Chuck's News: Day 6 - Tuesday, September 3, 2019 - Ledigos to Sahagun - Pig Ear Stew - 9.44 miles - Total Miles to Date

Each evening, Sally reads through our guide book and devines which albergue appears to be the best in the town we are headed to. Our source doesn’t do much of a “review” per say, but little hints in the writing give us some info to guess around. While usually devoid of adjectives, sometimes the author throws in a “lovely” or “spotlessly clean” or “rumored to be good”. With those hints, and the price stated, we pick our night’s lodging. Tonight’s place carried a bit more significance in that we are “slack packing”. Some enterprising entrepreneurs realized that of the 400,000 people now doing this annually, there might be a significant number that would pay a modest fee to have someone drive their backpack to the next town rather than carrying it. It turns out, Sally and I are in that number. For 5 euro, a driver will pick up your pack at your albergue and drop it at the next one you will stay at. You simply leave it in the lobby or reception room with a fee envelope attached stating your destination, phone number, name and email and like magic, it is at your destination. Sally learned of this service and saw it as a cure for the pain I had been trying to massage out of her neck. The costs is 5 euro. Before we could pack this morning, we needed to find out if this service was available here. I checked downstairs and was told we could participate. I grabbed an envelope. This meant all Sally’s stuff could be stuffed into my pack. Her pack I would wear during our walk, carrying our lunch, water, first aid kit, passports and such. Packing finished, we lugged my pack to the lobby and set it down, bought a muffin for breakfast and headed out into the blustery dark.

The wind was blowing strongly (maybe 20mph), as it was yesterday and the temperature was about 48º. For the second time since landing in Spain, I had my fleece on. Sally had been bemoaning the size and weight of her fleece coat, wondering why we had brought it and considered leaving it in one of our rooms. I had actively dissuaded her. She also was deriding me for carrying my 6oz down coat, telling me I would never need it. With the cold weather I didn’t say I told you so too much, but I did remind her of her ribbing me.

The morning was breathtakingly beautiful as we walked through farmland, past cow barns and harvested fields. The sun turned the eastern horizon a brilliant orange half an hour before it spoiled it by bursting into view.

Today, we passed through three little towns on our way to Sahagun. At the first we stopped for a Coke. On our way there, we met JoAnn from Poland and her boyfriend from the Chezk Republic, both sweet as can be. They were interested in the PCT, so they got a firehose worth of information from me, yet they absorbed it all and asked for more.

While sipping our Cokes (no Pepsi to be found) we saw Jim and Sara of Wisconsin pass by. We caught up with them in the next town, sipping brown, caffinated liquid as well, although theirs was hot. We chatted a bit, then headed out again.

The trail took us up a rolling hill through more fields. Sally and I were talking and researching on the web as we walked, confident we were on the right road headed in the right direction. I had just had Sally take my picture in front of a Camino sign, walked 250 yards and then checked my GPS. Yikes!! It showed us about 1/2 mile off the trail. Not to panic. From our position on the hillside, barren of all vegetation, I could see the location of the GPS determined trail below us and on my map I could see an easy route to it without backtracking. I think my GPS route must be out of date, because signs marking the “way” lead us down to the GPS route.

Jim and Sara caught up with us about this time, they too on the “alternate” route and we walked together to the designated halfway point of the Camino, just east of Sahagun.

From there it was about a mile into town and to the other side where we were staying, a Benedictine Convent called Albergue de la Santa Cruz. We picked it because we were hoping for a private room on the cheap and it was described in the guide book as having “Good Reports”. I think Sally was hoping for something akin to Nannatus House on “Call the Midwife”, a series on Netflix. I am always up for saving a few bucks on lodging and a new experience. I got what I was looking for. I think Sally’s vision fell short.

We arrived a few minutes early and sat outside across the street in the shade waiting for it to open. When it did, Sally and I entered. We were treated to the same experience we got at Saint Marie two nights ago. We were offered chocolates, then were seated and interviewed as our passports were registered in the guest book and instructions were given. We were shown to a room just off the glassed in cloister (frosted glass so we could not see inside). The room had two cots and a private toilet. Perfect for our needs. Left to ourselves, we closed the door and flopped out on the beds. My pack had not arrived yet, but was expected shortly. It was after 1:00pm and time for lunch. When my pack arrived it was delivered to our room.

