gerardcarey
Veteran Member
- Time of past OR future Camino
- CFx2, CPx1
It sure hit me unexpectedly.
The wind and water was accompanied by a high pitched howl. It lashed at me powerfully. I was quickly drenched by the freezing water. I stumbled. My feet went out from under me and down I crashed. I sprawled, dizzy and disorientated, freezing in the mist and lashing water.
Now I'm in trouble.
Well I couldn't say I hadn't been warned.
The Tormentas.
I'd read about them in Jack Hitt's book "Off The Road. A Modern-Day Walk Down the Pilgrim's Route into Spain."
Jack got caught by one as he crossed the meseta.
Suddenly the clouds boiled above. Rain pelted down. Lightning bolts crashed to the ground around him.
I'd also seen a weather presenter on Spanish TV addressing a weather map of northern Spain. He pointed at a small black cloud with a yellow zig-zag lightning bolt on it.
"Tormentas!" he said meaningfully.
"We are going to stay at the Hotel Paris in Leon," Julie said. "Looking forward to that. A little luxury for a change. It's a bit exy but you get the use of the spa facilities."
Women, they like that spa deal don't they?
Relaxing in a fizzy hot tub with perhaps a glass of wine.
Boring, I reckon. Whatever. To each, his or her own.
Ok if you're there with your lovely I suppose, but it is a long time since I've been that lucky.
Seems to be quite well known amongst female pilgrims does the Hotel Paris in Leon. I'd walked past it in on my way up that main street that leads to the Cathedral.
Looking back what I probably should have done is utilise that kind of money for a treat at the Leon Parador. I'd been told that you were able to book the room that Tom had taken. The one in the movie 'The Way', where Tom, Joost, Jack and Sarah had, after all their inter-personal differences, happily celebrated their new found pilgrim family friendship. That would be fun eh?
But now, here I am in Leon, in my room at the Hotel Boccalino, thoroughly confused.
Initially I was thoroughly impressed.
30 Euros for a 3rd floor modernish twin bedded room on my own, with an ensuite bathroom. Room to spread out and relax, a window over the city, a warm breeze billowing the curtains in, a good hand basin for the laundry, and just outside, a place to hang it in the sunshine.
Perfecto! This'll do me. What more could you need for a treat after an albergue every night since Burgos? And I’m only five minutes from the Cathedral and my pilgrim mates are gathering here for dinner tonight at the Boccalino’s restaurant. And the Boccalino is just across a plaza from the 'must see' Basilica of San Isidoro. So, all good.
First things first. Empty the pack across the spare bed, strip off my clothes, grab my toiletry bag, and off for a shower. Big fluffy hotel towels. That's what I call luxury.
It was then I became confused.
Now I know I’m technologically challenged type of guy, but I thought I could at least handle a shower. But then I’m a lever type of guy. The more you pull it out the more flow you get. Twist it one way and it gets hotter, to the other cooler. All very simple, right?
There I am, standing in the nuddy in the shower, confronted by a one piece spa type shower. A plastic wall covered with chrome pointy jets aiming at me from all directions. I have an uneasy feeling. I especially don’t like the look of those jets that pointy up from down below.
Apart from that it had a bewildering operating system, with no instructions. I guess the best thing is just to fiddle with the buttons until you figure it out.
It was then the blizzard struck!
So cold it took my breath away. So strong up my derriere it made me jump and thereby loose my footing. Sat me on my butt on the tiled floor.
I could feel that I'd wrenched a hip muscle. This necessitated that I must first struggle to my hands and knees, then crawl outside the shower and across the bathroom floor to where I could utilise the handbasin to haul myself upright.
The blizzard had by now migrated out into the bathroom proper. The floor was awash and water was about to flow into the bedroom. I forced myself back into the maelstrom and beat furiously on the control panel. But it was some time before I got the flow stopped.
I didn’t want to look, but I had to.
