Skip to the next picture if you don’t want to read about me bitching about Spanish plumbing.

This being Spain pluming is still evolving, or the people just don’t care, actually I think the people care  its the plumbers who dont give a shit. The Italians too are awful with plumbing, they manufacture beautiful fittings but the state of the plumbing in-country is shocking. What they really need is some Polish, Czech or Slovak plumbers.

The Russians and every eastern European country have great plumbing (oh how am I inviting comments here, I suspect Brad in Moscow will have something to say), typically a shower in these countries involves copious amounts of hot water at pressure from a fixed shower above you.

Getting back on course, the building having been recently constructed by Spanish builders, the original plumbing was cheap and nasty. Nothing is ever done here with a view to maintenance, if you need to fix a pipe in Spain you must completely remove the kitchen and rebuild three walls, two of them in the neighbors bedroom. I know, you think I exaggerate, so go on buy some Spanish property and weep.

As they had no decent tools to clear the blockage (chimpanzees have long mastered the use of a sharp stick), neither chemical or pressure based, they resorted to sealing the end of the pipe and fitting a proper connection to the machine. I was relieved that I left before this was tested as the original work was is so badly done, the pressure will burst a pipe or joint, the washing machine will explode, flood everyone below and require the whole row of apartments to be rebuilt – this last comment may be exaggeration, may be.

In amongst all this you can imagine the  amount of discussion, hand waving, cigarette smoking and beer that was drunk this morning and poor Pilar was continuously mopping the floors around these guys.

How the southern Europeans ever got out of the primordial slime Ill never know, I am a great admirer of the Romans, their technology; roads, aqueducts, cement, sewers etc. In the face of the modern southern European approach,in my eyes at least is even more of an achievement.

Anyway, getting away from all of this was difficult and I only began to pack at 14:00. Pilar was supposed to return around 17:00 to clean the place and I waited until 18:00, but she didn’t appear and I was forced to leave. It is only 30 something km to Muxia but its uphill down dale and was 21:30 before I arrived. Its a truly beautiful part of the world here, but I didn’t stop much to enjoy, just got on with the cycling.

MUXIABy the time I arrived at the Refugio, everyone else was in bed and I had yet to shower and eat, so there was much walking on tip toes, thankfully there were not too many ring-tones, so when those with religious walking fever left from 5am on, my earplugs and I blissfully slept through until 9am.

I had been invited the evening before to dinner but was uncertain if I would stay more than on night, but after a tour of the town decided that at least another night was in order. Accommodation particularly cheap options are not that abundant as Muxia is no where near as touristy as Fisterra and I searched for quite some time until Begonia asked me if I was looking for a room. I had passed her sign earlier with the intention of returning.

She escorted me to the house, installed me in a garden facing room and charged me 20e. I did my best to get the price down but she was having none of it. Its her home, they are a particularly calm family and go to bed early so it was ideal. I found that many of the locals in Muxia were quiet and calm in the face of the boisterous, ebullient Spanish. All the other guests were of a similar disposition and I could not have been happier. When I to return to Muxia I would stay with Begonia again, she is great though after a couple of days it does get tiring with her cleaning up after you each time you shower, wash your face, fill your water bottle etc. The garden is great too, but  she cant leave you alone to enjoy it and is always fussing around you which is a pity.

I went in search of the Pilgrims I had met the night before to join them for dinner, however the directions that the Korean girl Hye Jeong had given me were not that great and I had given up and was deciding what to do next when Hye Jeong, Min and Anika appeared.

As you can see, the exterior is rather unassuming and the interior could not be better if it had been dressed for a 1970’s play.

I sadly don’t have any pictures of Hye Jeong, I did take one with her and Anika but as I have bemoaned before my Canon snaps camera is gone and my LX1 just isn’t that great indoors.

The owner spoke German rather well so our conversations were a confusing mix of German and me trying to get her to speak Spanish so everyone could try and understand. I cant begin to describe how beautiful a soul this woman has; warm, welcoming, loving, generous and with a gentle but wicked sense of humour.

