San Bol to Itero de la Vega, 26km

I decided on another pre-dawn start this morning, in part to avoid the SS Brigade for as long as possible, but mainly because it makes the first couple of hours quite an adventure.  

Sunrise on the meseta is pretty special – though slightly inconveniently I am walking West, so had to keep stopping and looking over my shoulder every six seconds. I think I must have churned out about twenty photos in the course of an hour, though looking back now, none of them do it justice.  Actually, the best view for the first couple of hours was off to my right, where an enormous wind farm sat in front of some snow-capped peaks in the distance and the sky gradually worked its way through a hundred shades of pink and blue. 

I had such a lovely morning walk.  The blisters were even behaving, and at one point I did a full body check and found I had nothing at all to complain about … though this was soon addressed as I was swarmed by a load of midges for the next few hours, so that was that problem solved. 

I had been aiming for a village called San Anton for my usual tortilla, green tea and fresh OJ breakfast, but when I got there I found it was only the ruins of an old monastery, though it was still famed for it’s healing properties. Very open to a mystical healing of my blisters, I settled in for a breakfast picnic (an orange, a piece of baguette and a row of dark chocolate) in what was possibly the most comfortable armchair I can remember (in actual fact a couple of enormous hay bales propped up against each other at perfect reclining picnic angle). 

I then went through the gorgeous town of Castrojeriz with its beautiful church and stunning mountaintop ruins. I really got a good feel from this town, and as I was swarmed by a group of roadies out for their Good Friday cycling binge, am hoping I can talk Ian into a repeat visit at some point. Just out of the town though was a huge climb back onto the meseta, setting me up for the second picnic of the day (an apple and a piece of baguette) as I soaked up the amazing views back across the town and down a lush green valley. 

 Then it was back to the long hard slog of the meseta, first across the top of the plateau and then down through the world’s longest valley.  It was beautiful, but tough work when all you can see is the path stretching miles and miles ahead in the same direction. 

Though on the upside, this really made me feel I had earned picnic number three (a tomato, cucumber and pickled garlic baguette) when I finally came to a water and rest area and could, very satisfyingly, look back over the paths I had conquered. 

After all of the angst about what was to go in or out of my pack, I had reached a ridiculous point of carrying about 2kgs of food and water with me – which was probably bothering me mentally more than physically, but needed to be addressed.  I blame this on part on my layover in Burgos, where amidst all the shopping temptations, food and first aid supplies were the only ones I could justify, but also on having an outdated and overly cautious guidebook that is constantly telling me there is nowhere to stock up along the way. 

So by the time I reached Itero de la Vega, my main priority was to find an albergue where I could crash out for a few hours and then cook up as many of the supplies in my bag as I can. After all of the delightful villages and lovely albergues I have passed, this leaves quite a lot wanting (especially when I know Silvana is in a little slice of heaven just 8km down the road) but it was definitely time to hang the boots up for the day and get ready for picnic number four (pasta with a tin of sardines, roast pimentos and pickled garlic (not sure I can stand any more baguette today!) 

On which note, promise that is the last itemised food diary I will be posting on here … 

 Burgos to San Bol, 26.3km

The time had finally come for me to drag myself out of Burgos, but not before the lovely lady on reception at my hotel bestowed one last act of kindness upon me and only charged me about a quarter of the price she had quoted me yesterday. ‘I think you needed a rest,’ she said. ‘And now you are a different person.’ 

Am pretty sure she wasn’t far wrong – amazing the difference spending 24 hours horizontal can make.  My boots went on without incident, and all day I have only had complaint from one solitary blister. I think I quite like this different person. 

Today has been all about the meseta, the long stretches of high plains with nothing to look at but the sky and the cornfields.  It is bare, yet obviously fertile, and reported to be the section of the camino where you are most alone with your thoughts and your demons. The theory is that the first third of the camino is for your body, the second for your mind and the third for your soul.  I pretty much make Burgos the one-third marker, whether that works by either distance or time I am not sure, but it works for me (though there is still a bit of body ework to be done!) 

