of the noise of walking sticks on the trail: it's a clock ticking reminding me of an order in chaos.

Being amongst people, crowds, after the sweet solace of solitude opens up a compendium of tricks to spice up my fragile mind. Thankfully I've no one behind and just two,  equally spaced, peregrinos ahead as I pick herbs with their sweet bouquet to return me to the tranquility.

After the wonderful lunch stop, an hour for vegetable soup, pigs cheeks and natural yogurt (1/4l vino Blanco, and most of the cracked flasks water I helped myself to on the same route past the church on the hill, I walked up into the mist and drizzle which was hiding the albergue donativo (Domus Dei), lentil soup, a warm welcome from hospitalero Adriano (looming like an old testament prophet at the portal into the warm cave) and a lovely glass of Ribera del Duero... I am replenished and in the left items there is a steel water container and now I am complete; perhaps a pair of thongs yesterday would do the job of not having to wear only boots, socks or bare feet?

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