She would ask me in German how to say for example “work” in Korean, I would ask Min, he would not understand, Anika would translate and then the response would follow a similar return path. She would practice the word a couple of times, Min would approve and then she would hand him the table coverings & cutlery and say “work”!

Her daughter was of a similar nature, in a younger prettier package. Thankfully she was always escorted by a handsome young man when she was working in the bar which kept me out of jail.

The food is tremendous, its not the fancy lobster and crab that’s available on the main drag, but everything is very tasty. I had a chipirones stew that was supposed to be a soup and then at the owners encouragement the breaded chicken breast. Everything was succulent and tasty, so I returned my second night and had her version of Merluza – hake.

It was truly fabulous, utterly utterly wonderful and without compare. The Merluza Galego in Fisterra was good but this IS Ambrosia. I had tried and dismissed the table wine and had instead an excellent Ribera as my Nectar. Part of the reason I stayed a third night was to eat here again.

If you visit Muxia you MUST eat at La Sirena, accept the womans recommendations, ignore the guy who works behind the bar, he is a bit of an arse but harmless.

I went for a walk to the end of the Camino,to visit Santuario da Virxe da Barca where  some of the Holy stones that were part of a stone boat that the Virgin sailed, is there no end to the Gullibility of the religious?

This is one of the “Holy Stones”, you can see buss-loads of the devout crawling beneath this for some indeterminable reason. It took a reasonable amount of patience to get this shot without someone religious zealot crawling beneath it.

My last day was a Fiesta of which May seems to have many in Spain. Today was a special day for Galicia and this group were walking around town playing the same tune over and over and over and over and over and over again. Begonia was perplexed as to why I wasn’t that exited to follow them.

Every time a look at this picture haystacks and farmers daughters come to mind, I’ve no idea why.

The people here build into the coast, this church could not be any closer to the sea.

On my way to the church, I saw some fishermen and some Dolphins reaping the bounty of the sea, it was a wonderful sight that my camera equipment is just not capable of capturing, even with a fancy Nikon, I would have probably have needed a helicopter  to get truly good shots.

On the fourth day I tried again for a 15e concession from Begonia but it wasn’t happening so I packed and headed for Negreria. I think she was surprised I called her bluff.

In my last post I talk about the weather changing from one day to the next, well today at the coast I just didn’t notice just how intense the sun was,  but heading inland and climbing the hills of Galicia towards Negreria the sun was merciless.I drank all four liters of water, stopped and drank two fruit juices and despite wearing factor 30 was brown and “well done” by the time I arrived.

[View with PicLens]

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Im not conscious of ever having noticed such a marked change from one day to the next, but today the day after the clocks changed, there has been a noticeable change to the ambient temperature.

So I went for a swim from Playa Langisteria. I spent a while getting used to the water temperature and I cant say that the water was warm, but it was crystal clear and full of life.

Just out from the beach are many groups of rocks, the children row boats out to them to explore the rock pools, the fishermen catch various fish from very close to shore, then there are all the shellfish that all these rocks facilitate. There are groups of small boats fishing the area every second high tide.

The guy who impressed me the most I spotted on the other side of the harbour. I was standing above the rocks at the fortress, he swam around the headland from nowhere really. The swells are very powerful but he continued to fish and then with impeccable timing, he made a dash for the rocks. I next saw him, flippers and harpoon in hand. His belt festooned with fish, octopus  and cuttlefish. There was some mechanism or system that held them in place around the small of his back. Ive only been slightly interested in diving, but if I could learn to fish like this guy…..

The Dolphin has returned, I don’t know why or from whence, I just know that there is a Dolphin that appears in the harbour and is game for various antics. I’m not certain how good the crowd are for the Dolphin as its body is badly marked, I cant tell if its just been unfortunate or its the result of playing with humans and a paddle.

My camera is not very fast, so action shots of the Dolphin ended up being, well that’s where its was, these are the best I managed.

