The book says today is the hardest day. 40km and mostly uphill. The only option other than to sucks it up is to stay in an albergue (barracks) run by a British organization pretentiously called "The Confraternity of St. James" (CSJ). My (British) guidebook urges people not to walk the 40km stage but rather to "spend a pleasant afternoon drinking tea and conversing with the English hosts". The decision was a no-brainer. The 40km only took 9.5 hours.
Last night at dinner, Rick and Jeroen were laughing at me because I refused to submit myself to the CSJ. The funny part was that in the town I'm in now the only place to stay other than the dungeon of an old monestary is a hotel with a consensus Tripadvisor rating of 1 out of 5.
Not only was the walk not so bad, but the hotel isn't either!
The truck wash I stayed at last night might have had a quirky charm if it didn't smell like a concentrate of Eau de Stale Ashtray. And if the faucet in the sink worked. But you know what? It was so stinky and bad that I was out of there at 7:30 this am - and the place I'm at now with the low ratings feels like a Paradore.
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