My cousin Rupert's snoring has actually been pretty good - i.e. bearable, rather than useful for scaring away imaginary monsters. We spent most of today walking with Kurt, with Kim and the boys somewhat ahead of us. We've been walking to roughly the same schedule as a group of sixth firm students from Washington DC. Kurt and I have been doing our best to encourage poor Jonas and Connor to get stuck into them, but alas the three year age difference seems insurmountable when you're a teenager. Or maybe girls from Washington DC don't have quite the cachet when you're from Tampa or Austin.
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| Connor striding out |
Rupert has been doing really well to keep up with us, given that he's been away from Spain for a month. He's actually promised to return to walk with a guy he knows, who sounds like a total nightmare - this chap is insisting on walking in early September (very hot!) and doesn't seem to have the flexibility needed to be an enjoyable walking partner. He's been regaling us with stories from the training walks he's done with the guy, who's pack weighed in excess of 20kg - GPS manual (in five different languages) included.
Tonight we're at Foncebadón, which is just below the summit of the Camino - around 1450 metres high. As we finished the climb up to the village Rupert and I could feel our heads suffering from the height, with a gentle throbbing that only eased after a couple of beers and the excellent pilgrims' menu. Fears of bedbugs in the albergue seem mercifully ill-founded.
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| The view from the bar in Foncebadón |
