It was a smart move to end yesterday in the little village of Ventosa and stay at the Auberge San Saturnino.

I got to end the day early and reorganize my backpack for the 30th time. Have I mentioned this phenomena? No matter how many ways I move things around in the backpack, it never gets lighter.

Science. So amazing.

Yesterday I made a strategic decision to stop in the little town of Ventosa, just 21 kilometers from Logroño.

Strategic decisions and I normally don’t get along but I’m pleased with this one. The auberge San Saturnino was quite pleasant and lightly occupied.

As I mentioned in last night’s post.

I did get out at 6 am with a minimum of faffing and easily found the Way, with the help of my headlamp. (First time using it on this journey).

So, strategically, I was pleased with the choice because the extra 10 kilometers to Nájera would have been sheer hell on top of the 20 from Logroño.

In the dark it was cool, tolerable, and a touch lonely. I liked the ink-black liquid solitude.

The lights came on just before Nájera and it didn’t strike me as worth the struggle to get there. Just passing through, mate.

The most interesting thing was the teenagers standing in intersections in fatigues, exploding fireworks and shaking down motorists for change.

“We’re from a club,” a young girl explained. “This is a tradition. After this we have a big party.”

Maybe it is a night bloomer but in daylight the stockings are torn, the mascara is running, and the age is showing.

Coolest part of Nájera, the sunrise reflecting on the clay hillsides:

Ok, I’m kind of judgmental.

Karma hit me as I exited the city by throwing the first of many up-hill hikes in my face.

Entering Nájera: Home team colors and cool murals:

So MANY up-hills.

True fact: Did you know Spain does not have any downhills?

Leaving Nájera and on the road:

I don’t know if it is a European Union thing or if they just consolidated the downhills into the uphills, finding it more efficient for inventory purposes.

Today was all uphill. (Here, I’ll post a graph to show you that I’m not exaggerating (not too much anyway).

Along the way to Santo Domingo de la Calzada, we passed two small towns. In Azofra, I paused for a traditional teak fast tostada and coffee at 10 am, my first food of the day.

The next town, Ciruena, a strange little place. It has a clearly well maintained golf course and block after block of neatly maintained but seemingly empty houses. No people, no cars, no shops, no bars.

Working my way toward Santo Domingo:

So glad I had my packet of Digestives and bottle of water because no lunch was to be had there.

Part of what made the walk today so grueling was that, at the crest of on final extremely tall hill, the beige spires of Santo Domingo came into view.

It looked as if I could touch them.

Two hours later, it still looked as if I could touch them.

Talk about moving the goalposts.

Plus, we had to walk past a potato warehouse, millions of potatoes sitting in crates in the broiling sun.

Enough to put you off chips for life.

The auberge is huge, 184 bunks (mostly) but very well designed: Cofradía del Santo. For peregrinos, that’s 13 euros a night.

Since being assigned a bunk, I have purchased an ice cold Coke from the kitchen vending machine. Promptly broke the pull-tab off. (McGuyver tip: pressure from a one euro coin will do the trick.)

These two pictures seem to capture the internal dialogue as I walked today. You figure it out:

The rest was typical: made my bunk up, pulled a fresh set of clothes, showered and shaved, laundered all my dirty clothes, went to the market for fruit and drinks for tomorrow’s walk, repacked the backpack, talked with a few road friends (they were worried that they hadn’t seen me in two days).

And now I am sitting in the public square, nibbling on fresh bread and sipping my second sangria.

So refreshing.

I shall sleep very well tonight.

Tomorrow’s accommodation has a swimming pool. I may run the 20 kilometers to that one.

Good night from Spain’s Rioja wine country.