Looking in my journal, I notice I wrote little on this day, probably because I was too tired. I remember walking part of the time on an old Roman road. It was rather hard on the feet but it gave me goosebumps thinking about the centuries of pilgrims that had walked on those very same stones.
I stopped in a little town called Lovea and soaked my feet in the icy cold water of the fountain in a children’s play area. It felt wonderful. I slowly ate my picnic lunch of cheese and chorizo sausage on bread, a bandywine tomato and a plum. Then I forced myself to go on, in spite of my strong desire to lay down in the grass and have a siesta.
I arrived in Estalla quite early in the afternoon. Once again it was fairly tight quarters at the albergue; this time nine bunks were wedged into one room. At this point though I was grateful just to have a bed, and I laid down and managed to have a short snooze.
This was the first albergue I had stayed where the fee for a night’s acommodation was by donation. Dinner and breakfast were also provided, again by donation. The man running the albergue whipped up a simple but very tasty risotto for dinner, along with a salad. I ate, helped clean up, and then I was in bed and out like a light in a matter of seconds. Thank God last night’s snorers were nowhere to be found.