I am in the tiny and somewhat abandoned village of Foncabaden. A tied up goat groans as you walk up the main (only) street.
We are 1400m above sea level and it’s cold enough for a merino wool base layer.
I left Astorga at 7.30am and all day the sky looked menacing. Here is the difference between UK and Spain. If it looks like it’s going to rain in the UK, it will. Not so in Spain.
I walked around 27km today and would have pushed on further, had the next village not been so far.
The albergue where I am staying has a bit of a weird vibe about it. The view from the decking is amazing, but the owner does n’t exactly make you feel at home.
Her mother sits in the corner, watching your every move. She is like a female version of the Breaking Bad character Hector “Tio” Salamanca. She has no bell though.
The only restaurant in town ran out of food at 7pm, so the ‘shop’ was the provider of this evening’s meal. Bread, cheese and a bad tomato was my dinner.
Time for bed.
Feet: Fine. Shoes might need taping soon.
Food: See above.
Feeling: Watched.