Foncebadón
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...