I think I must have exercised all of my demons early with my little emotional outburst in Burgos, because I quite enjoyed the walk today and beside a little thinking about work (and more specifically work-life balance) there wasn’t a whole lot going on upstairs (other than The Proclaimers on loop again).  I was really just enjoying soaking up the vastness of the scenery – enormous green fields stretching to a horizon of snow-covered mountains and enormous blue skies decorated only with thin wisps of cloud.  

I did have one excellent moment when I was chatting with a tiny Korean girl sporting a backpack that appeared to be half her body weight. She had started at the same point as me, but four days afterward and had been averaging an impressive 40km a day.  As we were walking along, her walking stick – what appeared to be a solid wooden staff – completely snapped in half. She barely broke step, but looked at it slightly bewildered for a moment before laughing and saying ‘oh well, it’s destiny!’ A few steps later, still smiling, she hurled the other half into the empty field beside us, proclaiming ‘now I am free!’ immediately doubling  her already impressive pace and leaving me with a smile on my face and a racial stereotype squashed at my feet. 

As sad as I had been to leave the others yesterday, this was definitely a good time to be alone, walk at my own pace and, when the urge took me (which it did a few times) just stop by the side of the path, stretch out against my pack and chill for a bit.  

This week is Semana Santa (Easter week) in Spain, so it appears that most of the country is on holidays, and using their time off to walk a bit of the camino.  Actually, not just any bit, this bit! The SS Brigade, as I have dubbed them, are all travelling in quite large and often pretty boisterous groups, so stopping at any cafeterias or village parks hasn’t had the same appeal today. 

I was under strictest orders not to walk too far today, but was having such a lovely day by the time I reached Hornillos de Camino at the 20km mark and saw the SS Brigade buzzing about at every albergue like a swarm of wasps that I decided to continue on. I had been loosely aiming for Hontanos, although our little cheat sheet from the pilgrim office did say there was an albergue at the halfway mark between the two, but with only 12 beds, no kitchen, no wifi, no bar and no food available, it hadn’t seemed a very appealing option when Silvana and I were checking it out a few nights back. 

That was until I spotted it on one of the few gentle folds on the plain and then watched group after group of the SS Brigade pass it by, unwilling to make the 200m detour to check it out. Have to admit that by this stage I was hot, tired and the 5km from Hontillos had seemed like a full day’s walk so I was more than ready to call it a day. 

The San Bol albergue is nestled under some of the only trees I have seen on the plains, has a natural mineral spring for soaking tired pilgrim feet and is run by the most delightfully hospitable couple you could imagine. It is absolutely in the middle of nowhere which meant after a quick shower, all there was to do for the rest of the afternoon was to lay in a daisy field under a tree and read my book. The sacrifices you have to make!

I did have to deal with a night without phone coverage or wifi, but that was probably good for the soul and a small price to pay for finding this perfect little oasis. 

The evening meal was also a bit special – a massive paella with bread, salad, water and wine that was shared by the nine pilgrims roosting there for the night around a round table under a stone cupola. Pretty nice way to end a lovely day and can confidently say that I have obeyed orders and taken it easy today. offers a shared meal of paella, salad and wine around a communal table.  They also seem to have a fire burning under the dormitory which is heating the floor tiles, and the room .  

 Burgos to Burgos, 200 metres 

The last few days have been pretty full-on, from the ankle down in particular, so with a few perfectly synchronised words of advice coming in overnight from my UK support crew, I decided it might be time for a rest day.  

Looking back now, a good 14 hours wiser, I’m not sure why it was such a difficult or emotional decision, but have to admit to a few tears as I sent Gonzalo, Daphne and Silvana on their way. 

There was, however, one perfect moment as Sil and I were saying goodbye when we started chatting to an Irish girl who had grown up in Australia. Silvana finally got to practice the ‘G’day mate’ I had been coaching her on for the past few days – went down a treat and was just what we needed for both of us to go our own way with a smile on our face. 

