The next town with accommodations was beyond our comfortable walking distance. We rolled over and slept through the storm, then got ready to meet the taxi we had reserved to take us ahead to the too distant town at 8:30. The driver wanted coffee when he arrived. Love this chilled out way of life.
We joined him in having a cafe con leche, donned our mandatory in transportation masks, and watched the 15 miles slip by in minutes on wheels instead of hours on foot.
Fromista was still not very awake when we arrived. We had wanted to visit a church-turned-museum that we admired when there in 2011. It wasn’t open yet. So, we headed out on the trail.
We are beyond the rolling hills and have descended to lower, dryer elevations. More of the wheat has been harvested making the fields brown instead of green. Vegetables have been planted where wheat was. They are poking up their heads, but we can’t identify them. Some look like potatoes, which is surely wrong given the summer hot weather.
We had a nice chat with a Korean pilgrim we met on a bench where we all rested and a British one who took a photo for us and vice versa.
Six miles later, we arrived at our sort-of upscale hotel on a farm (fly-filled, of course) in the middle of absolutely now where. What could be better!
Now we are sitting in the garden, drinking a beer, and watching our clothes dry on the line. We are enjoying the folks who also didn’t carry swim suits in their backpacks but decided to swim in the pool in their underwear. It is about 90 degrees. If it gets hotter, or the beer runs out, we may join the other swimmers. It got hotter.