It wasn't the berries after all

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I was sad to have to say goodbye to my Danish and Kiwi friends the next day, who had apparently had a pretty crazy night at this wine fountain - well at least 2 of them had. But I was still feeling pretty lousy. A Spanish lady noticed I looked pale and offered me a lift to the next town, Los Arcos, in her car. She’d injured her foot on the camino so had an excuse to drive. I graciously accepted. We sat outside a supermarket for about an hour beforehand waiting for it to open, I didn’t mind at all as long as I had a comfortable seat. She didn’t really speak English and I didn’t really speak Spanish, but we still managed to communicate using hand gestures and a few words. It was actually very funny trying to have a conversation with her. She was warm and friendly, and so persistent! All Spanish people are like that, if you don’t speak their language they’ll find another way of telling you what they want to tell you. Probably because they talk so much!

She dropped me outside the refuge in Los Arcos but it hadn’t opened, so I had a nap on the grass outside. I was feeling very weak, I had no food inside me and no energy. Eventually the hospitalero (the name for the manager of the refuge) saw me and let me in early. He gave me my own bed in their infirmary. I showered and slept and waited for my friends. There were 4 beds in the infirmary, 2 of which I saved for Kellie and Ezra. Kellie was stoked to have her own room but when she heard it was a sick room she seemed frightened - germs are a big fear of hers. But she got over it.

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