A rebel without a clue.

I had dinner, a shower and then mosquitoes. Now I am watered and breakfasted ...it is dawn. Fantastic masala omelette for supper. I splattered a mosquito filled with my blood too angrily: mountains of regret. Getting out of Ghent was fluid. In a Priest's home. Thankfully. I was at the end of my day's endurance: I had no place to sleep. Everything seemed full or no one answered the phone. The one who did spoke no English: I'm not more than several words in Flemish so I hastily hung up. But here I am only five kilometres short of Oudenaarde: Welden. I shall never forget as it includes a dog and four year old Orval across the street. Tomorrow is Sunday. Half day closing. I grabbed two pears in a village before Lunch. I decided to keep away from the curvy river and follow farm tracks and minor roads as direct as possible. Today could have been nearly 40kms if meandering.

One hundred percent day. Zero percent sleep in the noisy hostel. But I was delivered to a pilgerherberge away from that other nonsense. Like a fool I wandered here and there knowing I couldn't walk on Saturday with the same set of circumstances as the Hostel on the bridge. Now I am up three flights of stairs away from fear. Fear never gripped me, but I wavered in that place unsure of tomorrow. I still have no destination tomorrow, but I have no worries: something will come along. Ulrich and Christena - a Camino couple have a perfect place for the Ghent etape: he's a German Physics teacher and she's a Flemish maths teacher. I returned my key to the damned hostel and returned to a very long siesta. Tomorrow I head to Oudenaarde.