The logistics of a day off are a little complicated when you have to be out of the albergue by 8am. I had planned to walk to the edge of town and find either another albergue or a hotel there, but was feeling a little fragile so ended up walking all of 200 metres up the road before poking my head in the door of a rather nice establishment, working out they had a room I could take there and then and booking myself in.  I only thought to ask how much it was after the fact (ouch!) but with most of the albergues averaging about €7 in this stretch, am hoping the budget will cope. 

 From that point on, today has been a delightful combination of sloth and laziness – all of it gloriously boot and backpack free.  I have managed two baths, a shower, reading in the park, a pizza in a lovely cafe by the river, a visit to the absolutely stunning Burgos Cathedral and quite a few hours napping. Soul and stomach are officially replenished and my feet actually look like my feet again (still with perfect pedicure intact). Will see how they go tomorrow when I slip the boots back on … 

 San Juan de Ortega to Burgos, 28km

From everything I have read in preparation for the camino, the entry into Burgos is most often cited as a very tough day. And it didn’t disappoint. 

We knew we had a bit of a day ahead and wanted to get ahead of the game with an early start. While our Spanish contingent wasn’t so keen on our early morning huddle, we still managed to get on the road by 7am, all sporting head torches and small-child excited to get in a bit of early morning stargazing.  All good fun until we had to find a few of the ubiquitous yellow arrows, but thankfully the path was pretty straightforward and we could relax and enjoy the peace and quiet of the dawn and the satisfaction of seeing the sunrise, knowing we had a few hours under our belt. 

The path in the morning was another lovely experience, meandering through fields and villages and over at least one substantial hill, but by about mid morning we were approaching the industrial outskirts of Burgos which feels like the biggest city we have been through even though I am assured Pamplona was bigger. After about an hour in factory land, we decided to take an option that was slightly longer but took us along a river to get into the city.  

It is amazing how much fun can be had when you put together four constantly hysterically tired people. Silliness seems to be the order of the day everyday and for me is really making this part of the trip so special. At one roadside restbreak, we three girls decided we would try and fix Gonzalo’s knee with just the power of our thoughts and all gathered around, laid out hands on his knee and broke out a group om. We then looked up at him expectantly, keen for the results of our camino miracle making, only to have him ask with perfect comedic timing, ‘Are you all drunk?’

While it was definitely the right choice, the river path just seemed to go on forever and we were beyond exhausted by the time we crossed a bridge and then had to weave our way through hectic city streets, suddenly conscious of the delightful smells we were emitting as we mingled with the fresh and fabulous. 

By the time we rounded a corner and found the cathedral that was our marker for the location of the albergue, I was meandering along at a snail’s pace, completely lost in the world of pain coming from the new blister farm on my feet. After three years of good, solid service without a single issue, my boots are suddenly a size too small … or more to the point, no matter how much I put them up whenever the opportunity arises, my feet are suddenly a size too big.  Bit of a conundrum there.  Silvana and I had even taken the desperate measure of sticking out feet into the icy river at one point, potentially polluting about 200 acres of farmland in the process and entertaining Daphne and Gonzalo with our squeals of pain. 

I am not saying the cathedral in Burgos was enough to completely take my mind off my feet, but it was a pretty spectacular distraction, with ornate spires seeming to rise up in every direction.   Perfect spot for Silvana and I to enjoy a well earned chocolate milkshake … 

 Belorados to San Juan de Ortego, 25km

Am very proud of the posse for this morning’s efforts – everyone was having a tough morning for one reason or another – no sleep, bad news from home, the continuing saga of the knee … you name it, my compadres have had good reason to complain today, and yet – aside from a few tears – they soldiered on. 

All I had to worry about was the continual moaning from my feet. Think I have made mental progress today in that I have managed to separate the normal low level of below-the-ankle complaint that seems normal for most pilgrims from the type of pain that actually means something is wrong with. Thankfully today has mostly been the former, so I have been pretty focused on the ‘man up and get on with it’ mantra. 

