Tons of Tiny Towns

Puente la Reina two nights ago and Villatuerca last night (the nicest albergue ever -- a beautiful bathroom and hammocks!) and Los Arcos today. The walks have been through villages of peeling buildings, over endless hills, in the hot sunshine, past windmills and wheatfields.  We sang songs from "Man of La Mancha" and ABBA.  We watched Ciraqui, a city-covered hill, rise before us and suddenly encompass us in its winding streets and then spit us out again.  We stood gape-mouthed and grinning as a flood of sheep (and a few goats) descended upon the brush under the freeway overpass.  We met a old man in Azqueta, population <40, who invited us to his home to stamp our credenciales and who had biked the Camino in 1965.  We walked alone, in pairs, with other peregrinos, in groups.  We're braving blisters, hurt ankles and knees, rashes and sore feet.  All 14 of us arrived in Puente la Reina together.