When evening comes, it’s playtime – or so Spanish kids on summer break would say. My accommodation was right in the heart of the village, which sounds idyllic, but in practice means loud laughter, yelling, and the feeling of sleeping in the middle of a carnival.
My first siesta of the day wasn’t even planned – I fell asleep on the floor while doing foot cryotherapy. I was out for two hours. Then came the slow transition to phase two: a gentle migration to the bed, where I marinated my body through another siesta. I woke up in a sweaty mess. Apparently, these hostels are slowly preparing me for menopause. A bright future, truly. I hope it arrives as late as possible.
What followed was shower therapy, laundry, and stomach refuelling – the holy Camino trinity. Thanks to the heat, everything in this place “smelled” in its own special way. I knew I was in for another sweaty battle tonight, but I wasn’t prepared for the bonus: a kids’ rave party right outside the hostel until 4 a.m. We’re not talking teenagers – I mean a crew under the age of 12. Bravo, little rascals, you’re truly living your childhood.
I wasn’t happy – a few swear words slipped out. But honestly, when else should they party if not at night, when it’s finally bearable outside? The plan for the next day was 31 km, which meant my alarm didn’t need to start torturing me until six. The irony? The kids kept me up until four, and peace finally reigned two hours before I had to get up.
The heat had plans of its own too: it said “you won’t sleep” – and I didn’t. Tossing and turning, I kept wondering how people ever lived here without fans or AC. Probably they didn’t. They just… existed.
A little before six, I dragged myself upright and set off. For the first time, I skipped the N-630 road and chose a gravel path. Proud moment – not my usual comfort zone behaviour. Two police officers in a car accompanied me out of the village and wished me a safe journey. A lovely start to the day – almost a cinematic Camino intro.
The best part of Camino mornings is those early hours when the sun still isn’t sure if it wants to go full diva. That shy golden glow that makes you feel like you’re in a coffee commercial.
Then came the day titled Expect the Unexpected. The gravel path took me through open fields – no shade, but views to die for. Along the way, I encountered two dead snakes (RIP) and one dead sheep (RIP x2). The snakes didn’t faze me – probably run over. The sheep, though, nearly broke me – but today wasn’t a forensic kind of day. Camino-style CSI wasn’t on the schedule.
Why do dead animals freak me out more than live ones? No idea. Maybe it’s the smell. Maybe it’s the not knowing how long they’ve been there. Or maybe it’s because you can’t ask a dead animal what the hell happened.
Later I had a mini party with some Duracell bunnies bouncing around like they were performing a “jump, jump, jump around” routine. Lovely company. But then… cows. Everyone who’s been following me for a while knows: cows are my Camino bosses. Once again, they were blocking the path. When I saw them, I froze – as always. I made it very clear: I come in peace and I am vegan. Meanwhile, meatballs from yesterday were simmering in my backpack. Ironic? A bit. If they sniffed me, I’d say they were for my starving friend a stage behind me.
The wilderness lasted 10 km. I knew: if the sun caught me here, I was done. So I dashed forward like I was being chased by a bull – well, almost. Once I survived it, I crossed a few bridges by the lake, and it hit me again: this is it. The views that make it all worthwhile. Wow, right up until the last five kilometres.
It was only 11 a.m., but the sun was already baring its teeth over the landscape. And for the finale? My destination decided to be on a damn hill. Of course! Why wouldn’t we throw in one last climb? And no red carpet to greet me – just a bloody foot massage from gravel. In my head I sang: do, re, mi, fuck you – to the Camino, the sun, everything.
At last, I arrived and treated myself to a well-earned beer. This is why I love villages: bar, shop, and bed – all within 100 metres. First stop – the shop for food and ice, because I knew I wouldn’t be moving again later. The shop closes at 2 p.m. and doesn’t reopen until 7. By then, I’d be chewing on my own insoles from hunger.
Today’s path? Pure poetry. 31 kilometres of nothingness – just landscape, me, and silence. Balm for the soul.
I walked 32.17 km and climbed 323 metres.
Am I tired? No. The foot’s not suffering anymore. Just a bit swollen – and I count that as a major win.