That was until this afternoon when we hit the road to hell – 9kms of forestry access road through a pine forest that I swear was actually 42kms.  It was nice enough scenery compared to yesterday’s hike beside the highway, but it just seemed to go on forever … and then some.  Really tough mentally when there is nothing new to look at for hours on end. 

At the point where we hit a 2km to go sign (the first indication of distance for what felt like 100 miles) I finally called it and Daphne, Gonzalo and I lay supine under some pine trees for half an hour chillaxing while Silvana powered on to whatever musical Gatorade she had going on the iPod. 

The funny thing was that the same pine forest that had been the bane of our existence while we were trying to push through it suddenly became the highlight  of the day – sun-drenched pine trees with tiny birds hopping around, blue skies above and an enormous eagle riding the wind currents. And absolute silence broken only by a gust of wind or the sound of a bird. What’s not to love? 

I have been very quick to turn everything that happens on the camino into a cliched lesson in life – a shortcut that doesn’t pan out (ohh, there is no easy way to get what you want), a missed sign resulting in a longer route (yep, I need to be more detail oriented) … blah, blah, blah. But there really was something in that little break – just a shift in perspective and the forest we were struggling to get through was suddenly something beautiful to savour. Not sure if the lesson is to slow down and smell the roses or if it is more of an always look on the bright side of life kind of message, but whatever the case I am hoping that moment is something I can hold onto when I am back in the real world. 

 We have obviously had some mental energy to burn so have been killing time by teaching each other random phrases in different languages . After a failed attempt at being a Spanish teacher which resulted in Silvana adopting the phrase ‘mucho mas or menos’ (very more or less), today our lesson has been in German. I am pleased to report that I am now fluent in the sentence ‘Ich liebe es meine sandalen mit socken zu tragen’ which roughly translates to: I love to wear socks with my sandals – a phrase I have been keen to roll out to every German we have come across, just to show them I understand the heart of the German culture (if any of my German friends are reading this, please no hate mail!)  

 Santo Domingo to Belorado, 24km

Dad has been making suggestions for what he calls the ‘grey matter play list’. Unfortunately it is pretty hard to programme and I wind up with the most ridiculous songs rolling through my head.  Here is me thinking I had five weeks to ponder the great philosophical questions of our time when yesterday a good portion of my headspace was dedicated to a continuous loop of ‘You don’t make friends with salad’.  Quality.

Today though, I think I absolutely nailed it with a six hour soundtrack alternating between The Proclaimers’ 500 miles and Small Faces’ Lazy Sunday.  Not sure why, when every day is the same, but today definitely had a delightful Sunday afternoon feel about it.  

For the most part, the path today was along an access road alongside a major motorway, so there wasn’t a whole lot of euphoria over the scenery. We also started out from one of the most popular towns on the camino, so this morning – after we had been booted out of the albergue kicking and screaming at 8am (them’s the rules in all albergues) – there was a weird kind of traffic jam, with walkers spaced every twenty metres up the road. Even if we were really into it, it would probably have been a bit of a grin and bear it day, but there wasn’t a great deal of energy in the team today. Gonzalo’s knee was still giving him grief, despite him telling us otherwise through gritted teeth. Meanwhile, we girls were a little jaded from yesterday and were happy to meander along at a snail’s pace. On top of that, I seem to have grown an impressive crop of blisters overnight and was getting a truckload of angst from my feet over yesterday’s mammoth effort.  So at the first village we came to (a mere 7km down the road) we were happy to let the power pilgrims pass us by while we chilled with brunch. After that, the general consensus was walk for an hour, stop in a cafeteria for half hour, walk for an hour, lay on a park bench for half an hour. Rinse. Repeat.  You get the picture. 

The scenery wasn’t up to scratch (though still lovely if you turned your back on the highway) and my feet were causing me a whole world of pain, but oddly enough, with the laid back Sunday afternoon feel to it (topped off by a jug or two of sangria when we arrived) I think today might have to go down as one of my best days so far – purely on the comaraderie factor. But here’s hoping Monday Brings a bit more va-va-voom!

