The Burgos Incident and Other Misfortunes

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There are many ways you can tell that the night before crossed some kind of line in terms of decency. People may glance at you with newfound suspicion. An earthy, vaguely unnatural smell may fill the air. Or, in my case, you may be awoken half an hour after the official check out time by an old Spanish man repeatedly smacking you in the face with a walking stick. If you ever experience this particular reintroduction to real life, you should definitly assume the worst.

I'm not sure exactly which of my or my accomplices crimes warranted such viscious action by this bastard of a Spaniard, but it can't have been good. The night started innocently enough. A simple meal with a few fellow pilgrims oiled with quality red wine. Then a move to another bar for a beer or two, before making it back to the hostal by the 10.30pm deadline (pilgrim hostals have ridiculously stricted rules, but for good reason if you're walking 30km the next day). Then, well, I remember running into the kitchen to accuse total strangers of stealing my iPod, forgiving them for their treachery as I found it in my bag, and discovering a vending dispensing cans of San Miguel for under a Euro. Reckless carnage insued. I have odd memories of scaling a 20ft fence, whilst perversely drunk, in order to acquire more change for the can machine, and being greated by drunken Spaniards on the other side with ale, cigarettes and being spontaneously picked up and flung into the air a few times in an apparent show of solidarity. Photographic evidence surfacing a few days later seems to back up this chain of events, although the quality of the images reflect the state of the people involved.

After scaling back over the fence all mental recollection of the night evaporates, although it's a safe assumption that we made all 200 pilgrims staying in the hostal that night painfully aware of our alcoholic excess. I haven't seen anyone involved in the incident since it took place, so the truth of what actually happenned shall have to remain in the piss-drunk aspect of my unconcious untill the next fiesta takes place.

The bedlam continued into the next day as, freshly chucked onto the streets of Burgos minus most of my belongings, I managed to stagger around 15km in vaguely the right direction before finally passing out again in a town called Hermosillos and waking 10 hours later with a storm of a hangover and tendinitis. The hangover, fortunately, has long gone, but the tendinitis is still going strong 4 days later, to the point where I'm now on anti-inflammatory meds, hobble like a guy four times my age and can only manage 10km a day without collapsing into a heap anywhere with a roof. I've had to take a few days off completely, and the original schedule is utterly wrecked.

A Few Days Later

It's been a few days now since I wrote aboves shameful admissions. I'm currently in Leon, typing this whilst the rest of Team Minion, a group of pilgrims I had breakfast with a few days ago and have been knocking about with ever since, take advantage of laid back Spanish culture and siesta. Christ, I need a nap, but I haven't updated this in a while and need to get word out that I'm still alive. Most of you will be pleased that I haven't been as drunk as the Burgos incident, although tonight marks the summer solstice fiesta, a carnival of fireworks, paella and free ale, so this may be a decent time to plead for donations to the bail fund. I've started walking decent distances over the last few days, without to much pain from the foot, so The Great Stomp On continues in earnest.

Apart from that there isn't to much more to report, so at the request of Team Minion I'll run through the cast of this dubious cross country trek. Lavinya has recently aquired a record deal solely on the style of her hat, and so is soon to be interviewed by various cretins on E4, however her career depends completely on her ability not to lose it over the next few weeks. Joel is currently losing his battle with peanut butter addiction, and has a habit of waking up in hotel rooms smeared with the stuff, with a German Shepherd crying and attempting to phone the police in the corner. Gina appears to have the strange ability of growing blisters that can contain pints of water, and appears to survive on a diet of just ice-cream and red wine and Gustav as the ability of not drinking all day, and will probably be responsible for guiding the other four drunkards around Leon in the early hours of tomorrow morning.

And that pretty much rounds it up. If you have any questions hire me an agent and ask them, an make sure the bail hat gets passed around. Come to think of it, don't bother. At least prison is free.

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Photos

La Meseta
Endless rolling fields..

Tipi's
€5 a night! Boomin!