Distance: a breezy 20.6 km

Blister Count: New ones pop up! I’m up to 14!! Wheeeeeeee! (but that’s the total – only about 4 or so where not popped or dried – though some of the popped ones were still causing pain – seem to be avoiding infection though, so there’s that). Very friendly pilgrim lanced and threaded them for me, all nice and clean-like.

Injury inventory: pain. all over. But it wasn’t so sunny so the sun allergy wasn’t a problem. Sweet.

So. Santo Domingo. From what I’ve read this is what I can gather: he was your typical 11th century dude, wanted to join a monastery, right? Well, they all kept telling him he wasn’t smart enough. (Wasn’t smart enough? baffling) So he decided to dedicate himself to holy work on his own, working to keep the pilgrimage roads in good shape, helping pilgrims, founding hostels and hospitals for them, and attending the sick. He basically built the town himself, clearing forest and paving roads. I think I read çsomewhere that in the end, they did let him into some nçmonastic order or something.

Two of his most famous miracles include keeping a man alive while hanging from a noose for a month or so (though, really, mightn’t he have just wanted to die at that point?) and bringing two cooked chickens back to life. (Weird story – no time to tell it here). In memory of the chicken thing, they actually keep chickens in the church – there’s a built-in coop. But because the lack of sunlight messes with their natural rhythms they rotate them, and the spares were kept in a coop in the backyard of our albergue (which is associated with a brotherhood of the saint) where they crowed all the time and generally disturbed our natural rhythms.

The italians cooked obscene amounts of pasta. WE ate too late, in teh dark outside, cuz it took so long to get to use the kitchen. We drank wine and watched falling stars (in Spain, the August meteor showers are called San Lorenzo’s tears, spiffy) and teetered, again, off to bed.

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