Caudete
The same old questions. Why keep at this? The relentless pushing pushing to reach what exactly? Over just the next crest of a hill is the truth I seek. Searching for what? Which moment of truth am I hoping to have spring out of the mind in which it's locked away? Stop here for a cup of tea. Then I start up a usual high street. Where two routes converge. The one from Benidorm meets the one I'm on from Alicante. The sign of the Camino says stop again. So a copa vino Vinalopõ and tapas. I will continue again shortly. Unexpectedly today I had to find a bush in emergency and then, more or less, directly afterwards a migraine. My body rejecting some melancholic disposition as a different way lies ahead? Or simply a few days of too much meat with little vegetable, fruit and too many excellent wines? Soon I will be in La Mancha tilting at windmills like the buffoon I am! *** Food was calzone. And I'm yawning. But I'm kind of caught in the other Spanish obsession: Barcelona or R...