A rebel without a clue.

Saturday morning in Archie's front room and the day begins along North Street, as the cars head up or down, in the dawn fog. The clock on the wall ticks away the seconds and a crow cries outside the window. Time to make breakfast or to take Archie? An hour later, with an espresso in Caffe Nero and a loaf of sour dough bread from Baltzersen's, I've had my breakfast and so has Archie. Now time to get cleaned etc. Then at noon climbed aboard the number 7 to the Stray for a walk along it to Wear Park, a few halves then back on the supercharged X70 to meet Jason, pick up a Chicken Madras to help clear my bowels in a chilli assault; what was curry like prior to the Portuguese taking chillies to India? Sunday morning, the clocks have gone back, but the weather remains damp. The rain woke me during the night, as did the Madras as it worked it's way towards my bowels. It's Sunday and it will be a day of rest. Monday morning. Seems that Milk of Magnesia did the job? And a qui...

Day one. Monday morning. Up around 6. Finishing off the fully matured runner beans, which I blanched then pressure cooked last night, by reducing the liquor to a minimal. Will then turn them into good 'ole frioles refritos at my mum's... First proper tranquil afternoon/evening since I left for France/Spain, and that mad rush to get to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port to walk towards Santiago. I made a fried rice dish with courgettes and yogurt and finally my stomach/intestinal, although feeling bruised, seemed not to be gurgling away all night. My dreams are still dense and complete narratives. I wake from one standalone to another, as I did at 3. Dreams which I must listen to. They are revealing truths about my interactions with people and my honesty of my dialogue to my actions. To be myself, truly. What is it that Camino, with it's marginalisation a 'being' does to reality, or the unreality, of other human pursuits. All weekend I've watched the nothing going about cha...

And so it's over. Another day dawns. Saturday 21st October. Back to England, back to Leeds, back to Lovell Park. I crawled into bed at 9 and was asleep. I called into 4 of the establishments I am associated with along the route back, as I left a bewildering confusion of bodies in Leeds City Station, and none of the folks in any of them could really recall where I had been and for why. It's because the world they inhabit is so small that they can't see beyond it... Bless them. They're young, and I was once, and my time returning there is waning. Usually I am kind of excited to step over the threshold, but nothing changes really... It is the same. Nothing in reality is ever the same. It's in my mind that it is the same. Forgive me for I have sinned! Too often have I stepped below the mark. The mark is easy to see, but equally easily to stumble over... Nothing changes. Down Albion Street the morning after the storm. Saturday begins. A lady, who has her space below a te...

Many many dreams of a kind of space travel and a kind of time travel. Leaving and returning to exactly the same moment in time and space is impossible, leaving the past exactly as it was found without any effects to ripple to the future. I think there were three attempts to not alter the time continuum... All unsuccessful and nothing is the same after the journey out on the thin strip of weed free Camino path and the return to neetles, thistles, cacti, blackthorn, acacia trees coiled by snakes waiting to bite. *** It rained heavily in the night. And a gale blows as I cross from the Pension to the train station. And the news headlines are bad once more. Together we stand, divided we fall. The more that humanity is divided up the more the war continues. I think I forgot to take my day pill to beat off the depression because I wasn't depressed on the Camino - tired and confused but not anxious. John mentioned 'an eye for an eye' and I had completely forgotten how some folk ope...

What have I learnt from the last ten years of the experiences on el Camino? So many ... A list? Determination Willingness Hopefulness Resilience Endurance Stamina Bloody mindedness Sufferance Happiness Joy Sadness Being Lonesomeness Tranquility Never knowing Going forward, never back Trying again Strength Tiredness Speaking tongues Smiling Laughing Incredulity Insanity Pain Stimulation Going without True necessity The Truth ... Glimpses Acceptance Trust It is just around the corner The answer is so elusive Life is immaterial Being alone is OK Prayer? Ask and it will be given Preferring watercourses The monotony of agriculture The multitude of deaths (large and small) taken by passing feet, wheels, tires No news is good news Not needing to know The dawn chorus The patter of gentle rain The chim of bells Going home is nice Planning another walk is obligatory... Too many photos can be taken It's easy to say the wrong thing when tired, frustrated, anxious or arrogant. The list is endle...