We headed back through town to lunch at a restaurant recommended by our guide book. We were looking for some authentic Spanish food. We found it.

The restaurant was very busy with the late lunch crowd, yet we were seated quickly. Most prices on the menu were more than I wanted to spend, but their lunch menu was only 12 euro and had a good selection, or what looked like a good selection; we couldn’t read it.

In Spain, as in other European countries, meals are served with a first plate, a second plate and a desert. There were 3 choices for the first plate. We both quickly selected the “Ensalada” entre, knowing it was a salad. For the second plate there were about 10 choices, but the waiter was in a hurry to get to other diners and was rushing us. He quickly pointed to the items saying “pork, chicken, beef, pork, chicken, beef . . .” as he moved down the menu. We had had chicken and beef already, so we picked the first pork item on the menu.

The salad was great! We were hoping for a green salad (verde), but it was potato, olives, peppers, corn and such. With plate one complete, we were onto plate two. Set in front of us was a bowl (bowl? for pork?) of greasy looking thick clearish, greasy, gravy with chunks of greasy, fat laden meat clinging to what looked like white, perfectly flat 1.5”x1.5” pieces of pasta. How do they get the meat to cling to the pasta? Yet, it doesn’t look like pasta. Oh well, dig in.

Sally took one bite and said no way. Too fatty, and tasted terrible. I was not thrilled with the grease or the taste, but hey, when in Spain . . . so I ate. Well, I picked and ate. After chewing a few of the unidentifiable white things which tasted no diffferent from the rest of the slop, I started cutting the greasy meat off the white stuff and eating it. After eating a 1/3 of the bowl I had had enough. This was greasy pork with a capital G. I sopped up some of the gravy with my bread and ate a little more, then piled the dishes and bowl in the middle of the table. The waiter came by, stooped to pick up the dishes, noticed how little of the stew had been consumed and said, “You didn’t like?” “Not for me,” I said. He took away the plates on his way to get our desert, a piece of cake. Now I had the time to break out Google Translate and see what it was I had been eating. “Oreja Guisada”. I typed it in. “Pig Ear Stew”. The white sheets weren’t pasta, they were cartilage. And those pointy pieces of flesh. Tips of ears. Just as when Sally got doused by the sprinklers yesterday she laughed and laughed. So did I.

Lunch finished, we returned to do a load of laundry. I slept while Sally loaded the machine, then she slept until the load was done and we both hung it outside in the old cloister. Jobs done, we toured town, first to the museum for the Camino, then to the Plaza Mayor, the main town square of the city. Here we joined a German man eating his dinner at an outside cafe. Gotfried was quick to laugh and fun to share a few minutes with while he ate and Sally drank a coke.

It was now time for the event we had been anticipating all day, the communal dinner in the convent. Two nights ago it had been a hoot. 40-50 people outdoors laughing and eating. We did not expect the same this time. Would it be like dinner at Nannatus house? From the characters we had seen in the convent (all men and one woman) I expected more of a “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” experience.

Dinner was in the convent dining room. Only 5 pilgrims were in attendance, accompanied by 6 clergy persons, including the priest and priests in training. We started with the expected prayer and then had a good meal of cold potato stew(?), assorted meats, breads and cheese, finished with our donated watermelon and ice cream. It was subdued, a little awkward and more Cockoo’s Nest than Nannatus House. It finished with the priest giving a speech in Spanish in 8 segments, translated by the guy who registered us in the morning. The only thing I can figure out is the priest felt he had to establish he was in charge because he gave us the same instructions we had received in the morning.

Anyway, the meal broke up about 9:00pm and we were off to sleep. My bed was so saggy that I took the mattress off the bedframe and put it on the floor. This was much better. The sag was gone. We had walked all through town today instead of resting properly, so we were both beat. Tomorrow is only 10.4 miles. Not a big day, but the temp is supposed to reach 84º, so we will want an early start so we can be done walking before noon. We were both asleep by 9:30pm.

Sahagún in the background