Carrion de los Condes to Moratinos

I got away pre-7am and was so smug about it, but somehow today took forever! I walk quickly when I'm walking, especially here where it's so flat you can churn out 11 minute kilometres with no hassle, but in the heat I'm finding my breaks come more frequently and take longer. That's fine, who cares? Not me. It is nice to finish before the sun gets overhead though - by 3pm it's in your face, the temp is as high as it'll get all day, and it all gets a bit harder.

Admittedly I had an ambitious target today, hoping to get to a town on paper 32km away (but I'm finding its always more). At 3.50pm I'd done 31km and was in the town '2.5km' from where I'd hoped to be and called it. I don't think anything good happens after 4pm on the trail. That's a rumour I just made up and I'm sticking to it.

In the 17km stretch without a town or a bend that started the day, I was chaperoned along by a lot of insects and birds. Some of the birds didn't bother to tuck their legs in on the short flights along the path and they looked really stupid, I hope they knew that.

Tonight when I have internet I'm going to google how bees move laterally so quickly because it honestly absorbed me for about 10 minutes at a rest stop. Have you ever watched them? They are LIGHTNING and I don't understand how because they aren't pushing off from anything and their wings are so small. Maybe Eva knows.

Every rest stop at a bar is a chance to check in with the herd and swap updates - who's going where, who's up ahead. Everyone seems to be in contact with each other, and while I've been given numbers and feel some pang of exclusion whenever texting is brought up, I don't regret not getting a sim card. I like being completely adrift most of the day, until I connect to wifi in the albergue. Dave has my Instagram, I assume he'll tell me anything critical - he made me aware that in Fromista a cat came into the albergue and slept on someone's bed and I've never in my life been more jealous.

At the first rest stop of the day I met the Australian tour group the Beatles told me about, more specifically their guides, one of which they were particularly sour on. They had described this guy to me as an absolute knob, strutting around as a saviour but useless in the moment. So I was curious to put a face to the dickhead. Two of the Beatles have a medical background. Ian was the operational manager of a hospital in England during Covid and retired early two years ago due to burn out - attributing his recovery to a year of therapy.

Apparently, ages ago one of the women on the tour fainted from exhaustion, and this tour guide handled the situation by kneeling next to her, loudly announcing she needed to eat, and trying to fork meatballs into her unresponsive mouth. As Ian and Steve spat over dinner as they regaled the story, "give her a fucking coke you idiot". So that was fun to meet him. He did think he was God's gift. To be fair, if I got to do this and get paid I probably would too.

Circling back, I was going to push on but it was hot, my arm was getting sunburned, and it was late in the day. I saw an albergue festooned with Italian flags and figured if I can a) do it all in Italian and b) eat well tonight, then its worth the stop. I also don't want to get to Sahagun too early tomorrow, as they dole out a Meseta certificate but the office only opens at 9.30am.

It's the first time I've been charged for those stupid disposable sheets (€2) so I'll be critiquing dinner carefully. She told me you eat well here so WOE BETIDE HER LITTLE ITALIAN BUM if we don't. It's carbonara and some other stuff. I'll let you know.Read more