I had really to restrain myself for not jumping in, after all they are large powerful mammals with big teeth, but I still had a near overwhelming urge to dive in.

Fisterra Harbour and the active fishing fleet.

I headed into town for some dinner tonight, Ive been buy less and less food in an attempt to get my arse on its way. So I had nothing but Calamares on my mind as I headed towards my preferred eating place.

Calamares as you have NEVER tasted them before

There was an air in the town, I heard procesión mentioned a few times during the day so had my camera with me just in case. Some houses, probably of the devoted had these banners hanging from balconies.

Holy people live here

I had my dinner and headed back home, only to meet Santiagp, the lad from Brazil who I was sharing the flat with. So we had a beer while waiting for the festivities to begin.

Expectant crowd

I had already found a choice spot and when we saw things starting I headed to my viewpoint. Sadly as I have mentioned my wonderful IXUS 800 IS camera died at the hands of  ”le Idiot de Gers” and I’m relying on my Panasonic LX1, which isn’t exactly at its best in low light conditions.

But I managed some shots that considering the situation I can live with.

The shot of the girl in the white robes clutching the black cross to her chest is unsettling, though not as unsettling as meeting people in the deep south wearing the same gear..

[View with PicLens]

Lighthouse, Fisterra, Playa Langosteria

Rounding the last corner the harbour and town of Finisterre and Playa Langosteira came into view. There was a moment of unreality, recognition and it almost felt like a dream. Then my eye began to notice the changes. Im all for change and certainly not a fan of stupor and stagnation, but the developers had been. I suppose it was unrealistic of me to expect this quiet corner of Galicia to go unnoticed by the greedy developer types.

When I was last here in 2002 I rented a house directly on the beach and had the intention of doing so again, but the building has gone. There are a number of new developments, awful touristy, soulless places devoid of life, sanitation, people and style. You can see the architect was shown images of beautiful unique villas and then told to design these but in blocks, equal amounts architecture, lithium and Prozac. I was not surprised to learn they had been illegally built.

Swallowing my shock at this, I followed the stone path that runs behind the sand dunes of Playa Langosteria to town. After some discussion I eventually decided to stay at the Refugio as it seemed calm enough, however this was to prove a questionable decision.

There was a bloke from Munich there, Boris. Im not certain but I think his parents were from Slovenia. A sensitive big lad, looked like the main character in District 9. We chatted for some time as I was busy washing my clothes which was more time consuming as I liked as the dryer kept blowing the a fuse, probably a physical manifestation of my Climate Conscious, anyway, he and I eventually went for something to eat.

He had been finding eating in Spain difficult as he is a vegetarian and prefers Bio/ Ecologically sound food. As he had found a place that suited him earlier I agreed to go there, but it was awful. A noisy bar with cramped tables serving burgers, grease and nicotine in equal measure. After a while I suggested we go somewhere else and I promised him it would not cost more than 10e. He had not discovered the Menu option in Spain, which usually give you a selection of 2/3 starters, 2/3 main courses, dessert, water /wine / coffee for 10-14e.

Merluza Galego, Steamed hake and potatoes

It was the first proper meal he had had the whole time he was in Spain and he began to relax. I had the excellent chipirones and Galician hake. He was overwhelmed by his steamed cod & boiled potatoes which is quite understandable considering some of the shit he had been eating and we sat there discussing his woes. A sad collection of stories of a sensitive man who is just slightly out of phase with where he needs to be. It seemed everything back in Munich wasn’t well and the Camino had just been hard work. Yet, he was desperate to get back to Bio shop and garden.

We talked for hours and eventually headed back to the Refugio around 1am. Sadly we were the first to return and people began to return from 2am on. Hushed conversations, tripping over bags, phones beeping as alarms are set, SMSs received etc etc. The typical Spanish Pilgrim effect, one guy was leaving for the early bus and he had only been in bed an hour before his alarm went off the first time. The third time it went off, I took his phone, he understood from my gesticulations where the phone was heading and he left the room. This experience is indicative of the Refugios, cheap places to stay, but its typically the Spanish who spoil it for everyone else. If you stay in one that has but one dormitory, expect to get little sleep, even if the lights out time is strictly controlled.

