Day 25: Carrion de los Condes to León
Each albergue has its own morning protocol. Some lights turn on automatically at a designated time, and some hospitaleros charge through the place almost 90 minutes before checkout screaming “Good morning! Get to work!” In the case of the too-short-convent, the hospitalero gives a brief warning knock and enters the room with the civil “Buenos días.” And when he sees two pairs of legs in a twin-size bed, he…leaves quickly. Nothing like a good morning cuddle between married folk to scare off the warden. Are there rules against this behaviour in a convent? Ah, if only those walls could talk….
We spoke outside the short door to a bicigrino from Denmark who had cycled from her home to Carrion de los Condes. Except that she mostly walked. 🙂 She loved the company of peregrinos, so she pushed her bike and packs most of the way.
We waited at a bar for the already 30-minute-late bus. The moment we sat down, the bartender ran out to ask what we wanted to drink. There is nowhere else to wait for the bus, and if you wish to sit, you will pay for the privilege. After an early morning San Miguel, we boarded the bus for León. 
I have a soft spot for León. In 2013, Andrew found us a place, Hostal Albany, near the cathedral, and I was able to enjoy the plaza life, as well as tour the cathedral during our two-day stay. In León, we enjoyed the best patatas bravas Spain has to offer. In León, we met Anke and Stanka, the Slovakian-Vancouverite girls, and in León, a kind priest in the smaller church blessed me and my knee. In León, I knew I’d finish my Camino on crutches.
But, Hostal Albany was “completo,” so we moved on to another hostal with old-country Spanish charm. I enjoyed patatas bravas again, bought two skirts to replace the one I’d left in Castrojeriz, and missed mass by an hour. We escorted Canadian Jane to the tourist office, then returned to our Spanish room (with private bath and towels) and…slept soundly. Well, Andrew slept while I watched Tom Cruise run from aliens in War of the Worlds.
In León, I discovered I do not know my clothing size in European numbers. Same goes for my shoe size. 
In León, I learned that I don’t like my clothing size and shoe size in European numbers because they sound so big. In Spain, being told your IQ matches your shoe size means you are smarter than you are in Canada…by several points.
Andrew and I took token pictures of each other outside of the cathedral, but we didn’t tour this time. Not much had changed in two years, and we wanted the patatas bravas and private bath.
I dreaded the 45-minute schlep to the bus terminal the next morning. We missed mass and the pilgrim benediction and my knee blessing, so I knew I’d pay for these indiscretions all the way across León.
Did the hospitalero say “Bad rodillas” (knees) instead of “Buenos días” this morning? Hmmm.
¡Ultreia!
~Penny