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I had 7 hours before bed. I had no book. I was tired of Germans. I could only drink so much wine (apparently an eighth of a bottle is my limit at 3pm). I had done enough writing. I had eaten more than enough chocolate. I had visited the bar-restaurant, the shop, and the albergue. In other words, I had exhausted every available entertainment option. Obviously, it was time to stretch out on the sidewalk and take a nap in the sunshine.

So I did.

When I awoke, a kind and soft-spoken (non-creepy) man with a gigantic, round belly and a phallic camera protruding from it sauntered over to my part of the tiny swept square where the pilgrims milled about, observing one another lazily in their own languages.

"I took your picture vile you vere sleeeping."

Having never begun a conversation in this manner, I was a bit unsure of the right thing to say.

"I´m good at it."

We talked about Sweden and photography and the Camino. It turns out he is putting together a book of photographs about the Camino. When we parted, he said "Maybe you will be sleeping in my book" and then went off to talk to the emaciated sunbaked Italian, blue robed, half bald, half dreadlocked Jesus figure who is rumored to have been walking the Camino for 12 years now.

And then there were 8 more hours before bed. Sometimes, that´s how it is here.