Astorga to Rabanal

Before I get on to this day, one thing I didn´t get time to mention during limited blog time yesterday was that on the way to Astorga I noticed that there loads of underground houses. I took some photos of what amounted to an entire underground suburb. I will post them when I connect with the necessary technology.

I also got to look at a few other guide books and general consensus is that I walked over 30kms that day. I bloody thought so - a long way on lousy trout soup. John, if you are right and these farmed fish are to be foisted on the third world as a protein source then I can only hope that they find something nicer to do with them. I have enjoyed both myself very much. Anyone got any idea why it is illegal for fish shops in NZ to sell trout. You have to catch your own before you are allowed to eat it. Sounds like someone made up a rule a long time ago and it never got revoked.

Anyway back to Astorga and the walk to Rabanal.
I was in two minds about kicking my heels in Astorga for half a day waiting for the chocolate museum but more particularly the Gaudi building to open. But with no-where to be and nothing open and it not being very great weather I decided to just take a few pics from the outside and press on. Of the places I have been to so far this is one I would have liked just a wee bit more time in. It was a medium sized place with lots of outdoor seating for late afternoon evening plaza behaviour!

Jo asked me if I had time to explore the villages I went to after I got there and the answer is yes. But the full answer is that a great many of them can be fairly fully explored simply walking into them. Then the remaining few buildings take about 10 minutes. To give you some idea, the population in some of them is below 20 and even more below 50. That doesn´t take long!

I got to Rabanal soon after 1pm and it was pretty jolly cold. There were three refugios there but the one I wanted to stay in was described as the best one on the Camino by the guide I had. When I got there I just sat outside in the alcove and ate a bit of my morcilla and sheep cheese and my daily naranja. Soon I was joined by a Polish girl I met in Astorga. She just began the camino there so had just completed her first day walking. We were just chatting about how it had gone for her when a guy reeking of alcohol and other unmentionable things arrived and stood beside me. He said something unintelligible and she responded. After them talking for a while he wandered off. I made the comment that he looked and smelled very bad and I hoped to God I wouldn´t end up in the same dorm as him. Thanks to them both being Polish she was able to tell me that he was actually walking in the opposite direction and had just pooped to the shop before siesta began to buy more wine. She thought he might have been a homeless man. She was also very concerned that he would light on her as someone who spoke his language and was too frightened to stay at that albergue. She went off and he returned. By now it was about quarter to 2 and a stout English matron and her husband arrived to open the albergue. I was able to talk to her without him understanding and then she spoke to him in Spanish and made it clear to him he couldn´t stay.

She let me in the gate and shut and locked it on him.
By the time she opened it at 2pm he was asleep in front of the church opposite, having pissed a big yellow puddle in front of the gate. She hosed and bleached it and called the Camino patrol and shortly thereafter we saw him being moved along.

The albergue was very nice. It is hard to say if it was the nicest because there are so many factors to consider. But big brownie points for making me a pot of best yorkshire tea and two wine biscuits and lighting the log fire!

The place is run by the Confraternity of St James in England and so best of British in all things (except as it turns out, breakfast. Yes bloody jam and bread again!)

I will post pics of this and the previous two albergues to give an idea of the variety of styles and places I come across.

The big event in this village was the monks who chant at 7pm. People from all three albergues gathered in front of the (Locked) church waiting for it to open. After a 10 min teeth chattering time we went to the albergue and asked if it had been cancelled. They didn´t know but suggested we look in the bar because sometimes the monks just don´t show up. The ditsy blond who was deputised to ask came back with this information and was happy to go look in the bar but wondered who to look for. We all agreed that someone wearing brown robes would be ideal.

Another 10 minutes later and we all wondered off for pilgrim dinners having neither heard nor sighted a single of the four monks.

One small consolation - the dessert menu included not just flan and yogurt but, joy of joys, cinnamon rice pudding.