Feets Do Yo Stuff: Day 18, Moratinos to Calzada de los Hermanillos, June 22

Numbers: 14.71 miles per Garmin GPS as shown here with splits, elevation, etc. Per Fitbit, 37,565 steps, 37 floors, and 306 active minutes.

Dave voice

Yes, you speakers and semi-speakers of Spanish: towns were named after little brothers, in this case, monks, who were Little Brothers of the Carriageway. Not sure if being a little brother is adequate basis for a monastery, but the path we took today – and its travelers - were once the special province of a certain type of monk. (By contrast, we have to ask three times to get clear directions to the mercado, a store only slightly larger than our bathroom in S.D.)

If any of you were thrilled to read about other tiny towns we’ve walked to, get ready for more. Our guide book author, the one who disdains paths too close to the (alleged) freeway, convinced us to take an alternate route today along a road built by the Romans. No kidding: it’s called the "Via Romana" on the local signs and I’d guess it hasn’t been up-graded much since those times. And, unlike the "purpose built" (another of our guide’s favorite pejoratives) freeway, the Roman Road (apparently built just for the hell of it) still passes through unpopulated farm land where the sighting of a tractor five hundred yards away is a photo op.

All this excitement – in gradually increasing temperatures – led us to Hermanillos, the aforementioned tiny town a mere 14.7 miles from Moratinos, the previously aforementioned tiny town. Hermanillos, according to Leo, who runs our hotel with his wife Gemma, is a town which used to have a population of 90, but – and here he draws a finger across his throat – three died last year. On the other hand, in summer when younger members of families come here to visit their elders, the population can swell to 100. We seem to have beat the rush. It’s a place where, if you ask a local where something is, the likelihood is that they’ll walk you there. After all, it isn’t as if they’re busy. Our best example of this is that, after we bought a few things at the aforementioned micro-mercado, the guy closed up for the day. We think it was because he knew his customers and knew who had shopped already and thus was unlikely to come in this day. (We also think that the killing he made on selling us merchandise for 8.68€ probably warranted him closing up shop so he could go tell his buddies about the big score he’d made off the crazy Americans.)

We stay at El Cura (The Cure) a tiny hotel owned by Gemma and Leo…and the bank. They’ve had it for eight years and offer meals and laundry service in addition to eight rooms. We eat an excellent lunch and are the only customers on site at this time though some may have been temporarily bedazzled by the bright lights of Sahagun (population 2,800 but it looked bigger) on the way here. Then there were those who took the soulless senda to another town a few miles away. Does anyone want to hear how I fear for Gemma and Leo? Okay, moving on. The lunch (ensalada mixta, hake, bread, cheese, a bottle of Spanish red and a little bowl of home-made lemon yogurt for desert) was very good and, at the end, Leo came out with a fresh bottle of wine and poured us a couple extra hits. (I really, really want Gemma, who looks a little like Gilda Radner, and Leo – and their three year old daughter - to have a good life.)

No a/c, but screens on the windows to keep (most of) the flies out. No bar soap in the bano, but good water pressure. After a long day on our feet, a good shower’s better than a good meal and we’ve had good showers – though sometimes a little European – almost everywhere.

Injury Report: (SPOILER ALERT: Nothing new to report here.) At least one previously wonky toe seems to be almost – dare I say it? – okay. Can’t jinx it though, so the condom stays on. Pizza foot and tired shoulders by the end of the day, but so what? We’re walkin here!