Navarette to Santo Domingo, 38km (yes my friends, you read that correctly) 

Ian’s sage-like advice after yesterday’s malarkey was to set off without a plan and without any expectations, which was exactly what I did. 

I have been waking up between 4am and 5am most mornings, but when you are sharing a room with up to 60 strangers, etiquette dictates that you lay there and doze until at least 6am.  But as I had a room to myself last night, there was no reason not to get cracking early doors.  I was feeling great after spending the last 15 hours either eating or horizontal (or at times, both) so set off just before sunrise to see what the day brought. 

For the first time since I started the skies were clear, so there was no need to stress about the clouds of Mordor rolling in. The landscape today continues to be stunning – rolling hills covered in a patchwork of vineyards, with a couple of snow capped mountan peaks in the background. Ridiculous number of photo stops along the way. 

Mid morning I was still feeling strong and coming into Najera had a fantastic surprise when I spotted Daphne and Gonzalo in front of a cafe on the edge of town, sprawled out in the standard pilgrim pose – tortillas and coffee remnants left, right and centre and feet propped up on the seat opposite (the cafe owners must love us!) Unfortunately Gonzalo was having some pretty severe trouble with his knee (think fifty shades of swollen) and was trying to get his head around the fact that he was going to catch a bus.  I really felt for him – he was obviously in agony but really trying to avoid the bus option for as long as he could (though to be fair, he did start walking in the middle of France about six weeks before me, so 20kms up the road isn’t really going to detract from his achievements!)

Anyway, bus it was and Daphne and I continued along the way, arranging to meet up with him again in Santo Domingo (though stupidly not thinking to offload any of our kit before he went – d’oh!) The weather was just perfect and suddenly my spring Camino was living up to all of my expectations – shorts, t-shirt and dad’s paint splattered sunhat, fruit trees in blossom, path side picnic spots aplenty and wide blue skies. Nice, nice and nice again. 

Even better in that it wasn’t long before we found Silvana stopped by the side of the road for a break. Despite slightly weary feet, I actually managed a happy dance at the sight of her and the excited ‘Jacqui!’ (read with German accent) I got in return was enough to make me forget all of my aches and pains. 

The three of us then reeled in the klicks all afternoon, eventually hobbling into Santo Domingo very tired but very pleased with ourselves – and even more so when we found an iced-up Gonzalo had already sorted our beds for the night and was waiting to lead us around the corner for the world’s biggest beer – well earned if I do say so myself.  

Funny how things go – I have walked almost double what I struggled with yesterday and (from the ankles up at least) could probably have kept going. Still, have decided there is no point rushing through this whole experience, so looking at a few shorter days over the next couple. Feels like time to stop and smell the roses – or the Rioja vines as the case may be … 

  

  

 Viana to Navarette,  21.2km

Definitely a game of two halves today. Set off from Viana full of the joy of the Camino – the sun was out, I was surrounded by vineyards and it was another day of flying solo, what’s not to love?  

However, it didn’t take long to realise there wasn’t much fuel in the tank this morning. Am used to being bone weary by the end of a day, but usually I start the day with a slightly obnoxious spring in my step.  Not so this morning.  May have been something to do with Clem, Silvana and I staying out till the ungodly hour of 10pm last night, celebrating Clem’s last night on the Camino with a slap up pilgrim meal, could have been the fact that the squid in ink I had for dinner wasn’t quite sitting well with me, or could have just been that I used up my week’s happy quota laughing hysterically for most of the evening. Anyway, wasn’t long before I realised today’s walking was going to be done at a more leisurely pace if I was to avoid a journey through struggle town.  

On the upside, I did have Logrono to look forward to – one of the bigger cities on our route and apparently regularly voted one of the best places to live in Spain. 

