Diablo Blanco

A whirl wind of toxic air circulated amongst a seething array of stenching pilgrim bodies last night as the heat of the day took up residence in the close quarters of our municipal albergue. The proximity of the beds combined with the stiffling heat was quite enough to extinguish any hope I had of finding sleep. Others however slept like the living dead, omitting rattling snores vibrating and endangering the very fabric of the building itself. One man started a rasping 5am coughing fit that had me fantasizing about placing him permanantly in a wooden coffin all to himself. In my mind I was hammering the nails in as he clawed frantically from within.We left early and stumbled quickly past a supermercado called David. Thankfully they didn’t appear to do two for the price of one; our Davie is of course quite unique in his rather candid verbal cheek, which he lobbed fearlessly at Colette this morning as we made our way out of town. Little does he know she’s a skilled sling shot (in her mind) and each time she glares at him in combat of one of his fairly random comments she takes aim at his machine gun gub firing a few stones down his throat with a satisfying popping sound, silencing any further verbal assault. It’s fun to watch….As we plodded along a flat and completely featureless straight road we imagined the demonic workforce behind such an open expanse of blistering gravel. Trees were scarce today and I found myself clinging to pockets of shade like my life depended on it. Being so white does tend to startle the spanish and indeed if Colette had been told once more about her ever growing red arms I reckon her eyes might have exploded with devilsh rage. She took to explaining in a sharp, flippant manner that she was indeed a white devil from scotland (in spanish) and that it’s quite normal for little devils to become rocco especially when irritated…..The way was certainly mentally challenging and we could all easily have been mumbling incoherently about white Scottish devils to all and sundry simply through heat stroke. I’m pretty sure I took up business momentarily as a mobile salt factory when I realised my lips were nothing more than two encrusted pinnicals of dried salt and sweat.By the end of our boiling 26km we were all ready to crawl into a nestle freezer van and accept the rather permanent and static results. Davie staggered part delerious into the albergue in Terradillos de los Templarios a very alarming and glowing shade of red; thankfully still clinging to life by an exhausted thread! He’s self confessed to being totally knackered! I best not divulge just yet that tomorrow holds an alluring 27km! Oh the devil within…..
I have a sneaking feeling los Diablos blancos may yet become permanently rocco if the heat and hellish conditions continue tomorrow. Fingers, toes, burnt arms and legs crossed for snow!