A peaceful slumber. And the food poisoning is past, but so too is el Camino de Santiago for this season - autumn is thoroughly here in northern Spain, with heavy rain this morning and gales yesterday, on Meseta Central. Coming out from the albergue municipal for a coffee in the corner café where the clientele is only locals. As the hostess gets her day ready, with tortilla on the bar, serving those clustered closer to the televisual quiz (where it looks like three dimwits are playing for pennies: the answer is coloso, a giant of an answer!) and considering my one night in Santander. There were flights last night to Stansted at €14.99, but now it's €120. Probably for the best as the journey from Stansted to Leeds in 2023 is too expensive and, although I love Cambridge, it's been seen too often. The BlaBlaCar host(€13) picked me up opposite the Iglesia de San Pedro, Frómista, where I was under the porch of a Caja Rural way from the deluge. Now we are an hour away from the airport...

After packing away in the municipal albergue I came down to Café Jacobus, Castrojeriz, in an attempt to rebalance my body after another terrible evening of the 'damned' food poisoning and it accompanying broken night's sleep. Orange, juice, coffee, aqua con gas and tosados con aceite and I will see where I am as the sun reaches it's zenith on this rainy Wednesday ... But there is also another way out along the main road heading to Palencia if I were to hitchhike away from the Camino Frances and leave it. Along the Canal de Castille I come to Fromista to the final night in the final albergue municipal - Albergue Municipal Frómista €14. I explained to the hostelera my stomach pain since Burgos so she put me in the smaller dorm: just 4 beds on my own for now. None of the awful disposable bedding sets and I was the first to step over the threshold as an amigo, with a guitar outside the albergue, gave me one of his three apples and smoked a cigarette as I stumble...

A few days of rain and everything is becoming greener! Since Sunday I've had constant stomach issues. Unable to keep anything solid. I was getting better in a private room, but it returned in the municipal albergue. It's not food? It's not water... It's the uncomfortableness of being in a humid room where people forget they don't need alarm clocks at 5am. Alarm clocks which don't just wake themselves, but also wake everyone else who is alert, half asleep in the discomfort of the disposable bedding. And I know I hate the Camino Frances for the way it's not helping me get to Santiago. I am not like other souls who sleep so deeply that a war could be going on and they wouldn't notice. I felt bad for having to take a private room on Monday, to help me recover from the discomfort of the nights, but now I know it could be no other way. But I may never reach Santiago a second time... Have I slept well in an albergue since I was in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port? I rea...

Fresh socks! The joy of freshly laundered socks! Simple but lush?! As I breathed in the soapy freshness those around me laughed at the absurdity of the act and also knew the deeper meaning! Today is ... Today. Pilgrims admire churches, however I use them purely as a shortcut in the north door out the west; so cynical am I? To me it is a building, which cost a lot of time and energy, to effectively control the populace when the seeds were sown. To declare that there is just one way, when there are billions of ways, during harvest. Cup of tea, yogurt and a lovely croissant; shoes and socks of for a feet refreshment. The sun is shining down on Hontanas.

From a good to a bad pilgrim: a private room in a private albergue. It's a single, but I still have the room without all the moving, grumbling, sighing, screaming, talking or walking in the night. I also went for supper and breakfast: demi-pension, but lunch was from a can: beans and sausage with bread and the water I made the effort to pour from Fuente de Prao Torre using the hand pump. Finally I bought some soap! I'd managed without for the whole time as I 'found' stuff along the way. The stomach ache is subsiding too. Shower and siesta ... The fountain/spring water at Fuente de Prao Torre was wonderful! The sweetest yet from the various fountains on offer ... Although the one up in the Pyrenees is so long ago it might have also been as excellent... In a cupboard I swapped Plato: The Laws for 4321  by Paul Aster as I wasn't sure ancient Greek philosophy is my bag on this tiring journey. The 'other' Camino individual appears in me, as I know none of the ...