 I ended up spending about three hours in Logrono – contentedly waiting in the sun for twenty minutes for the pilgrim information office to open, before taking their advice and wandering around the centre of the city to check out the cathedral.  I then holed up for another 45 minutes in a brilliant little Art Deco cafe where I munched out on a second breakfast of spanish omelette, fresh squeezed OJ and an enormous pot of green tea – all to incongruous sounds of an accoustic Guns and Roses cover. Loved every not-on-my-feet minute of it. 

Also needed to squeeze in a bit of retail therapy, and hunted down a Decathlon store to replace my gloves and Swiss army knife, and to add a tennis ball (Mairead’s genius mobile solution for an evening foot massage) and a tin cup (the things I do to make my dad proud) to my collection. 

As soon as I left the shops though I started to realise I was going to pay for all the phaffing around. I still had around 13km to get to the nearest town (let alone the additional 6km to the one my optimistic morning self had thought I might reach) and I was already done in.  The next hour was a complete struggle – both physically, despite it being a relatively easy path, and mentally as I tortured myself into floods of tears by fantasising about everything that could possibly go wrong in my life (low blood sugar anyone?) 

There is a saying that if you ask the Camino for what you need, it will provide, though not always in the way you expect. I had already had this experience a few days back when I spent a good few hours contemplating how to lighten my pack as I mentally reviewed its contents for ditchability. This was of course the day both my gloves and my knife went missing – obviously the result of some divine intervention rather than my absentminded (and hence the need for reinforcements) But today, just as I was giving myself a good talking to about getting it together, there appeared a little cluster of gum trees in a field of daisies with a little bench seat … just perfect for a bit of laying in the grass with elevated legs action. Result. 

The other thing the Camino has given me today is a fair share of ‘Buen Caminos’.  This is the standard farewell amongst pilgrims as we wish each other good walking, but also an occasional greeting from the locals you pass on the street.  Getting a Buen Camino from a locals feels like a bit of a mark of respect. I even got a little greedy for them after my first one, trying to fish them out with a cheery Hola (subtext: check me, I’m a pilgrim walking 800km to Santiago, how cool am I?) these are generally returned with a slightly bemused Hola (subtext: OK idiot, I have seen it all before, now get your whopping great pack out of my face, I am late for work). So, turns out you can’t ask for them, which kind of makes them more delightful, especially as they come from the most unexpected places – a man struggling with his umbrella in howling wind, a high-vis clad builder unloading a truckload of supplies, a graffiti artist in a storm drain and a dapper old gent taking his wife promenading along a riverside path)  I have decided they are like the mental version of a can of Red Bull … which was so what I needed this afternoon. 

The other thing I needed was a bit of quality me time tonight. I was looking forward to catching up with Silvana again this evening, but also feeling I wanted to crawl into bed and assume the foetal position. And while I am a little sad to miss the former (there is no way I had an additional 6kms in me today) I seem to have hit the jackpot on the latter with an albergue in Navarette that is pretty much empty. I have a room to myself (unheard of), with beds rather than bunks (listen while any pilgrims reading this gasp in awe) and – wait for it – I have had a bath (oh joy of blissful joys). Thanks Camino, let’s call that one all for the day. 

 Villamajor Montjardin to Viana, 31km

So that is two 30km days in a row and have to say I am feeling it ever so slightly – typing whilst sprawled across a bottom bunk, feet elevated not-so-gracefully over a few spare duvets and unlikely to move in the foreseeable future. 

Quite enjoyed the night last night – couple of sneaky beers with a group of    fellow pilgrims I have been bumping into on and off the last few days  … Sylvania from Germany, Clem from Ireland, Gonzalo from Spain (not Rodrigo as I had started calling him for some reason)  and Daphne from France … not quite sure why I feel the need to anchor everyone in their country of origin, but beats a random bit of name dropping  I guess.  When I say a few beers, I do literally mean one or two which seems to be all it takes to knock me into a nine hour coma these days – whoot, cheap drunk!  I also learned a valuable lesson last night in that it is actually worth reading the guidebook the day before – turns out that nothing in Villamajor is open of an evening and you need to carry your own food in for the evening cue hungry Australian pilgrim scrounging for leftovers – oops!)

