Being smug

I shook the dust of Fromista off my feet and headed off on the short – c13 miles – walk to Carrion de Los Condes. I decided that I rather liked Fromista. It wasn’t just the church. There were storks flying around in the evening and a mad band turned for no apparent reason last night providing entertainment to the army of locals who were in the hotel bar until long after I fell asleep. I know this because when I briefly woke up at 2am the party was still going strong.

Party Town

The walk to Carrion had some pretty good sights. There was the Templar church of Santa Maria at Villalcazar de Sirga which had an amazing rose window. What caught my eye on the way there though was this pub, which was clearly designed for hobbits and dwarves only. I could hear the drunken singing of “oro, oro, oro” as I passed….

Spain’s smallest bar

Today I also got my first glimpse of the Senda, the dirt tracks that run alongside roads where it is deemed a bit dangerous to let the pilgrims trudge on the tarmac. It’s a bit soulless and I did a detour which added 2k to today’s journey just to avoid some Senda time.

“La Senda”

Carrion is an interesting place. I got there as the Sunday market was in full flood, with lots of regional produce for sale. Mostly booze, cheese and dead pig but pretty good all the same.

Sunday Market in Carrion

The princes of Carrion were married to the daughters of El Cid. Apparently they thought it was okay to mistreat the ladies by beating them. That’s bad form; and when father-in-law is one of Christendom’s most effective and probably psychotic killers, also a bit shortsighted. Anyway I’m staying in the monastery below where the princes of Carrion, whose line came to an abrupt and very bloody end, are apparently buried. The bits of them that they could find anyway.

Hotel San Zoilo

This is my first stay in a properly upmarket hotel. There I was, in full cowboy regalia, at reception as elegantly dressed Spaniards arrived for their Sunday lunch. I think the receptionist was keen to get rid of me despoiling the ambience and filled in my registration card as below. I might have looked scruffy – but Irish? That’s taking the mick.

Umm, what country is that?

So what is all this to do with looking smug? Well, there is a substantial percentage of the pilgrim host who leave their hostels at about 6am; walk a few miles to the next town; queue for the albergue of choice to open; grab the best bunk; and then spend the rest of the day looking smug at any passing pilgrim. They are basically checked in with nothing to do from midday onwards. What they do is sit in some bar next to the Camino. Always with half a glass of beer in front of them. I reckon that they must order half a glass of beer and then not touch it because their glasses always have that leisurely “man, you going much further? Glad I started nice and early today and only walked half-a-mile” air about them.

Anyway, for the first time in 12 days I have also stopped by 3pm and will just chill out for the rest of the day. I must go and find a bar that sells half-glasses of beer.

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