Day 31 - 29 or 30 or 31 Kilometres

Depending on which source you consult.

Hontanas to Boadillo Del Camino.

In a fit of brilliant marketing, the owners of the Boadillo Albergue left cards with photos of their Albergue at the Albergue in Hontnas. They showed a manicured garden with a pool and low-slung buildings all nestled at the foot of the church. A pool. This makes good incentive for much walking.

And walk we did. The Meseta is Spain´s answer to the high plains. It is all wind and wide open space with stunted trees and many, MANY thistles. Blooming very prettily, but ready with sharp spines to snag the legs of unwary pilgrims. At one point the wind was picking up so much dust that we had to cover our noses and mounths with our bandanas. Even so, our eyes, ears, skin, and teeth all felt coated with a fine layer of grit. That pool was sounding better and better.

We arrived at shortly before one o´clock at a tumbledown stone wall with a cracked wooden gate. Surely this couldn´t be the place. Then we stepped through that tumbledown gate. OASIS. After a day of dust and scrub, the lush grass, brilliant pool, roses, and friendly yellow buildings looked like heaven. This wasn´t an albergue, this was a pilgrim resort. The Hostelier showed us to our rooms, took our pilgrim passports, and bid us "Relax, shower, hang out in the pool - you can pay later", whereupon he went back to his bartender duties. Did I mention that this albergue had a bar too? Here we were, pilgrims on the camino, sipping cold beer and eating ice cream poolside in the middle of Spain. Even Cz had to admit that maybe this pilgrimmage thing might not be so bad.

As a topper for the spa day, we had leftover gazpacho, bread, and chorizo and a few pints of San Miguel beer along with the Irish lads who we kept pace with to get to the resort. As we were heading to our beds, a Swiss pilgrim stopped us at the door, told us to sit down, and said that we couldn´t pass unless we sang our national anthem (he had already accosted someone who is Irish, thus the lads were safe). I do not sing, so poor Cz had to do a rendition of the Star Spangled Banner. I think he hit 3 notes correctly. Apparently voices carry very well because the Irish lads (who had gone in about 10 minutes ahead of us) sat up on their beds, recognized Cz´s voice, and wondered what he must have drinking/smoking and why didn´t he share.