Though most albergues are pretty similar, there’s always the sense that if you walk a little further or stop a little sooner maybe you’ll find something a little nicer.
I was generally satisfied with my accommodation, even if it was valuable only for its story telling quotient (see crazy Pedro in Ciruena). When I stopped in Mansilla de las Mulas for my first cafe con leche of the day, I realized I had made a mistake.
I took my coffee in the geranium-filled courtyard of an ancient hostel. Inside there were hanging hams and a flat screen television. That television was especially intriguing, not because I wanted to watch the futball, but because I bet it meant they had good showers.
Alas, after commiserating with the pilgrims still lingering in their luxury, I set of with Leon in my sights.
It had usually been my practice to stop in major cities and Leon was the most major of them all, with a population