If I fly back to England today the same 99 problems will still be there to cause me to come off the waggon once more. If it's not Gaza, Ukraine or some other war it'll be Halloween! But if I continue walking I will only have to contend with pain, exhaustion and my mind, but the camaraderie, freedom and peace... Yesterday I was really poorly. I went out for lunch(veggie noodles) and returned directly to continue my relationship with the bidet: what was it which poisoned and poleaxed me? Other than physical exhaustion... I collected a pack of natural yogurt too to help my bowels recover. Otherwise I slept almost since 10am, after the bath, with the toilet visits. After breakfast I get it together, but I am still loose. And clammy. Oh well. I've a packet of Kleenex at the ready for along the road! So I carry on! It's another day, week, future?

The anticlimax of the day after. However I really never saw the Way I search for on this Camino. Too oriented towards reaching the destination, in the heat of the afternoon, and it was up to me not to be the same, but I think I failed. Saying goodbye to those I've walked a long way with. Some took selfies. And some gave hugs. After a bad stomach ache during the night and a constant coughing from someone in the dormitory I feel pretty shady - and the light in the shower cubicle also regularly coming on helped not at all! It's probably not true that I never felt at ease. I did at the beginning in the greenery of the Pyrenees and below. Then I got into the pattern of the other folks on the way to Santiago. I am so fond of the ways through France, where I rarely meet another soul. But I just had to revisit the Camino Frances. Now I am indecisive about whether I stay here in Burgos,  and be a tourist, or go to Santander to do the same! It's probably advisable to have...

Humid room and a minor hangover. Thanks John! Once we get going it's a laugh a second!!! Coming down into Burgos, at last, shortly! It's took me ten years to get to here myself and back then I couldn't cope with all the young folks playing-up, perhaps now I am less judgemental, a little less arrogant and more understanding of youthfulness ... Well I hope so? Checked into the Albergue Municipal which is modern and comfortable at €10 so I've left it for a menu del día at an establishment adjacent to the cathedral - Bonfin desde 1962. Came back exhausted, showered and slept... Then preambulated back towards the Albergue Municipal on the corner below it I've had a couple of vino de Jerez and am enjoying a plate of Padron pimiento with a Gordello: back for another snooze, el Cantina Calle de Fernan Gonzalez. It's a city: a large town really with a population akin to Bradford, but it has very large area. There is nothing after here but Meseta Central, whic...

It's true: I've been walking 10 years, almost constantly, with Lola and long distances between them. Yesterday I felt that's enough of this blasted nothingness, but a good night's sleep has resurrected me and I continue on to Burgos. Day ten and life stories poured out as John, the Kiwi, gave me his and his wife's (who is literally a Dame and four times Open squash champion: Susan Devoy). Then I poured out all my pain of the previous 20+ years, since JWBS demise, which brought me to the  brick wall which is Camino ... And then it brought forth a sob or two. End of day ten, at the second calling, San Juan was a terrible nothing and the albergue was a parroquial which charges (because it hadn't been a part of the church for ten years and is privado) so I couldn't pay! The awesome chica(Annette) from Austin Texas said she'd pay: which was lovely, but I couldn't stay after I saw a pizza disappear from the first bar for 100 metres before being...

Cock-a-doodle-fucking-doo at 3am! I ask you! And the church bells too. It was a good albergue, but you can't chose what is around you? Feeling a little fragile so far this morning: there are some snoring and a lot of coming and going in the night. I am such a sensitive sleeper... already to bolt! Fight or flight at the ready. It must be hereditary shell sock? And I've begun to lose count of the days since I left Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port that fateful day! ... Is this it? My final day on the Camino? I can't see the purpose of the way anymore. I am definitely looking for something which I no longer need. Ten years older and a little wiser. Walking up alongside the road, two days prior to Burgos... I just don't know. I can walk forever but the shadow still follows me. But I am trying to walk for Leeds Mind also ... Two more days is fine. Tonight I am doing nothing related to the social element of the Camino Frances. It's not the purpose of my existence. Neither is averag...