The next morning, Boris and I went for brunch while he waited on his bus and as I left to organise accommodation for the night, he very surprisingly gave me a hug. I wasn’t expecting it, especially not from someone who had grown up in Germany, I hope he gets himself back on track.

Lighthouse, no really its there with strong white beams of light

For my second night I moved to a house, it was at 15e a little expensive but very quiet. The availability of cheaper accommodation was a good deterrent and meant I spent most of my nights there alone. There was a German who appeared and we had breakfast together, he was a Judge I forget from where and we had an interesting discussion for a few hours that morning. However I returned that evening to discover he had drunk half a bottle of my wine, which didnt go down well with me.

Artefact from bronze age pilgrim

You can imagine the conversation, Did you like the wine, “yes”. I don’t remember offering you any, “Oh I didn’t realise it was yours!”, What despite you asking if any of the food was communal this morning? “Oh Ill give you the money” – I dont want your money, I expected your respect you prick.

He stayed a few nights more but I didnt see him and he didnt replace the wine. What else would you expect from a Judge other than the prerequisites of fraud and sexual deviancy?

On my third night I headed to the light house and burnt my notebooks and other suff. As this isnt the end of my journey I wasnt going to burn any of my clothing, though there are two t-shirts that are getting old.

The final Camino marker, The distance reads 0km

I was disappointed with my fire at the lighthouse, so a couple of nights later headed to Mar de Fora, a wild rarley visited beach. Ive been known to swim in some heavy surf, but I wouldnt venture out here, it really is wild, the waves are very powerull, its often very windy and much of the beach is quicksand. Once pace forward and your leg disappears to the knee, one pace back your on firm sand.

Mar de Fora on a calm day

Anyway, I build this fire/ warning beacon but no drug smugglers appeared, it seems they use Playa Langosteria..

Carbon Neutral Camino

It was a warm blustery night and I was certain the weather would soon change, so I spent the evening with a bottle of wine and a cigar. It was 2am when I eventually got back, despite having thought of spending the night on the beach my weather nose had said it would rain and man it did.

If only Id brought some potatoes

After a week or so I moved to the flat owned by the people at the iNet cafe, its only 10e a night per room and a little out of town, has a view of my much loved Playa Langosteira and have been here since. I shared for a while with a fine young lad form Brazil, he was here selling tourist tat, beads, bracelets and the like, despite a common language we got on well.

Navarrete

I was rather disappointed to find the Refugio was closed as I had hoped to sleep on a bed this time around but I did find El Cantaro which is a flat with the living room filled with bunk beds @10e and the bedrooms @18. Its a good place let down by the lack of  a cooker but its a small point. I do feel a little sorry for the owner who is very easy going as the workmanship in the flat is shocking.

Tiered after a long days cycle and a short nights sleep for my birthday I decided to spend a second night. I didn’t do much just enjoyed the town, cafe and the scenery. There is supposed to be a famous Virgin here though I must cast doubt on this as judging by the dress and attitude of the girls I met things have changed in Spain since I was last here.

During my day off an American arrived, “yes this is my fifth Camino blah, blah”. I didn’t bother talking to him much as phrases like  “don’t you have any imagination”? were marching with rather determined strides towards my lips and it just wasn’t worth the hassle.

I spent the next night in Redecilla Del Camino at the wonderful yet unheated Refugio in Pilar’s care, which was very welcome after a tough day on the road.

The following day was even worse, I counted an average of 400 articulated vehicles in less than one hour in one direction so by the time I reached Ages I was utterly exhausted psychologically and decided to leave the famously awful  approach to Burgos for the morning.  I had a great evening in Ages, the people are wonderful and introduced me to Orange Wine.

The next morning I could not face the road again so took a detour that eventually joined the main road, however by this point there was a track beside the road leading all the way into Burgos.

I really don’t like Burgos, this is the second time I have had a bad feeling, poor welcome and felt uncomfortable in the city.