I set off quite early this morning and, caught up in fantasies about Spanish omelettes, took a new approach of stopping for a quite substantial breakfast a few hours in.  There weren’t many options along the way, so within ten minutes pretty much everyone from the albergue had rendezvoused in the same spot and it was ham and omelette sandwiches all round. 

The countryside we are walking through is pretty lovely, though with such broad, sweeping views unfortunately the photos don’t do it justice.  For the most part it is rolling green hills covered in vineyards (am due to enter La Rioja tomorrow!)  but pretty much every 5km or so, there is a slightly higher hill sporting a medieval village where you can stock up on supplies or just wallow in old stuff. 

I spent the afternoon walking with Clem who entertained me with a collection of random stories ranging from day hikers sporting oversized bath towels to travel diaries going into meticulous detail about how brown the landscape is … via the world’s most quality Harry Potter reference in a murder trial. Many fits of slightly hysterical laughter ensued (was quite tired by this point) but I didn’t realise his true genius until we stopped for a trackside snack and he pulled out a half bottle of wine, a bar of chocolate  and two plastic glasses (though no enamel sorry dad) … while all I managed to do was spill my bag of cashews down the hill. Hats off good sir, I have much to learn about this hiking business! 

Unfortunately, while the wine seemed like a good idea at the time, it did make the last 3kms ridiculously tough – that and the howling wind that had us bent into it at about 45 degrees just to maintain a snail’s pace. Needless to say we all broke the cardinal rule and checked into the first albergue on the edge of town, keener than planet keen to ditch the boots and pack and spend a few horizontal hours before dinner.  On which note, I might just have time for a nap before dinner – result! 

Puente la Reina to Villamajor Montjardin, 30.7km

Was quite strange to leave Mairead behind this morning, but she was having all kinds of problems with her feet and was ready for a slow rest day. On the upside, I was soon joined by a most welcome and unexpected companion – my shadow!  Yep, it has taken five days, but there was finally enough sun today for me to cast a shadow – shoot! Considering the weather forecast was for snow and rain, this was enough to have me skipping up hills all morning (though think my average speed probably dropped off a bit as I stopped to take a photo every nine seconds – everything looks better with sunshine!)

The route today was lovely, lots of rolling hills and little woodlands and the occasional big sweeping views that make you feel very small and humble about your place in the world.  I expected the weather was going to turn and it did pretty much every half hour – bright sunshine, pouring rain, sleet, snow, hail … think I had been through them all before lunch and then seemed to go through the full loop again over the course of the afternoon. Fortunately though, all of the horrible weather types barely lasted long enough for me to get the poncho on and off (it involves a lot of phaffing!) and for the most part sunshine was the order of the day. 

 I mentioned in an earlier post how you don’t always feel connected to the history of the camino.  What you do feel though is a constant connection to the mysterious forces (aka local governments?) looking out for you as you go. The path is almost ridiculously well signposted and in some ways it is like a constant treasure hunt searching out all of the variations of a way marker.  The scallop shell symbol is everywhere – from sandstone relief sculptures, to metal markers in the footpath and the stylised blue and yellow panels that crop up in the most unexpected places. These are supplemented with all manner of yellow arrows painted on gutters, telegraph poles, random rocks and what feels like pretty much anything that stands still for long enough.  In short, it shouldn’t be humanly possible to get lost (she says, tempting fate!) and it is quite a nice feeling to think that all of these random strangers have gone out of their way to look out for you.  Everybody say ahhh … 

Had a little special moment this afternoon … in addition to the yellow arrows along the way, there are also a series of water fountains, many of which are several hundred years old and have provided many a pilgrim a restorative drink. One vineyard along the camino has taken this to a whole new level by offering both water and wine. Result! It wasn’t the finest tipple I had ever had, and without any kind of glass in the pack I had to make do with sipping from an empty Philly cheese container (washed thoroughly for the record) but in the midst of my final little hailstorm of the day, it was very welcome indeed!