Nuevo Camino. Pt.4.

Don't dance her down? Rias Altas Betanzos 2011.

There comes a time when you know cheese, wine, beer, cider, bread, cured meats; ectcetra, and your knowledge can reform views on combinations in France, Italy, Croatia, Spain, ectcetra. Wow it feels nice to be useful but not conceited. Portugalleses taking the informed opinion of an angleterra and thinging a wave of some Riesling summer stylee. And so to bed? Yup. To be asked by either a Parisian or Madridian which counties wine is best is vainglorious and extremely blinkered. The locality of the vino, food, etc. It is always the Pays Pais Country stuff you should faggazal! I don't care I am alluring towards love for arnica that was chased from Mageride to Galicia! Oh right that's right 5am. Wherever there's a crowd there's a urge to wake earlier and earlier so I toliet and then return for a broken hour or two. At 7am the distance yawns before me like a sleepy cat. One day more to spend walking a long way in a race to rest ahead of another and another. Breakfast first to battle with my crowd demons! Coffee twice toast and honey and head up to Burma. Passing over the railway up into a shady wood. Ditto Eucalypts. Next stop Bruma :: not quite the road to Rangoon!?!

Jimmy Savile I'm sure! Walking a tiddly dog! 188 metres from the soil and no longer jangling. Passing all Yup early bed creekers and how to Fixoi a holeoi that runs through the mindoi and stops me wanderoi.

Last stretch up the mountain side to Bruma you see many examples of taxi get out clauses and after a stubbornly unendingly steep and strenous climb I had to collapse around an hour from the end. It was cool indeed under the composite leaf cover. Feeling fresher I set off slowly to conquerer the toughest section and find r&r. Some of the mightiest trees are a greywhite towering concretely o'er are heads.

The final section of this etape feels murderous and my energy levels are virtually on zero. For a while before Cais Maior I thought I'd missed the turning for the Camino and I was out of water entirely. Finally replenished flask and I hope now I am amongst farm buildings this is the final of penultimate hill? Some how I feel like Michael Palin at the start of Monty Python's Flying Circus 'it's' Bruma!

Utterly fucked! Saw no one for miles and the hills and bends kept on coming, but finally arrived ay Bruma. And now for an inverse probability law. The further from Ferrol you travel the worse the breakfast is, more grumpy the patrons and the higher the prices. Every stage or etape feels like the vortex of Santiago is gripping mercilessly. No one speaks any English at the albergue and it is simply impossible for me to recall a word of English, let alone Galician Spanish, when I've just been bent over and over and touching my toes; my bed I forced for €5 as it is all I have left.

The bed last night wasn't long enough for me to rest easy, thankfully tonight's is spacious and accommodating!

Freaky German man and bloody loud Spanish host. I don't speak German or Spanish yet you both talk to me as though I am native tongues! And Spanish hostelleros speaks like a man possessed and has a rotating gate. Love the remoteness but worry about the clientele.

I removed zwei arachned from about my bed: one heavily with egg sack. They went outside.

One by one we were joined until all last night's pilgrims touch this headstone of a hostel. The dark eyed German stares glowing glowering at any word I say so across the street I drink petaliant alberino and a presense arrives four fold horsemen. To my spider free den I hide with my little bottle and so Linda feeds me chocolate and almonds.

Jack is now complete. Dean didn't die physically, and I thought he would, but he died mentally. The Mexican trip was a trip too far into the blinking unknown. Sal and Dean lost something in Gregoria which was their trip too far.

Twice crazy spanyard woke me with his sniffling dribbling loudness. It's an odd albergue in Bruma. Nearest café is an hour onwards! Will be an unsteady Thursday maybe? When did pelegrino become peregrino! Bastards all of you!

The Parisienne girl is so alluring I just wish wasn't at a distant 41, deadly bearded and she wasn't off to a wedding on Saturday! Everything about her is really sensational and her Madrid bf seems in an odd nowhere man land. Mama! Although I've not felt the horn once on the way apart from morning glory.

Must be time to collect my weary body and continue. Etape cinq. Breakfast of coke, orange and banana. There is a chilly breeze. Only thirty clicks today!

Speedy eight kilometres to a good casa café and toastardos and noon approaches; only that is quite clearly a contived confused lie. The shade and my long shadow falling westward ho! suggests a mere 10am. Siugerios not many skips now!

The last few kils are directly through a 'bworing fworest', as Linda would/will happily remind me in her German accented English. It is straight as a dice but better than the final tortures of Wednesday to Bruma. My trails app lost me again and I am grateful I'm not in the arctic tundra; the last two birds to welcome me are blue jays along the English Way which is close to infinity and thin like spaghetti. The longest road direct I've ever been on with just a pair of boots; relax with a shandy and then find the only pension in town. Limon and Cervaza is the ultimate refreshment. Modern town built on a wave of absolute busy nausea. I must await fate in a town that has the A1 passing through it's guts: I suppose in the.modern.world! this.is.life? Linda and the stranger German, Wilfred, found me sullen faced and contemplating my doom from a woeful burger as all life careened passed me nose to rear bumper to bumper.

With fear that I might get a nasty blister walking the 3+ kilometres to reach the first bath of at least a month, I am relieved to find the only challenge was a hill and a artfully placed stick sent to bloody my passage. Now sandwiched between two brightly white towels I hang around for the Internet to connect and the last few days gulf to vanish.

There has to be something cool to actually wake up free of smells, snores, sly mosquitos and seven o'clock sleeping bag returns. But I feel a little slammed by the high sun. We can stay at this 3* hotel until noon, which is 10am, and come to Santiago around 2pm, which is noon, to cheering masses. It will rain or be escorchio. At hotel HSV/ASH I won't be connected to share my days without a complex issue with routers and ip addresses!