Perl.

Awoke with the sound of the birds from the green space, behind the Kolpinghaus, around five so I packed up my gear before heading back for another hour and a half when the squark of Crows brought me ready again. Now I'm on the corner of Konstantinstraße and Brotstraße in a Bäckerei (again). Inside something is stirring saying enough is enough of this! On the way out I definitely need fruit not Puddingschleife.

It's Monday morning and, as the world stirs into its perpetual groove, I decide to carry on until I'm further from it and collected some satsumas and a bottle of Kombucha.

If I have a preference on a Camino it to follow the sources of water - either upstream or downstream - rather than walking along exposed ridges: Roman Legionnaires had to have thick Worsted undergarments to keep the proverbials warm! However I was just reminded by the Mosel that very cold winds can rifle down the valley from where the waters meet their makers!

...

Bloody great big sign saying herbergen and it's also written above the door! But it's closed! It's been closed 3 years. Fuming! Nothing at all in Merzkirchen . All the day I've not considered finding a place to sleep because there is a website - why didn't they take the sign down Now I've no chance but to hit the main road!

Really I don't believe the Jakobsweg actually exists in Germany. There is obviously some organisational system which, from an outsider, looks very professional, but at its heart it really doesn't exist because there is no infrastructure.

With no food or liquid I'm on the road again. Another longer than necessary day! Good job I can see the funny side!

After I spoke with Mike, in a sardonic mood (laugh/cry), I walked on. I'd almost resigned myself to another 20 kilometres until Perl.

A lady in Merzkirchen, I'd spoken to briefly, suddenly drove next to me and gave me a bag of waffles, biscuits and water! Then I thought that maybe I can do this?

At the next Jakobsweg road crossing I saw a car coming up the hill and so I waved frantically. Now I am at the end of the bar in Blondes, after a wonderful pizza and two Benediktiner Weissbier,

with the the very first anti-English German I've met - he went on and on about baked beans. It's intriguing that I'm on the border of Luxembourg, France and Germany and I recall crossing borders between Germany and Poland a few times and a similar attitude pervaded: old memories die hard?

Tonight I sleep in Perl, but alone, and cross into France in the morning. It cost me €30 to sleep in an ancient lady's B&B and I am grateful: It's nearly six and tomorrow it's a Chemin Saint Jacques I am on and when I sit too long my right knee ache much more than the guy who doesn't like Englanders: dumm-kopf he's gone because he was myopic.