The day is ending and the Cane Corso is laying by his master's feet. He's five and tired. But knowing Lola he's probably had a grand experience with all those other smells, noises and sights? I saw him yesterday and then this lunchtime. So I had a plate of Bolognese, but I had to ask for a spoon and some cheese(parmesan wasn't possible). My stomach is full so it's time to retire. I didn't shower today as I sat on the edge of the square beside the albergue watching the pilgrims stumble into town one at a time and couldn't be arsed to be clean... Café Espolón. The guy (Andalusian) with the 6 dogs, who I saw earlier, also passed along the street and I said hello to those fine guys - we're friends I feel as he said I have good energy and the Carne Corso thinks I am fine too.

Not one person said good morning this morning, except the Spanish gentleman from Galicia. The remainder looked like their faces were by their boots. It's a difficult walk. I know. They're struggling with conflicting emotions. The young men are trying to get their legs over with the various chica who they circle around like the flies who crawled over me yesterday or around a freshly presented shit. There is a war arising in the middle east once more betwixt the greedy Israeli's and the increasingly marginalised Palestinians - oh boy! Who provoked who ... it's a chicken and egg scenario which the victors in ww1 set evolving into its current nonsense. So I stopped in Santo Domingo de la Calzada. Grañon has mats for beds and it has no credential sello. I rocked up with Robbie from Glasgow and Michael with no Brummie accent from Birmingham. My bed is on the second floor in room 2 and is 2002 ... I like the vibe.

Pretty tough day. Relentlessly straightforward and by the afternoon the sun is unbearable, but I managed two bunches of naturally dried bunches of tempranillo grapes that hadn't been taken to make Rioja and I brought plenty of food at the café by the church in Navarrete. It was important to spend an hour there before the long 17kms section. The bottom of the water container was warm by the last swig. A few of the other pilgrims are passing me looking bloody exhausted too, but the kitchen is closed... Nájera. So I wandered to the monastery, where the way passes tomorrow, and called in for tapas at Bar Talisman. It's all pretty uninspiring, but I am wearing fresh knickers! What is it about?

Getting to Logroño I thought great then after a couple of hours surrounded by people I just felt meh. That's the hope I put where I never find it. A huge river passes towards the Mediterranean from here - La Ebro - but today we're following the N12. Meh! The couple of French retirees I have seen since Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port are bakers!  They were very excited to reach the panaderia along the Camino as one of the bakers is from France. The croissant was good! And now I am walking the day I don't want to walk - truly I am insane! The two brightest stars, alongside the disappearing moon, are Venus and Jupiter. Jupiter is the star in the west. Second donativo since Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port last night, but they couldn't provide a sello as the priest had died. Luckily I got one on the bridge before crossing the Ebro

Two good Germans going the other way, Logroño to Pamplona, shared a slice of Domino's pizza. There were three slices left! That's the trinity in a pizza box? It was cold from last night - I prefer pizza the day after or cold so it was manna from heaven? Here in Logroño enjoying a glass of white Rioja in the capital of that DOC opposite the cathedral and reading the end of By An Unknown Disciple. A weariness is upon me. I must retreat to the albergue. Perhaps it's the heat of the afternoons since I left France? Maybe it's because I am without spirit and yearn to touch it as I once did?

Recreating is almost over. From tomorrow it's no longer following my feet from June 2013. From tomorrow it's Logroño to Burgos. Five days, if I don't return to Grañon for a second experience of that fantastic albergue above the iglesia (returning and recreating what never was nor could ever be). Last night, in the restaurant (which must've grown in size) I felt ill at ease with the group who seemed to be bragging about other walks. Bragging rights definitely come with being a twenty something and it makes for very bland dinner conversation. A German peregrino very tedious. I left as soon as I'd finished off the tart. The meal was fine. Coffee and croissant waiting for the day to show it's face. I am less inclined to walk in the predawn, but probably will. I appear to be walking with an Italian outfit since Puente la Reina and I am discovering their names slowly. They tend to spend their time together with another one from Brasil. This morning I listen to Swallow...

