I left later, at 0615, because some locals were up carousing during, and into most of the night. They stopped me from sleeping. I need my recovery sleep. I guess if you live in a small town in the middle of nowhere with limited prospects, amusement is limited to drinking and having sex with close relatives. Sounded like this was their way. It also explained some of the unusual physical appearances (can’t just be the water, can it…?).
Sunrise was again delightful though less striking than prior days.
I bumped into the Italian contingent first thing, just as sun rose. They’d marched onto Tosantos to spend the night in the Albergue that was built into the mountain…only to find it was closed. Bummer. You could feel their disappointment. These are decent people looking to savor the full experience and were sorely let down by a failure in information-sharing. I still don’t know their names but there are four of them, one female, three males. The gentleman whose phone I found is a policeman in the Abruzzo region and has to be back by 10th August so he wont go the whole way. The others I don’t know. They’re a happy bunch, enjoying each others’ company and the more spiritual aspects of the Camino. I am a different animal. Shallow, vacuous, opinionated, vulgar, critical, hypocritical and contradictory. Yes, just remember that I CHOSE to be an American, instead of being born into it by quirk of biology or a Grateful Dead Concert!
I walked the leg from Espinosa del Camino to just past Ermita Valdefuente with Isabel from Madrid.
Isabel and I have bumped into each other and chatted over the past couple of days. Another passing face. “Walking” with her is an understatement. Isabel is less than half my size, has a pack that weighs about a third (I picked up with my pinkie), she runs 10k before work each day and she moves like an Ibex with the strength and grace of a Springbok. It’s humbling.
Isabel’s a high-end tour guide (careful there with the loose thinking…) in Madrid catering to corporates with dough to blow. After her daily constitutional 10k, she dons high heels and an “office suit” and proceeds to walk her clients around Madrid, the Prado, Segovia or wherever she is instructed for the day. She started this 23 years ago. At that time you needed a degree in tourism, humanities or law to undertake the profession. Thereafter, you needed to pass separate exams about the history of each autonomous region, set by each autonomous region. There are seventeen regions. Thereafter, places like the Prado required you to sit a separate exam before you could lead tours within their hallowed walls, but first, you had to have the other exams. She works for the Ritz Carleton, Westin, Four Seasons etc, all high-end establishments. It also sounds like she is to modern (free) tour-guiding as the London Black Cab is to Uber…. a dying breed rendered obsolete as regulatory hurdles are bypassed by technology. Sad. She’s clearly proud, passionate and encyclopedic in her knowledge.
During our “walk”, I got a detailed lesson on Franco and the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939), why civil wars are more pernicious than wars with external enemies, why it takes two generations to adjust to the collateral and cultural damage of a civil war, and finally a discourse on why it’s impossible to vote in the Spanish electoral system as it stands (she didn’t know that the Aussies fine you A$100 for not voting. Ha! Gotcha!). Oh, and corruption is part of Spanish life and on a certain level, defensible. I was barely able to catch my breath and nod coherently; she was just limbering up. Force of nature. Reminds me of my friend, Arancha. Two peas in a pod.
San Juan de Ortega was to be my destination, but there is nothing there but a monastery and Albergue.
The books don’t exactly make that clear. I got there at 1115. The Albergue opened at 1300. There was a cafe but the owner began closing umbrellas just as the sun was getting really strong. There was some wind but my sense was he wanted rid of his clientele. Say no more. I decamped the extra 3.6km to Agés where there were four Albergues and a greater chance of a pulse. Greater indeed, but not much.
I chose Albergue El Pajar because it was most way through the town (an extra half dozen steps). 
The South Koreans had already invaded and seemed to occupy Habitacion #1. I was allocated bed 20 in Habitacion #2.
I’ve noticed a lot of Koreans on the Camino (I’m assuming from the South as they’re friendly….but….maybe….. that’s what they want us to believe). This may be an unkind generalization but……they’re all the same. They are all really dorky (maybe they think the same about us – pallid, pudgy, bad teeth, bad breath, bad skin etc). Same big, black, elliptical (thick) specs. Every inch of skin covered by Spandex. Floppy hats, disproportionately large versus circumference of skull. Big, thick, steak-like calves on short, stocky legs. They sing, tunelessly (is this Gangnam, I don’t know?). None have paid attention to any orthodontic advice. Always on the phone (AT FULL VOLUME) and they seemingly carry the phone in one hand and a spare battery in the other. Now, let’s be clear: there is NOTHING wrong with this. I am just observing differences and trying to understand the shallowness/depth of the underlying gene-pool. It’s a bit like living in the Carolinas, returning to live ANYWHERE ELSE and realizing you’ve been released from the twilight zone (been there, done that). BTW, I love bipimbop, kimchi and Soju. Seoul rocks (who can explain the proliferation of “barber shops”, open into the wee hours….?). Embrace the differences.
Tomorrow should take me to Burgos, one of the larger cities, and one of the launch-points for shorter Camino excursions. Thereafter on Monday and Tuesday, I’m thinking of truncating a three day hike into two days so I can create extra time in Finisterre (at the end). The distances and topography are favorable. We’ll see..
In the meantime, Lord Dampnut has outed Reince Priebus (what responsible parent would name a kid thus…?) and replaced him with John Kelly, a man with pronounceable name. The “Mooch” (“I love the President….he’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.” – my loud retching sounds followed by involuntary loss of bladder control…) was apparently cock-blocked by Mr Priebus, and didn’t like it and now has his revenge. Brussels is suing Poland (wait for the WW2 reparations counter-suit a la Greece…?). Australia may vote on becoming a Republic. I need another Manzanilla.
Manaña.