Yet I had approaching with an open mind I parked outside the Tourist Information/ Cathedral went in to find somewhere safe to leave my bike. The attitude of the girl at Tourist information was appalling. I have rarley had such a poor reception and ignoring her “burnt breakfast” styled attitude, I asked if I could leave my bike inside next to the rucksack space, so I could visit the Cathedral.

The look she gave me would have been appropriate had I asked if she found that short exposure to her face often turned milk  -which is what I was thinking. Unsurprisingly her answer was negative and she really could not deal with me asking why “it wasn’t possible”, if she had just decided on her own “it wasn’t possible”. I  asked this in reasonable neutral tones, but could see from the expression on her colleagues face that I was getting  nowhere and so thanked her for my warm helpful welcome to Burgos.

Outside the woman who had been begging when I arrived was being hassled by the cops and as I stood there taking a drink deciding how I would proceed they decided to hassle me too. Starting the conversation off with “Is there a problem?” I suppose answering with “Well that depends on why you are here and why you start from that view point” wasn’t the best move, but sour milk girl had me started. They were reasonable enough and I frankly told them what I thought of my reception in Burgos to which they just shrugged their shoulders and went inside.

I gave the woman the 5e that was the entry fee for the Cathedral and left, I don’t care how fake the picture of her family was, I would much rather she had the money than the city of Burgos.

Looking at the map, Fromista was well withing daylight distance and I headed out of the city with that destination in mind. There was a bit of wind as I headed west and a few tricky junctions but I still made reasonable progress, it was when I turned south that my pace slowed. Each kilometer passed slowly and at 16:00 I realised I would not make Fromista and headed for Castrojeriz. Paco the hospaterio here is a scream, we had a couple of beers together and I had a fabulous meal. The next day the wind was just punishing and by the time I reached Carrion De Los Condes I had had enough, sadly by the time I realised Espiritu Santo was run by Nuns it was too late and I was being shown my bed.

Things went well and I met a young lad “Tom” from Manchester also on a bike, we and two Spaniards had dinner together. He and I stayed for one “Orujo con hierbas” and were paying the bill when I turned around to find this short, red faced woman staring at me with her hands on her hips.

My jovial “Buenas tardes Senjora” didnt really go well and she told us in certain terms that the door is locked at 22:00 and we should have returned 20min ago. So we were both sheepishly huckled from the bar, much to the amusement of the locals. Tom and I were hard pressed to constrain our amusement at being dragged from a bar by a Nun and it was with great relief that we burst into tears of laughter in the toilets when we arrived back.

Another day of fierce headwinds followed and I spent a couple of nights in Shagun waiting for the wind to pass.

The cycle down to Pamplona was a breeze and the Camino from Zuriain is brilliant for the bike. They have laid a broad concrete swathe along the side of the river and although this may destroy the knees and hips of the pedestrians its great for the bike. Pamplona too is a very bike friendly city and I followed a bike route all the way through the town. It was lunch time while I was there and everything was closed so I decided to forgo my shopping trip until Logroño.

Heading out of the town I wasted a lot of time around Cizur Menor trying to find a survivable route that wasn’t the A12 motorway. I eventually gave up and followed the Camino from Cizur Minor. It was a little rough but nothing I couldn’t handle, even the 16%/ 18% climbs on rough stone track just outside of Zariquiegui didn’t phase me, it wasn’t till another kilometre passed that the problems started. It was already 16:30 but I wasn’t feeling any pressure in making Punte La Renia before dark. What I didn’t count on was the mud, I think there is a story about a war or at least battles being lost because of mud  Waterloo, Okinawa being two that come to mind.

The worst part was three kilometres in length,  which took me four hours. The first hour I pushed the bike, cleaning the mud from the brakes and mud flaps as it jammed, but as this was ever few steps it was pointless as I spent more time freeing the wheels than moving. Then as night began to fall I realised that I was not getting anywhere, so I removed my panniers and first carried the bike, then the rear bags, then the front bags so I ended up covering the distance five times. As time went on my stages grew shorter and shorter.,I didn’t expect to meet anyone but still didn’t want to be too far from each of my caches.

