The flies of the Mesata are particularly attracted to sweaty faces in the warmth of the afternoon. It is hard to breathe without inhaling one of these persistent little hoverers, nor talk without eating one whole. I am not entirely unused to such behaviour from flies during various travels, but what I was not prepared for was these Mesata pesks enjoying an airborne promenade between my naked eye and my glasses. Most perturbing.
We have found a wonderful social life the last few days. Because the hamlets are so small, there is only perhaps one albergue and one hostal to stay in, so the same people meet up at the same places every night and we have formed a strong bond of mutual comraderie. Most of them are hard core walkers or outdoors people, and yet half of them are walking wounded, with foot issues, shin splints, plantar fasciitis or similar. Limping along in sandals or crocs, they persevere despite suggestions to the contrary, and the rest of us marvel at our luck. The odd blister is a mere annoyance at this point.
I have subscribed to a routine of stretches at the end of each walking day, while Martin naps. Feet up the wall, then legs stretched in a wide V. Kneel on the bed for 3 minutes with toes tucked under, then again with toes flattened. With my trusty theraband I stretch my hamstring, then IT band. Then I stand and grab one foot at a time to stretch my quads. Most importantly I lie over the edge of the bed on my left side, so my concave right side gets a big old stretch.
I do not want to actually feel like those statues.
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