Although I had to wait to register at the refugio in Mansilla de

Las Mulas while the staff cleaned up after last night's pilgrims,

I could tell just by standing in the front room that this was a

well organized refugio. My guidebook tells me that this is one of

the most spacious and best equipped hostels to be found on the pilgrim's

route and it is certainly true. In fact, this refugio is almost

legendary in that it has a washing machine for clothes, a rare

amenity that I have been hearing about for days from other

pilgrims. I went across the street to a bar to have coffee and a

snack while I waited, and Pepe, the old pilgrim who led the

singing at Castrojeriz was there loudly carrying on as usual. The

bar was not very full at 10:30 in the morning and I enjoyed

waiting. When I returned to the refugio they still weren't ready,

but several other pilgrims were there and they finally just gave

in and allowed us to enter and claim our bunks. The hosts insisted

on operating the washing machine which was in heavy demand and I

put my clothes in the queue to be washed despite the fact that it

was raining on and off and seemed unlikely that they would dry

before morning. Still, it is so rare to have the opportunity to

have my laundry done, I couldn't resist. Meanwhile, I walked

around town a bit with Bill, the American professor, and looked at

the wall and two locked churches. Mansilla de las Mulas is well

know for it's walls which were built at the end of the 12th

century, one stretch being more or less in tact. Bill and I

discussed the idea of walking through Leon which is only 13 km

further and going to Villadangos which would add another 20.5 km.

It continued to drizzle on and off as I sat in the courtyard

listening to liturgical chants and talking to Alexandro whom I had

first met in Fromista. Alexandro is an interesting guy who was

traveling with a friend and is a biologist by profession. We

talked for a long while, mostly me asking questions about Spain

and Alexandro very graciously and carefully answering. He pulled

out a map and described the various regions, negative population

trends, and aspects of agricultural and manufacturing production.

He manages a forest in central Spain near Segovia.

Courtyard, Mansilla refugio.

At this point in my pilgrimage, the blisters on my achilles heels

were deep and still refusing to heal. How could they when everyday

they are subjected to more of the same punishment? Anyway, Bill

was having a leg problem and Aitor was kind enough to chaperone us

both to the local clinic and act as our interpreter. At first it

was a little unsettling since the next door to the clinic was a

veterinarian, and I couldn't help wondering if they shared

doctors. The service was very quick and organized with a minimum

of bureaucratic fuss. We waited to see the doctor in a long

hallway, very clean and modern, and not too many people. After

about half an hour it was my turn and we all three went into the

doctor's office where he looked at my heels. His prescription was

to keep it clean and he bandaged it up with thick gauze pads. I

really appreciated the attention, but I knew that the thick

bandages were never going to work inside my boots. Nevertheless,

we thanked him and left. It is a tribute to the Spanish that they

take such good care of the thousands of pilgrims who tramp through

their country every year. Offering free medical support to any

pilgrim is a universally understood and long standing tradition

here, and one which eases the anxiety of many pilgrims as they

face the rigors of el camino.

Aitor, Bill, and I ate dinner together in a fine little restaurant

close to the refugio. I had a noodle soup followed by salmon, both

of which were excellent. We discussed the small statue of Santiago

we had seen in a church that we happened upon just before eating.

I thought that the statue was unusual in that it had a prominent

thigh wound which immediately identified it with the story of

Percival and the Holy Grail.

Upon returning to the refugio, I checked to see how my clothes

were drying, which, of course, was very slowly. I had no doubt

that I would be carrying wet clothes tomorrow. As I was settling

in I happened to mention my blisters to the Norwegian couple who

immediately offered to give me their high tech solution - a new

type of bandage called endoderm, or second skin. This is a very

thin, self-sticking bandage which you apply and simply leave on

the wound until it heals. It was very effective an and made it

much easier for me to walk. Also, it didn't bulk up the way the

gauze bandage the doctor gave me did. I was immensely grateful.

The Norwegians are a delightful retired couple who seem to spend a

fair amount of time traveling and exploring. They are both healthy

and positive and we talked for awhile about pilgrimages in Norway.

Apparently Norwegians like to hike and there are several trails up

into the mountains with shelters provided, but with no religious

or other significance.

I returned to the courtyard where a bunch of pilgrims were sitting

around a table talking, playing guitar, singing, and generally

enjoying themselves. These were mostly Spanish pilgrims and as the

evening wore on, they decided to hold a special Galician ceremony

to ward off evil spirits. It consisted of chanting the "Conjuro

vara la Queimada," and drinking a special potion made up of Ozujo

(from Galicia), orange and lemon rinds, coffee beans, and sugar.

After a few rounds of this potion we were all very sure that we

had beaten back the evil and called up the divine. It was getting

late, however, and someone yelled out of a window for us to

terminate the ceremony. Still, to make sure, we decided to have

one more round of chanting and magic potion. Halfway into it the

Norwegian came down in his undershorts and roundly chastised us

for several minutes, carefully reminding us of the rules (lights

out and quiet by 8:00) and that there was a house full of tired

pilgrims trying to rest for tomorrow's walk. Well, needless to

say, the scolding we got from the Norwegian put a damper on the

mood and we broke up and retired.

At 6:30 the next morning my head was feeling the full force of the

magic potion as I sat down to coffee and biscuits graciously

provided by our hosts. At 7:00 I left the land of ritual and as

the sun rose I stood on the bridge over the river Esla and took a

photograph of the ancient walls.

Esla River.