It was a party all night for St. Juan. When I started at 6 am, people were still dancing. I could still hear the music as I left, as if the notes were calling me back. It was a tough climb at the beginning, until Alto de Mostelares. At the top, I met Guy who had been sleeping there. Then it was mostly flat to Frómista, and I arrived at half past twelve.
About 10 km before Frómista, I met a man who was collecting the names of pilgrims walking by in a notebook. He was standing in the middle of the road and stopping everyone. There were a few names on the page where I could write, one of them was Patrick. I got confused. When I arrived in Frómista, I heard someone shouting at Patrick, who was sitting a few meters from me.
For once, I took a siesta. Later, Carole arrived with a greeting from Virginie. Carole’s back is still hurting. We looked around the village and had dinner with Patrick and Claude.
To Alto de Mostelares. It was a big party in Frómista: San Juan. Music all the night, fireworks. I was still hearing the music when I left.
Alto de Mostelares.
Down from Alto de Mostelares
After Alto de Mostelares. Early in the morning, my shadow is long.
The moon is with us.
The wheat desert.
Lunch time.
An irrigation channel on the way to Frómista.
Carole washing. Good standard.
Patrick, Carole and Claude.
San Martín de Frómista.
San Martín de Frómista.