Out at 6 and nearly at Los Arcos. It's a pretty simple path, after the sun rose after 8. Before then I had a moon shadow to guide me along the white way. Just now came upon Russian Olive berries which are sugary and almost like a bonbon in sweetness. Quite a surprise and welcome relief from the straight street. I think I am confusing the stage between Estella and Torres del Rio and tomorrow Estella del Rio to Logroño. The most boring day is over. Tomorrow was a nice meander into Logroño where I caught the tail end of those stoned Yankee kids which made the Camino experience suddenly sour for me. But I left behind the cluster of kids and haven't seen their equivalent in this group who left SJPDP the day after me. It's in Torres del Rio where I had that fantastic supper with the Danish priest, living on a Norwegian island, and the father/daughter from Brittany. She drew portraits of the priest and I and then we laughed long into the night about my mispronunciation...

Once I thought 'it's always up over and then down into another river/stream/watering hole for bed' and that's all it is really, or like the New Zealander said the longest pub crawl on Earth. Today was short, and I was weary until I discovered Riesling, Semillon and Garnatxa Blanco. Now I ate prawns and mushrooms on a stick. Why did I do three days over two? I am stupid. It all feels surreal. Food, food then bed 

People are stiring and I feel mentally fatigued. I couldn't locate my teeth just now... but then I recall I left them where I always do! Then I cracked a joke, but in usual way I cleared the room! Toulouse? No to win! (perdre? non pour gagner!) As I am a day ahead of the pilgrims I set off with, from Saint Jean, I was forced to insinuate myself amongst the throng outside a bar, which I did, but I felt bad for leaving lose I left with behind. They will mostly be leaving Pamplona this morning? Enjoyed a pilgrim supper with Irish, New Zealanders, Deesider and Dutch. €23 for a vast amount of food - Bar Aloa. Puente is famous for its rojo pimento of which I ate a mountain of, on top of a bunch of garnaxa grapes... and I am strangely weepy. I apologised for snapping at the young lady who was concerned I may drink bad water ... I was being judgemental yesterday!

The joy of ripe rosehips. Where today? Heaven not hell Manufacturing in the valley Sore mill no excuse As an arrow, young, points ahead I ask if I don't move will it cease? Or walk-on not knowing And non-stop Pushed and pulled; apart Argued, not agreed Divided inside and outside When there is only within. *** Day three begins in earnest, after a proper scrambled egg, ham, cheese, yogurt, croissant, OJ and coffee(€6) with one bottle Vichy Catalan(€2): bliss! Leaving Pamplona which I don't recall from 2013 at all. But what day is it? It's now. But could also be considered Friday in Pamplona - which should be avoided as though the plague is sweeping the land and the four horsemen have full saddlebags. Nearing Puente La Reina and I recall nothing of passing here in 2013 and I probably wasn't here although my body, and a very heavy sack, was. Where my mind was is anyone's guess. A wee lassie from England said I would drink that water as I scooped to try a trickle from a ...

Another early awake for me. But there is nowhere to go ... and I don't know where next. I didn't yesterday after arriving either! It feels like a little piece of a jigsaw puzzle, so long looked for, has finally been rediscovered as the section of the Camino Frances between Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port and Roncesvalles is now in my memory as being accomplished. Previously I was forced, during winter, to use the other route when I was coming back from Pamplona to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port to complete that section of the Camino. I could leave all these newbies, or I could carry on to be around them as some of their conceits vanish and are replaced with another... it is a rites of passage for anyone the first time. In the night some persons definitely threw up. Either their supper, the beer, the wine or all. I hope it wasn't Song, the lad from Seoul I spent the an excellent supper with in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port and who seems to look up to me ... it's quite nice to be the village ...

