Mansilla de las Mulas to Leon

We arrived into Leon in the pissing rain.

None of us like walking into big cities anyway - when you've been out in the countryside for days on end, the cars, the buildings and the noise are terrifying - but walking through a concrete jungle in the rain is the pits.

When we arrived at the hostel, all I wanted was a shower and some dry, clean clothes.

Martine had arrived before me (of course) and managed to get girls room for her, me and Janne. It was a Camino miracle - a room with only four beds, its own shower and where you could happily walk around in your underwear!

Shower and clothes sorted, Martine and I hit the town...only for me to come down with a migraine 10 minutes in.

Back to bed in a darkened room for me while the gang went out for pizza (pizza!). When I woke up, it was pitch black and I had no idea what time it was or how long I'd been asleep.

There was rustling coming from the bathroom and I hoped it was the German woman who I'd seen take the fourth bed earlier that day.

In my dazed state, I called the gang. Food had been eaten :-( By this time I was famished and begged them to bring me back a pizza.

Don: 'What kind?'
Me: "Anything with meat.'

At 10pm, I was downstairs in the kitchen drinking a hot chocolate and in came the gang, with Don brandishing a massive, meaty pizza. What a hero.

Now, I'm not sure what happened next, but somewhere along the line, I was convinced that after a migraine, the best thing for me to do would be to go out for drinks with Martine, Janne, Davide, Manon and Ines.

The next day would be a rest day, so we could have a 'lie in' at least. So, that's how I ended up wondering round the streets of Leon at 11pm at night in my flipflops and leggings, following the French girls looking for a party.

We found an Irish bar, playing Spanish music. We drank gin tonics. We danced. We stopped dancing when we attracted the attention of some dubious locals. We danced a bit more, then headed back about 1am, where we stayed up in the kitchen drinking the most disgusting bottle of rose wine Spain has ever produced.

So next time I'm struck my a migraine, sod the Migraleve - I'm getting straight on gin and pizza. I'll leave the rose though.