A rebel without a clue.

How to accommodate the crowds? How to be always the few not the many? 0.01%. Many Italia. Beautiful locale which reminds me of the Tours Anglais in Aubrac. But instead of two Frenchmen and I ... Sixty Italians, one Danish, one South African, eighty Spanish and I hear an Israeli? What! I am reminded of the road to calvary by Bruegal. Yes we are all individuals! A beautiful space but I feel crammed into a low celling and between all the young voices and piano playing adolescents I can't cope. This part of the Camino is too rammed. I must find a way that links me with freedom and existence. I asked if I could sleep in the second overflow and now a way across the road listening: If 6 was 9. Free. I don't care. 0.01%.

The devil is in our midst and he is Canadian. Stoned beyond redemption and suddenly he's the chef de cuisine. I'm hating the way my experience has been altered by one unaware individual. He is meaningless. I must remember that he is meaningless. He has disturbed me twice now. In both large Cities: Pamplona and Logrono. So much I just want to go home. People have played up to his appallingly bad meal. Flavourless and over cooked. Second time I've needed to flee the dinner table at the conclusion of the sweet course. Oh why! Those guys from over the Atlantic must make themselves heard. They're insanely insignificant to Europe. With a better morning and rice pudding for breakfast I run run run to autobus estacion for to out-distance Peter, Amish and two Americans. thanks to Claire from iglesia de santiago el real for helping me. and also Nicole and Antonio at breakfast for bringing the better feeling back. if I see Peter, Hank or Bernadie again in this life! I realise wit...

Bed. Unwind. Spoke briefly to our volunteer host. She asked me if there was anything I needed. After snoozing, with a heavy downpour filling the ancient streets of Logrono and washing away stress. I find napping on a rainy afternoon doubly engaging. Elisa and her father have found the bed next to mine for the night. There are a limited number of beds, but there are also a number of matts on the first floor. The bell of the large church sounds down the quarters and the host comes to beckon me for a hot drink and biscuits. I leave the tranquility of my bed for a table of loud discussions, but I find ease in camomile and 24 tiles depicting the life of Saint Vincent. I know that there is less reason to the Way than I perceive others demanding it be. An American lady wanted to come with me when I went for my sandwich and detour but I wanted to be alone. She seems so intensely loud and wants everyone to hear her stories. Why do I want to end this now. We don't need to fill every silenc...