Sleepless in Girona. Sleeping in Pamplona.

Sleepless in Girona. Sleeping in Pamplona.

Another crazy night of booming voices, late arrivals and plenty of stomping feet; mopeds and motorbikes scretching; guitars wailing, gulls foiling; car alarms bawling; Spanish hombres singing, shouting and slagging; me flailing the dark! This ain't no place to be able to sleep through the chorus and awaken raring to take my seat; plaça catalunya. Wil.I.am and Justin Bieber 7am Girona oh yeah! I'm sat as far as I could get. Why is it so mono and unreal. Katie Perry: I'm taking my stuff and going. My pelerin pendant has vanished and I almost in my haste left no. 2 flask. Who is it writes and produces such dreadfully awful and empty popular music? It is so bad and evil that we're being subjected to either 24hr terror on the airwaves or transmission in one corner or 24hrs mindlessly unmusical frantic gibberish. I depart as soon as I consume a watery coffee and confide to the night security man how insane the music would make me. As soon as I can take it I leave to journey towards my next destination. If I need walk some 500 kilometres what rate with the effort and the perspiration can I expect. Girona station is clean and cool and expectant; forty minutes to ponder the missing pendant. It is meaningless and just another thought that is an necessary concern. I'm hearing my other voice! The anger it pursuades me to ponder and project. No worries. Barcelona Sants next stop 8:10. The fm radio plays the look of love: the look of lust? Under those trees? Uno douo Tres. Control points to take me to a vast cathedral of a building housing platforms 13, 11, 12 and 14, left to right. A blank canvas; this must've been expensive to build. Every word I expect duplicate for Spanish and Catalan: which still sounds almost Spanish. If the Geordie nation rose would we bi-wire our stations too? A high speed train to Barcelona, continuing on to Madrid. I asked for the cheapest option which I'm sure AVE isn't? Away from the train of a thousand blankeyed stare or impossibly minor frown. Passing through Estacion Sants and feeling a full neck unreal. Forgotten earring on the marbled floor. Another queue for access control; it is crazy world in all its finery. At 2€80 for red bull I almost forgot! I hastely returned to the fridge. Something rotten, unfeeling and greedy inhabits the places we have to form into queues to be controlled. My card didn't go through which was a mighty relief. Some vaguely Celtic music is pumped into coche 7. I'm in coche 6. But I managed to walk passed it without realising. It seems what's displayed on the exterior of the train isn't what is on the interior. While we travel west I listen to an old classic - Half Man Half Biscuit/Back In The DHSS; doesn't suit the landscape but does my mood. There is something essential about Trumpton Riots leaving Lledia. Seven is Six. We're still lacking a proper transformer; it was a dodgy transformer. This journey is longer than any I've had so far. I'm very removed from the pace of the first leg. Ahead of me I have two thirds and I am ready to begin the trail again. Useful to know that one jar of lentils and a packet of chorizo satisfied me for less than €2. Now coming to Pamplona; no map, no guide, no where to stay and not a euro left. Today I spent nothing so far and probably no more than a €8 yesterday. Need to get straight to puente la reina by a simple means. There is probably also a church in Pamplona that will set my feet upon the correct path: first option. Stepped off the train and took the scenic route to the pilgrim stop before the cathedral. A local man in not one word of English delivered to my nights accommodation Jesus Y Maria. A superb 120 bed locale with many anglophonic voices. Showered after the long boring, tedious and absent train journey. Seven euros. Many fingered Bayern keys a Bach fugue to help us souls unwind and untie the knots of sleeplessness. First I heard him inI the distance calling to help us through what had begun to pain. I've come along the way. It was a dramatically hot traipse to find a little shadow from the huge sweats I was drenched.

I'm really feeling very bloated. Something I have eaten is passing through me like wind. It might be all the fruit I ate in Girona making its presense felt? Tomato overdose. That's me for the evening. Up and away early. Eat on the hoof. Beat the sun to residence at Puente la Reina. Some guy said it took him 28 days to do this part which would be around double the time I walked from Puy en Velay.

Going to forget this today. I need to read and tear myself away from it!