Last night at the gite we had a classic snorer with a wide range of almost musical notes and animal noises. The brassy trombone would modulate into the spluttering tuba. The regular grunting and growling of a bear would become the braying of a donkey and the snorting of a pig, and build up to a sudden cataclysmic release of pressure. And then merciful silence, until it began again.
We also had a cougher. These are to be feared in the stuffy confines of a gite where they can spread their contagion.
I remember that we encountered one on the Camino Frances. We called him the Spanish Cougher. He seemed to be suffering from more than a cold and we expected him to expire at any moment. What was he doing out of hospital? We did everything we could to avoid him, even choosing the most out-of-the-way gite. But to no avail. He was always there. Then suddenly he disappeared. We never saw him again.
The Company is breaking up. Elisabeth and Marte left yesterday; Anna Maria and Patrick this morning.
Only Miek and I remain in Jaca. I'm nursing a shin, she a knee.
I spent the day wandering around the old town and sitting in the sun. Tomorrow I'm back on the road.
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