The village of Hontanas, where I stayed last night, is a village of only 40 residents. It exists now only for the camino. As a result, there is only Mass on a Saturday evening, no Mass during the week. So, I asked after the woman with the keys to the church and was immediately taken next door and organised for Mass at 6pm. The Italian ladies ho were staying in the hostel were delighted and we organised a mixed language Mass.
Wandering around town a bit later, I was pointed in the direction of an ancient fountain and pond where the women-folk, once upon a time, used to do their washing and collect water. Here, we soaked our feet for about 45 minutes. What an absolute treat!
The mass at 6pm was lovely. I offered it for the intentions of all those back home following me along. It was a lovely mix of Italian and Spanish. I felt sorry for the two French women there, as I did not have anything in French on me.
After Mass, I went to a local bar/restaurant and ate a meal with a young swedish fellow called Max, who had been at Granon with me. We had a wonderful meal and chat afterwards.
The night was not the most peaceful night that I have ever had. The toilet door was the squeekiest toilet door I have ever heard in my life. At 4.30am, every person in the hostel, and I think every other person in the village, decided to use the toilet. It was a succession of squeeks as they went to the bathroom. Not long after 5am, the Italian women decided to prepare for the day. Every zip had to be lowered and raised about three times and every plastic bag had to be lifted up and rustled in my general direction. After about ten minutes of this, the two germans near me got up. After about five more minutes, I thought that was enough and got up. So, I was on the road at 5.45am.
The first five kms or so were a lovely stroll through the country as the light gradually appeared. After 5kms, I came upon the ruins of St Antony, a 14th century pilgrims hostel, Even though it is only ruins, a hostel exists there today. Without electricity or running water, they welcome pilgrims and offer them a candlelit meal under the arches of the old monastery.
Abother 6 or 7 kms later, I came to the lovely town of Castrojeriz. In the shadow of a very large parish church, I had my first brunch. This town would be a great place to stay in the future, with the ruins of a castle watching over the village.
Immediately after leaving the town, I was confronted with a very large uphill. From the bottom, it did not seem that steep. But, with each step I took, it seemed steeper and steeper. About half-way up, there was a pilgrim death marker. It was the same on the way down. My heart was definitely racing with the exertion.
It was 10.5kms from Castrojeriz to the next town. And, there was almost nothing along the way. It was hard going. Nearing the end of this section, I started to feel the burn on the back of my legs and had to stop to apply suncream.
Follwing the next town, there was another 8.5km gap with absolutely nothing in the middle. The last couple of kms were very hard going as my feet were sore and the road was very rocky. I could feel almost every step that I took. None of them were pleasant. The going got harder and harder and harder - and I let loose a few choice words at the sones under my feet.
I was very happy to arrive at my hostel for the night. There is a pool and I will be in there before too long - purely as a recuperative effort.
My feet are killing me. The arch in my left foot is giving me hell. It takes a while each morning to warm up and that is helped by nurofen. I looked so sad and sorry last night that a woman in the town wanted to ge me salt for a salt bath for my feet. I am looking forward to resting them.
Hasat la vista!
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