Day 9

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 average pasta or woeful paella. Taking the dry bread I've been carrying I've just make a gruel for this evening, with garlic, veggie stock cube and paprika and I will finish it for breakfast. Bed is calling me now though. A Yank and Hungarian are chatting up the cluster of Taiwanese girls at the dinner table which is meh; Belorado.