The Rain in Spain

The rain in Spain does not stay mainly in the Plain, because yesterday it poured all day long and I walked through it.  Red rivers of mud flowed down the hills and it made for really heavy going but at least my poncho kept me dry.  My boots were caked in mud and my pants had stretched by about 6 inches and were dragging in the dirt.  At one point there was not a soul except me on the route and I was making up a song and singing at the top of my lungs, what a picture.  I did have several moments when I wondered what on earth I was doing walking in the rain on Easter Sunday when all the family was sitting down to a lovely dinner but now today I find myself at the Albergue sponsored by Paulo Coelho.  It is an old stone house with stone floors, wooden beams and woodstoves.  Ten beds only and on the wooden posts at the end of my bed there are four angels and I am reminded of the childhood prayer about Matthew, Mark, Luke and John and the angels protecting me.  An evening meal is being prepared for us by the hospitaleros so the seven of us who have stumbled upon this little piece of paradise will share a meal together.  It is quite a difference from the big refugios I have been staying at but so welcome because I was exhausted and had hit a wall after yesterday's walk. 
Life is strangely intensified here and small things matter, just things we take so much for granted - hot showers, a warm bed to crawl into.
There is a notice posted in the bedroom:
The tourist demands, the pilgrim thanks.  I now know the difference.