There was a waterfall flowing out into the bedroom proper. The tide was advancing steadily across the carpeted floor. It was already under the first bed.
I grabbed the towels and jammed them across the bathroom doorway.
The tide continued it's progress.
I knew it would be seeking a drainage route under the carpet.
When the water stopped advancing I knew it had found one.
It wouldn't be long before the guest in the room directly below started raising hell.
I'd better get down and advise the front desk quick smart.
I quickly pulled on a t-shirt and shorts and hobbled to the lift.
"Disaster! Flood! Muchos Agua! Muchos Agua!" I'm waving my arms and yelling at the receptionist.
The emergency services soon arrived with buckets and mops and a wet and dry vacuum cleaner.
The hotel manager then appeared to oversee the clean up.
I sat forlornly on the only available bed.
He stood and grimly regarded my cold, wet, bedraggled appearance.
"What was the cause of this?" he asked sternly.
I was going to give him a tune up about the lack of operating instructions but I bit my tongue.
"The Tormentas!" I exclaimed instead, "Beware the Tormentas!"
Being a bit wobbly I needed my pacer poles to get to the Boccalino's restaurant that evening. There I had to shamefacedly relate to my pilgrim mates how my injury had come about.
"You poor dear," said Julie. "Here, have a glass of vino tinto and I'll tell you a story that might brighten you up a bit."
She poured me a glass, took a sip of hers, then commenced.
"Yesterday," she said, "I was approaching a hotel with a patio out the front. Lounging there was a pilgrim couple I'd seen a few days ago.
They were enjoying a late afternoon drink.
As I approached I heard the lady speak."
“I love you so much,” she said, “that I don't know how I could ever live without you.”
“Is that right?” queried the husband. “Is that you, or the wine talking?”
“It's me,” she replied, “talking to the wine.”
Regards
Gerard
PS
Brighten me up? How would that brighten me up?
Anyway, I don't know whether I believe that story.
The women at the table sure enjoyed it tho.
Giggling and cackling, laughing their heads off they were.
The wind and water was accompanied by a high pitched howl. It lashed at me powerfully. I was quickly drenched by the freezing water. I stumbled. My feet went out from under me and down I crashed. I sprawled, dizzy and disorientated, freezing in the mist and lashing water.
Now I'm in trouble.
Well I couldn't say I hadn't been warned.
The Tormentas.
I'd read about them in Jack Hitt's book "Off The Road. A Modern-Day Walk Down the Pilgrim's Route into Spain."
Jack got caught by one as he crossed the meseta.
Suddenly the clouds boiled above. Rain pelted down. Lightning bolts crashed to the ground around him.
I'd also seen a weather presenter on Spanish TV addressing a weather map of northern Spain. He pointed at a small black cloud with a yellow zig-zag lightning bolt on it.
"Tormentas!" he said meaningfully.
"We are going to stay at the Hotel Paris in Leon," Julie said. "Looking forward to that. A little luxury for a change. It's a bit exy but you get the use of the spa facilities."
Women, they like that spa deal don't they?
Relaxing in a fizzy hot tub with perhaps a glass of wine.
Boring, I reckon. Whatever. To each, his or her own.
Ok if you're there with your lovely I suppose, but it is a long time since I've been that lucky.
Seems to be quite well known amongst female pilgrims does the Hotel Paris in Leon. I'd walked past it in on my way up that main street that leads to the Cathedral.
Looking back what I probably should have done is utilise that kind of money for a treat at the Leon Parador. I'd been told that you were able to book the room that Tom had taken. The one in the movie 'The Way', where Tom, Joost, Jack and Sarah had, after all their inter-personal differences, happily celebrated their new found pilgrim family friendship. That would be fun eh?
But now, here I am in Leon, in my room at the Hotel Boccalino, thoroughly confused.
Initially I was thoroughly impressed.
