Day 23: The Battle of the Bed Bugs (Astorga to Foncebadon)

Today the Meseta officially ended, when we passed through Castrillo the flat ended and the ascents began...

I was wildly relieved that my knee coped very well with the increase in uphill trudging; I'm not sure whether the tiger balm self-applied massage, the paracetamol, the walking poles or the increase in water consumption deserve the praise for my apparent success. Its probably a combination of all four so I'll just keep that up until the end now I think. Fingers crossed.

From Santa Catalina I looked back over my shoulder to see the distant lights of Astorga, everyday I've been surprised at just how far you manage to walk in a few hours! It's surprising just how much distance you can cover on your two pegs.

Having climbed to an elevation of 1400m we reached the small town of Foncebadon at just after midday, we had made great time. For the some of the walk we walked with an teeny American lad called Nick, he was studying romantic Latin classics as a degree in Los Angeles *insert eye roll here*. With his miniscule stride he set a staggeringly slow pace and his red neckerchief just seemed to make him look like a toy figurine! As if studying classics in Latin was enough he kept being positive about EVERYTHING in the usual annoying American fashion. "Oh wasn't that steep, rocky decline so much fun? You have to try this pastry, it's to die for!" Mate, we nearly died as we all have bad legs and it was an absolutely rancid raisan bun, for christ sake please just be miserable like the rest of us you muppet. Jeez!

Anywho, in Foncebadon we foolishly let Tarryn lick the albergue as it was her turn again. She opted for the first we came across in the village, in fairness it looked alright and for €9 euros you got a breakfast thrown in too, banging.

Setting down in a stunning glass restaurant next door we ordered some bread and munched away smoothing the herd of cats that thronged about the patio outside. However, in the night, the real horror started...

At 2am I felt myself being gently shaken on my top bunk. Tarryn's face was an inch from mine as she stated wild eyed at me, shining her phone torch in my face. She proceeded to jabber away in a high pitched voice about bugs in her bed and her arms itching. With a shudder of horror I sat bolt upright blindly felt for my phone in the dark and shakily inspected my bed in torchlight: there were bed bugs everywhere. Writing about it is making me itch now and it's 24 hours later! They were on my mattress, my pillow my sleeping sack. Big ones, the size of a watermelon seed but with an orange hue and small ones which were back and scuttled around into the folds of the bedding when the light touched them. Jumojbg down like a petrified ballerina I woke Poalo up, hoping to scramble up his body and wait somewhere on his shoulders until he sorted the situation out.

To cut a long story involving silent but hysterical packing short, we ended up sleeping on a table downstairs wrapped in a thoroughly safe but platonic embrace to stop ourselves rolling off the edge. Tarryn was led nimbly on a bench between us and Khalid slept on the floor on top of a pile of strangers' shoes - strange kid. We couldn't use our sleeping sacks anymore as they were under quarantine so it was absolutely freezing and none of us got hardly any sleep!

If this wasn't enough, the breakfast which we were promised at 6sm never came! Us and another 12+ pilgrims sat diligently sat by the kitchen door but no one ever showed.what an absolute shambles of an establishment. Having rubbed our genitalia on all of their door handles we left in a huff, all typing furious reviews on every website we could think of. Worst. Albergue. Ever.