Belorado

The road reroutes away from the highway as you approach Granon. A few of us take the path that leads away from town and double back. Finally find an open bar. The woman makes us sandwiches, coffee and then gives us olives and magdalenas. It's Agnes and I and I can't remember which of the men, don't think it's Peter. We talk with her for a while then head out toward Belorado. As Agnes and I are crossing the border into Castilla-Leon, I realize that I left all of my socks (minus the ones on my feet) on the radiator in Santo Domingo. I shan't go back to get them.

I end up staying at the first albergue on the outskirts of Belorado. I am joined by Peter, the Swiss man that I think walked across France so far (and ditched his sleeping bag at some point to cut back on weight/bulk) and the Irish journalist from Belfast that is moving to the Middle East after this trip. We all walk into town to try to find dinner, but end up eating at the albergue. My food is edible because it's just fried eggs with jamon, which is fresh. Their food is awful, especially the bird, chicken? I don't know. Burnt and inedible. They don't want to pay the full price because we are barely able to eat any of it. I think it's 9 euro for the menu, which is typical, but hit and miss on quality. I can't say I blame them, because they had to pay for food that they didn't really eat, and while I can understand why we are being served leftovers, and lord only knows how old they are, because it's slow season, it's a Sunday, there is no cook working (it's heated up in a microwave, except mine) maybe there could be a simpler menu that could be fresh? I don't know. They asked to see the owner who comes out and the translation is pretty bad, my spanish is rudimentary, but I might be the one that understands english/spanish the best. It gets heated, and I get up and just pay, since I ate all of my food, and the girl looks like she might cry, though perhaps I'm projecting. I don't know how it ends up.

The boys go out, presumably to meet girls, though on a Sunday night not sure how that goes. They come back early and the door is still unlocked. I'm awake, and I hear the Irish man offer the Swiss man his sleeping bag. The latter declines, but such a nice thing to do.