Nowhere to be

For the first day in a very long time, there is nowhere we have to get and nothing we have to see. Stepping out of the elevator, there is a glorious spread of fresh fruit, pastries, coffee, juices, and all the yogurts you could ever eat and still leave some for other guests (Irish guy who bogarted all the yogurts in Reliegos, I’m talking to you).

We spend most of the day just wandering the streets of the old city, popping into shops here and there for souvenirs to bring back home.

There is also an excellent museum here dedicated to this history of the camino and it is interesting to learn some interesting facets of the journey we just completed that give it some additional perspective. For as difficult as we found it, a definite tip of the hat to those brave enough to attempt it in the days before there were even bridges across the rivers (what did those folks do on days they felt like carminoing?).

For dinner we end up at a tapas joint. The waiter does a double take when Nick rattles off our order and then includes a side of patatas bravas. The chicken fingers Joey wanted comes with potatoes he says, but we wave him off, confident we know what we are doing.

Five plates of potatoes later (since EVERY dish comes with them) it is now a test of will. But these are battled-hardened boys and, after a month of Spanish tortillas, a few lowly tubers aren’t near enough to break them.

They don’t have much left after that and head back to the hotel with mild cases of starch poisoning while Angela (off the trail she no loner goes by her trail name) and I stick around for a concert playing in the plaza next to the cathedral.

Tomorrow is our last full day in Spain and we’ve rented a car to take the boys out to Finisterre. There’s a part of me that wishes we had the time to hike it but I’m not sure I’d find many takers even if we did.