30 Euros for a 3rd floor modernish twin bedded room on my own, with an ensuite bathroom. Room to spread out and relax, a window over the city, a warm breeze billowing the curtains in, a good hand basin for the laundry, and just outside, a place to hang it in the sunshine.
Perfecto! This'll do me. What more could you need for a treat after an albergue every night since Burgos? And I’m only five minutes from the Cathedral and my pilgrim mates are gathering here for dinner tonight at the Boccalino’s restaurant. And the Boccalino is just across a plaza from the 'must see' Basilica of San Isidoro. So, all good.
First things first. Empty the pack across the spare bed, strip off my clothes, grab my toiletry bag, and off for a shower. Big fluffy hotel towels. That's what I call luxury.
It was then I became confused.
Now I know I’m technologically challenged type of guy, but I thought I could at least handle a shower. But then I’m a lever type of guy. The more you pull it out the more flow you get. Twist it one way and it gets hotter, to the other cooler. All very simple, right?
There I am, standing in the nuddy in the shower, confronted by a one piece spa type shower. A plastic wall covered with chrome pointy jets aiming at me from all directions. I have an uneasy feeling. I especially don’t like the look of those jets that pointy up from down below.
Apart from that it had a bewildering operating system, with no instructions. I guess the best thing is just to fiddle with the buttons until you figure it out.
It was then the blizzard struck!
So cold it took my breath away. So strong up my derriere it made me jump and thereby loose my footing. Sat me on my butt on the tiled floor.
I could feel that I'd wrenched a hip muscle. This necessitated that I must first struggle to my hands and knees, then crawl outside the shower and across the bathroom floor to where I could utilise the handbasin to haul myself upright.
The blizzard had by now migrated out into the bathroom proper. The floor was awash and water was about to flow into the bedroom. I forced myself back into the maelstrom and beat furiously on the control panel. But it was some time before I got the flow stopped.
I didn’t want to look, but I had to.
There was a waterfall flowing out into the bedroom proper. The tide was advancing steadily across the carpeted floor. It was already under the first bed.
I grabbed the towels and jammed them across the bathroom doorway.
The tide continued it's progress.
I knew it would be seeking a drainage route under the carpet.
When the water stopped advancing I knew it had found one.
It wouldn't be long before the guest in the room directly below started raising hell.
I'd better get down and advise the front desk quick smart.
I quickly pulled on a t-shirt and shorts and hobbled to the lift.
"Disaster! Flood! Muchos Agua! Muchos Agua!" I'm waving my arms and yelling at the receptionist.
The emergency services soon arrived with buckets and mops and a wet and dry vacuum cleaner.
The hotel manager then appeared to oversee the clean up.
I sat forlornly on the only available bed.
He stood and grimly regarded my cold, wet, bedraggled appearance.
"What was the cause of this?" he asked sternly.
I was going to give him a tune up about the lack of operating instructions but I bit my tongue.
"The Tormentas!" I exclaimed instead, "Beware the Tormentas!"
Being a bit wobbly I needed my pacer poles to get to the Boccalino's restaurant that evening. There I had to shamefacedly relate to my pilgrim mates how my injury had come about.
"You poor dear," said Julie. "Here, have a glass of vino tinto and I'll tell you a story that might brighten you up a bit."
She poured me a glass, took a sip of hers, then commenced.
"Yesterday," she said, "I was approaching a hotel with a patio out the front. Lounging there was a pilgrim couple I'd seen a few days ago.
They were enjoying a late afternoon drink.
As I approached I heard the lady speak."
“I love you so much,” she said, “that I don't know how I could ever live without you.”
“Is that right?” queried the husband. “Is that you, or the wine talking?”
“It's me,” she replied, “talking to the wine.”
Regards
Gerard
PS
Brighten me up? How would that brighten me up?
Anyway, I don't know whether I believe that story.
The women at the table sure enjoyed it tho.
Giggling and cackling, laughing their heads off they were.
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