León

Here I am in the town of León,

Once more to walk, a hapless peon.

There’s just one thing we will agree on,

It’s been a rather dismal eon.

I’m exhausted after two long flights and a long bus ride, not to mention an hour’s wandering around trying to find the León Hostel.

What am I doing in León? Well, three years and a half years ago, I stopped at León after walking the Camino de Madrid with my daughter Rach. So I thought I’d pick up where I left off. I’m bringing my hiking poles this time, and thereby hangs a tale.

I was prepared to check them in as luggage, and having bound them heavily in plastic, I arrived at the AirCanada counter. But the very helpful young person  wondered whether I could carry them on. She spent a good 15 minutes checking the regs, for there was no one behind me, and then gave a Eurekean chortle, and said, “Sporting gear! Take them with you”

I was a bit dubious but decided to give it a go. Having whisked his wand around the contours of my body, producing a sequence of beeps that sounded like R2-D2, and investigated those, the security guard looked at my encapsulated poles in the tray, turned to me, and said one word: “Mobility?” I nodded, and was through.

Oh, and one more piece of advice. Avoid seat 39B. It’s right next to a loo. Very handy for me, but I wasn’t the only one to use it. All through the night: Rattle-click-click as they open the door. Crack, as they slide in the lock. Oop-arssshh, as they flush, that unique sound of an aircraft toilet. Not much chance of snoozing.