I lost one of my earplugs at some point last night and woke to find that there was a mega-snorer in the dorm. I had to find my torch to retrieve it, so I could get back to sleep. I reckon that snoring must be responsible for a vast amount of sleep-deprivation.
I slept until 7am and woke to discover that most of the dorm was empty. The men always leave before the women for some reason.
Off to a local bar for breakfast and then in the road. It's a lovely day with not a cloud in the sky.
I come across my first bus-pilgrims. The group is dropped off at the start of the day, everyone has a small day-pack containing 1 litre of water and are collected later in the afternoon. But the funny thing is that the bus magically appears from time to time to pick up anyone who's had enough.
About 11am I come across a small bar in the middle of nowhere; there's the bus and the Italian Viking, Davide, having a coffee! I stop too, but the 'Viking' is such a photo opportunity with his forked beard, tattoos and tall wooden staff topped with feathers, that the bus-pilgrims want their photo taken with him. He kindly obliges!
It's a nice sunny walk through pastures with lots of derelict slate farmhouses and tumbled-down barns. I suppose the Dordogne looked like this before the Brits snapped them up. But it signals the passing of a way of life.
The field boundaries are mostly large slabs of slate set in the ground to form walls and there a plenty of maize granaries to admire.
The Albergue is in a converted school and is very nice; with a loggia and a garden. Davide has already arrived, as have the Spanish girls from last night, the group of boys, a Swedish man and a Brit; Chris, who is a Catholic priest and icon painter from Yorkshire.
A quiet afternoon doing washing and blog; Chris asks me if I would like to attend Mass? Two of us sit at one of the small cafe-tables in the loggia overlooking the garden.
It thunders and pours with rain later, so my plans for a wander around town to look at the Romanesque church, have supper and a drink are literally awash. Luckily Davide, who is cook when not on Camino, is making pasta for supper. Delicious. Chris and I venture to the supermarket for bottles of wine and picnic supplies- it's an evening of international chat and Camino stories. An Italian guy with long dreadlocks and Bruno, a small black and tan dog arrive drenched after walking for hours in the rain. They are camping in the garden tonight.