day eight. am.

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.