My friend and one-time newspaper colleague Bill Osborne writes: “You’re definitely not boring, but here’s a suggestion you might address: Why did you decide to make this trek? What did you expect or want to get out of it? Now that the end is in sight, what have you gotten out of it? What have you learned about yourself?”
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Thirty kilometers today, to Arzua. The post right outside my auberge tonight says 39.123 kilometers (Yes, that precise) to Santiago.
If the rest of it is as delightful as today, I’m ok with it.
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Today was a long walk so I’ll keep this short. Tomorrow is an even longer walk so, if you are lucky, tomorrow’s post will be even shorter.
I don’t know if you are getting tired of me. I sure am.
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This day can only unravel in reverse, because its still getting better and it is only 8:30 pm
Over in the corner, Andrew and Englishman is playing harmonica and another pilgrim is softly strumming a guitar. They are working out a gentle tune of their own making.
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Today was different, for sure.
We walked between a very busy road and a lush, beautiful landscape of forest and streams and grazing fields. Overlaying it all was an elevated freeway.
And all of this stitched it’s way through villages in contrasting states of decay and prosperity, often side-by-side.
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From Foncebadon, the walk to Cruz de Ferro was all uphill, but short. Less than two kilometers.
It was dark, but already the sun was prying itself free from the horizon.
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Gone are the wide open fields of harvested wheat, straw, corn and sunflowers. Gone are the gently rolling hills. Gone are the treeless expanses that seemed to stretch into eternity.
Now the hills are aggressively challenging. The groomed pathways have given was to rocky trails. The landscape is densely forested. Serious mountain ranges are on the horizon. Stone fences and houses have changed from rounded rocks to neatly laid and hewn slate.
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I wouldn’t call it a routine day but all went as smoothly as could be expected. Up and out of Terridillos before 7 am. And into Bercianos Del Camino by 1:30 pm
Never saw the rain, just the puddles.
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I’ve had a run of Irish companions on the Camino today (meaning the past 24 hours).
There is my perennial friend Eoghan (Owen) who I encounter every couple of days.
Last night in Burgos, Kate from Tasmania and Martin from Bristol (Eng.) joined me for some tapas before calling it a night.
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A mystical morning, on the path from little Ages to Burgos. The full moon was strong enough to cut through the gauzy morning haze.
No headlamp was needed, though Deny from Quebec and I walked right past the turn, both of us talking, neither of us looking for the yellow arrows in the woozy dawn light.
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