The Refugio in Ponte La Renia  was long closed by the time I first crested the hill at 21:00.

Cleaning the brakes as best I could and fitting all my panniers, I headed down the other side in blind hope that there would not be the same mud there.

Luckily there wasn’t, though this particular descent is adventurous during the day,at night it was quite exciting, a mixture of off-piste skiing, speedway racing and downhill scree riding – in the dark. The bike took it all in its stride and I eventually made it to a farm road, turned left and stopped cartoon like abruptly. I was hub deep in more mud, this more liquid than the last clay/ stone mixture, so I was pushing uphill again.

There is a point where you are going fast enough that you dont get bogged down and I did my best to maintain this velocity. Eventually cresting the hill before the next town the surface improved enough for me to try cycling. Sadly the  mud that coated the chain was full  of small stones which very quickly forced the chain off the rear sprocket, luckily I could free wheel into Uterga and soon had tarmac under my wheels again but the bike was in serious need of attention.

There were two Alberges in my guide but both were closed, so I found a street light,cleaned my chain as best I could and tried to rejoin it, but for some reason it wasn’t wanting to play fair. After twenty frustrating minutes I headed back up into Uterga and asked a young lad where I could sleep.

He led me to an open room with a bunk bed, shower and loo – there was even a heater. I though I was in heaven. There was no chance to clean the bike at this hour so I headed upto the bar I had passed earlier. This turned out to be a Private club, but as long as there was someone else there I could stay, so I had a beer (well earned I though) a packet of crisps, a packet of nuts and some sugary crap, this was to be dinner.

I watched the news, dried out and had a couple of glasses of wine. I was just about to head for a shower when Jesus offered me a couple of Prawns fried in Olive oil and Garlic. I was gratefully adding a couple to a saucer when the rest of the group decided to invite me to dinner, which I accepted with about as much surprise as delight. One bloke who was quite a character spoke some English and I had various chats with various members of the group in very bad Spanish mixed with French and some translations from the character.

Jesus (far left) is a mechanic, there is a song, book or play in those four words and I forget about the rest. I liked him the most, no bullshit and fun.

It was quite some contrast to be eating with these people only an hour or so after having been in a situation that took all  my determination to resolve. I was happy with the prawns but they forced some fish stew on me and no matter what I did I could not have a smaller portion. It wasn’t bad, but the spi5rits of the fish swam around my stomach until morning.

My alarm first went off at 08:30 I refilled my water bottle and went back to bed. The bed was just warm enough to make me want to stay and the bike such a problem that I didn’t get out of bed till 10:30. I spent the next three hours cleaning the bike, anxious not to get water in my hub seals and stumped as to how I would get the mud from between the brakes.

These pictures are far from the bike in its worst condition, the wheels are just free enough to move. This is how I descended the hill without any chain. I finally left at 13:30 having stewed the chain in olive oil and re-adjusting the bottom bracket as for some illogical reason the chain was shorter and no matter what I did, I could not close the clasp. Jesus the mechanic joined me for a while, but after 10min in the rain he left.

The bike ran well and it was only 20min before I was in Punte La Renia. I seriously thought about spending the night at the Refugio, the idea of the log fire a great attraction, but there was a large group of Spanish weekender’s who arrived just before me and I left them to it. The Spanish are great but they talk a lot and very loudly, this coupled with the Camino fervour would have ruined the log fire experience for me and anyway it wasn’t a good days cycle.

I was cold when I arrived in Estella, I had recognised not one bit of the route as its has changed a lot in the last years and I was on the road not the Camino as I had been in summer. I stopped at the first junction in town, I have a good spacial memory and remember much of the places I have already been so its easy to find the Refugio, I did consider whether I would go to the parochial place instead and by all accounts it is a better stay but in the end I went to the place I knew and despite its considerable drawbacks (no elephant, no jungle, no joke) I enjoyed my stay.

