Najera to San Domingo

All of us are literally painfully aware that we have been lugging around warm clothes and waterproofs that have been surplus to requirements. But last night it poured down. This morning,too, pilgrims lingered over breakfast as rain clattered in the streets. We all knew that we would be thrown out at 8am come what may. It did give me some time to sort through my bag and abandon a few unnecessary items (three, free with the Guardian, Spanish phrase books, and some clothing).

By 7:45 the rain is very light and we get going. The first 500m are torture but soon enough one gets into a rhythm and the ibuprofen kicks in and so progress on the camino is made. We stop in a village after 6km for coffee and a croissant, which some former chaplaincy residents could accurately have described as "as big as your face".

Although it was a misty, almost English start to the day, the sun bursts through, dramatically lighting up a hillside or a patch of country and it is a different kind of beautiful morning. The rain had turned stretches of the path into sticky red mud that sucked at your boots.

We reach San Domingo by about 2pm. This is not Dominic of the Dominicans but a 11th c hermit who built a bridge and created a new way for pilgrims on the camino (previously they had to head through mountains to the north of here). Something I hadn't appreciated until I read Margaret Harvey's book, is how much hermits were medieval bridge and road maintenance men.

The hostel is meant to be one of the best on the camino. Everyone has arrived early and everyone is busy cooking stuff. John cooks a huge pot of rice and vegetables for us with paella mix thrown in.

The imposing cathedral directs visitor to a side entrance where I am sent back to a tourist office to buy a ticket to enter, at the front desk here I am sent to another desk where two tourist information people are directing visitors to hotels. This is a lengthy process. After about 15mins a Spanish lady marches past me and demands something else. At this point I throw my hands in the air but no one pays me any attention. I make one more forlorn attempt at the cathedral entrance, and then give up harbouring a seething resentment against the Spanish people for allowing the inefficiency of the San Domingo Tourist Office. I go back to my bunk and an enormous thunderstorm begins: surely a sign of divine displeasure at the state of the San Domingo Tourist Office.