Albergue San Esteban

October 5

Arriving in Castrojeriz is not enough.  We have to walk practically out of town to reach the albergue.  We arrive just behind Trisha, an Australian we've seen for the past couple days (and who, it turns out, Jerri actually knows--their kids attended school together in Ann Arbor) .  The hostelier is not present, but another pilgrim tells us he is just below in the plaza.

When more pilgrims begin to crowd the reception area, Trisha offers to go fetch him.  More people have straggled in by the time Trisha returns with the news that she did not find the hostelier.   However, she did find a woman who works at the albergue and was told that we should choose beds and she would sort us out later.  I choose two mattresses on the floor (rather than upper bunks) and stay to guard our spots until Jerri has signed us in.  It is unfortunate that there is no way to keep track of the order in which people have arrived.  A girl who did not speak English should have had a bed.  Trisha and Jerri could not get her to understand about claiming a bed; all the English speakers beat her to them.

After we complete what has become a routine--shower, wash and hang clothes, lay out items for the next day--I check on my blisters.  Suffice it to say that finding the farmacia is a priority.  Right after food.

In the bar where we have dinner, the owner sees the stamps I've collected during the day on the page I'm writing on in my journal.  He exclaims that his sello es mejor (his stamp is better).  He brings it over and proudly stamps our credencials and journals.  His wife hands us each a homemade cookie on our way out.

At the farmacia, I ask for paper tape, second skin, and hand the pharmacist the box label Michelle had given me.  He gives me iodine instead, says it's better.  Jerri says they basically serve the same purpose, so I have no objection.

While returning from the farmacia, we see this pilgrim monument.

 

Back at the albergue, where supposedly there is WiFi access in the plaza just outside our entrance, I try to send some posts to the blog.  There is indeed access--I receive and send email--but my posts fail to publish. Frustrated, I give up on it for the day.

Before bed, I prepare my feet the way Michelle showed me.  Jerri piles our pillows and blankets at the bottom of my mattress so I can prop my feet up to help with the swelling.

I'm worried about tomorrow--according to the guide book, a steep climb awaits us in the morning.  Will my feet be capable?  They've gotten me this far, but that left heel is looking especially ugly.