Awake at 5. Nice afternoon/evening. Free flip-flops. And a nice supper with a young Korean gentleman on his first expedition in to Caminoland. Sunrise isn't until 8 am so ideally another hour of Lalaland ... At 6 I am going to the bakery after meeting a Spaniards from Valencia, two Argentines(both Amigos), one Hong Kong lady and many Korean individuals and drinking coffee and eating ferme yogurt. Two plus hours with an American ultra-marathon 36 year old. Who I let disappear into the most as we approached the physics student from London Ontario... nuff said. Solace. Just passed Orisson and they're at the bar. I will leave them there?  They went for the sunrise, but of course the pass is filled with low clouds... oh dear? Forgiveness is a patch to help the healing over what never seems capable of forgetting. Eating and drinking my fill at the Hostal, where I am tempted to sleep - even though the refugio is €14 as I am frightened of the two North America guys... I lost them then ...

Outside Le Gare De Bayonne a crowd gathers for the bus to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port. To be surrounded by so many people and voices is so unusual. An experience I haven't had since 2013. Does it fill me with fear or with love. *** Depends on the conversations. I was wedged between two American grad students and one, almost American, Canadian grad student at the back of the bus. Some kind of rock and a hard place. After the initial helloes, which brought our Canadian cousin to my left front into the midst, I wanted off the bus to mind my own thoughts: nowt like a physics student reducing me to a Turing Machine to make me wonder. I kept quiet quite long enough until he used the term computer to define me! But then he wasn't having a real experience at all? As he conjured up his sex life with these two sisters from DC as a programmed happening ... It's just not me! But I am in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port. That was insane. I've not stopped, but now I relax by the stream climbing d...

Well I am straight into the cluster of folks around the breakfast table, but I am absolutely shattered from yesterday. It's wonderful to hear them all speak their French tones, four are from Quebec, and to be glowered at as I arrived after 1 am, because they weren't operating  the Tramline after 21:30 due to scheduled works - and I was on the slow bus stopping at each and every blasted stop along the same route - but the challenge of the endurance and not falling into drunken slumber (because that was impossible). The sounds of the Camino... now I know I physically cannot begin on 6 broken hours sleep, on the back of yesterday's mammoth day back from Wetherby, mum and Lola. Where to this morning? Dax or Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port... the train departs at 10:19 so I will stop enroute at Marche des Capuchin where memories flood back. Flipping a coin I decided to head to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, €42 - which was most of yesterday's allowance - so I will start from Saint-Jean-Pi...

So far so good. Good morning with Lola. Two walks and a ton of cuddles as I depart for the haul over the Pennines to Manchester Terminal 3 on the slow train, via Halifax(£9.80), etc, then the tram to the airport. It's the cheapest option at around £12. Traveling to go walking ... flying to find some space to be ... it can never be done? Arrived and find it's a replacement bus service instead of the Tram and it has to stop at every tram stop. I should reach a bed by 1am? They know I am coming, but I am sorry to wake the hostess at La Maison Du Pelerin. It's not cool. And I feel jaded! But I have been on the go since around 5:30am. Walking tomorrow? Yes, but not 34.5 kilometres.

Another day of self hatred before a restful night's sleep. It's Monday the 2nd October and is this it? The end of the previous period of my life, if life my can be divided up into Epochs, eras, periods? But a change has to come, and I can only think of one way to get the ball rolling, which is by walking away from the same temptations I see all around me. In 2013 I felt the same, ever decreasing, situation, as I lay between the late shift and the early shift at YO! Sushi when I felt nothing was real in what I was doing and where nothing meant anything to me! Then I felt why go on? But there had to another way to that obvious conclusion to which I thought death was about to pounce. And yes there was, is and will always be. To turn in to the path of lightness, being, truth, and not abide in the doorway of uncertainty, where I waver forever, back and forth, around and around, with no direction and no purpose; be fearless and find what was always there to be found. *** Pilgrimage h...