Molinaseca

Molinaseca is a pretty place. The hostel is on the far side of town and we’re both pretty tired so we crash there for a while after doing a little hand washing. With temperatures in the 80s, things dry very quickly. Cherries seem to be the main local seasonal crop so, when it’s a little cooler, we join most of the population down at the river and paddle a bit to soothe our feet while we spit cherry pips. Rosie, in particular has an impressive crop of blisters, some quite large, which I hope are not going to cause problems tomorrow. We seek out the Pharmacia advertised prominently as you enter town but it’s closed on a Saturday afternoon so we can’t get at the large display of special blister plasters in the window.

We buy breakfast for tomorrow and eat and drink well at a bar on the main street for under 20 Euros before retiring to the hostel to read in our bunks. Rosie is worried that her whole body clock is being damaged irreparably by rising at six and going to bed at ten! My trusty old shirt seems to have fared worse than my feet – I wasn’t expecting it to be worth bringing home but had thought it would last more than a day before holes appeared in the shoulders and back.

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