iPhone post from Burgos

We slept last night in Burgos in a hotel from which I can see a corner of the splendid cathedral. Yesterday was a long day: up before dawn because of yet another blessed snorer. Otherwise the albergue was delightful, attached to a hotel it served wonderful hot tasty food on its pilgrim menu. My favourite dish so far lentils and chorizo soup. Mostly you get hake and chips – fries really- I am learning to differentiate I am eating so many. And lots of white bread. Oh and half a bottle of vino tinto thrown in. 
I didn’t intend to write about food and sleep but they are two of our main preoccupations. 
Walking into Burgos yesterday we were pretty much exhausted 38/40k in very hot sun and sketchy food. The last 10k took us past the airport up a long dusty track during which we listened to Van Morrisson and picked up the otherwise flagging pace. After that we sheltered behind a container and swigged some water and scoffed some almonds. Then the long march into Burgos along the river bank. It was the most scenic and shady route, the alternatives looked grim, but it was long. 
My inclination is to just go for it but that does turn the whole thing into a route march as Helen remarked. Her phrase is ‘Dig deep’ which is useful and we had to. 
After a small eternity of walking past gushing streams and being overtaken by wizened joggers, we accosted three little spanish ladies and asked them to look at our map and tell us which bridge we were on. To our dismay they turned back a page! But not long now they reassured us, maybe two kilometres? Mmm. Kind but not true. 
Eventually we began to see portentous stone buildings and some lovely simple street art and sculpture. We knew we were nearly there. Over a stone bridge, through a magnificent arch (I am running out of superlatives) and wow the cathedral … Even better, sorry to be shallow, our hotel. 
I love the walking. I love getting up and seeing the sunrise over the mountains behind us. Our packs are feeling lighter. ( Everything is metaphor on the Camino).The distances are getting longer and we are getting dustier. Our clothes need a washing machine, not a rub through in a sink. 
Entering the city we were tired and smelly and grubby looking. We passed clean normal people which we of course are. Usually. It was embarrassing. 
This is our choice. At any point we could pull the plug and come home. But along the way you see people who have no choice. Lets face it every day we see them. They may well be obsessed with food and sleep and keeping their small number of possessions safe. Almost certainly they would not choose go unwashed. 
Many many people old and young smile at us and wish us a Buen Camino. It is so heartening that small moment of connection. And if nothing else in my shy self conscious English way, I might try to emulate that.

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