I didn’t sleep much last night and I didn’t eat all day so when I found the open supermarket I went to town. The oyster mushrooms were outstanding quality and I had a whole packet fried with challots, garlic, excellent but cheap Jambon and enough olive oil to float the Titanic. It was not only a huge meal but an excellent one however after not eating all day the challots had me farting embarrassingly large quantities of gas all night – I suspect to the distress of my room mates, though nobody said anything, on reflection perhaps they couldn’t as they were too busy gasping for air.

These guys appear to be leaving a trail of crumbs that for some mysterious reason an articulated lorry is following.

Bed by 22:00 was ok, I listened to an Artimis foul audio book until I slept, or dozed. I didn’t have a good nights sleep at all and by 06:40 after being awake for an hour I decided to get up. The reggae at 7am was too much, thankfully it was Bob Marley but still 7am and at volume. It felt to me as I was in a daze and leaving a party at 4am, nearly sober and with the clarity of thought that comes when you know you are relying on yourself to get your arse home.

The Hungarians were up first, a nice couple, we three had breakfast together while the Spainsh weekender’s got themselves out of bed. There was one big guy amongst them who I felt sorry for, he had been limping around all evening, overweight, out of shape and in pain with every step.

I’ve no idea what has made the news outside of Spain, but the weather here has been Biblical. The flooding in Tenerife, the snow and the winds are unheard of. I’ve been lucky, resting days that I’ve thought its been too rough and making dashes when its been lighter.

One wheel in Spain, one in France, just entering the clouds and last place I took a shot today.

Being in Saint Jean Pied De Port had lulled me into a false sense of security as the weather there is particularly mild, this and not having been on the bike for two weeks, just getting over the Grippe and crossing the Pyrenees are a mixture of circumstances that bring me to my current grumpy state, actually not making my destination and spending 50e on a cold, noisy, crappy room was the final straw.

The weather was thankfully not as cold as it could have been, there were a couple of places where snow was lying and a short area of extremely bad ice that the Spanish should salt, it truly is a death trap. I suppose with the lack of Spanish drivers, it puts the road on equal footing with all the others in Spain.

As I was pushing, yes PUSHING my bike up a French section of these mountains I stopped and had a chat with this fellow. He was quite understanding, we got on well and he too was looking forward to May when the weather should improve.

I passed a youth hostel in Aldudes and really should have spent the night as I was already tiered, but was eager to make some progress and pushed a little too hard not realising just how much more there was to go.

I said I intended staying in Zubiri but it was dark by the time I reached Eugi so I thought Id have a look for a room here as I didn’t want to be on a Spanish road after dark. Actually, I hadn’t seen a single car until I arrived in Eugi which was more than lucky as I was all over the road avoiding snow, black ice and the visibility was atrocious as I was in a cloud for three hours and both my corrective lenses and glasses were both misted up/ dripping wet. Now as darkness fell there was a constant stream of lorries carrying logs down to a mill somewhere at the foot of the mountain and I had no desire to share the road with them especially in the dark. At some point later I will elaborate on Spanish driving lets suffice to say for now that I prefer the roads of southern India.

Getting the woman to actually do something about the heating was nearly too much effort and with my ingratiating smile on automatic I tried to remember that I’m in Spain now and repeating yourself is just part of the scene.

After my now familiar defrost/ wash I had some fish soup that was good this was followed by microwaved chicken breast in packet cheese sauce that wasn’t. With my remaining energy I looked everywhere for a vegetable, mineral or nutrient really I did, but they were missing.

Its very pretty here, had I not been cold and soaked through I would have been Oh-ing and Ah-ing about how pretty it is, but Spain in the winter is just cold, wet and miserable well it was the last time I crossed Castilla y Lyon and Extremadura in November. I don’t know about you, but have you spotted the recurrent theme here?

The heating finally came on and all my clothes were dry by the morning, just in time for another soaking as I left. Ive been looking for the “P” in insistent, when all the while persistent was the adjective I was looking for.