Journal Entry 01. 12/02/2024

All fine. Packed up and stepped out to locate coffee. Down to the bridge? But, no, what's this? No coat! Well that's a first. And it's drizzling... Then it's raining. I had to laugh. That was a very good night's sleep in room 104. Took me 30 minutes to locate a coffee nearby the railway station. Another one opens nearer the river at 7:30, but this one is nearer the morning activities, but it's Buondi, not Delta ... The Brasilian from Recefe was very quietly, beautifully sleeping. And reminds me of Jorge Ben!

Coffee flavoured sweet. I've been carrying a couple since Bushido, they're getting more gooey. Which reminds me of getting the sack from Linton Springs for helping myself to Tia Maria from the patisserie chefs stash without being invited: he was literally flirting with me a couple of days prior - the big whoopsy - and gave me a tipple and in my innocence I thought it was an open invitation, but it was an invitation to be accused of stealing bottles of Krug well before I knew what a Champagne Krug was ...

Systematically done. Breakfasted. Bought Glenn some pasta de peixe, one of each(3), got some vaca/ovelha quejio, two maça and three banane and now preparing my body for the bus journey into lands unknown: Sevilla. Not tired today... But weary of all the wars in my head. It's them and us... Cleaned and polished the boots: reapplying Leder- Gris.

Correspondence - and its from mother 'It's entirely up to you how you live your life ... some kind of volunteering would open up you life in a positive way ...less time to hide behind alcohol.

However I've said it before ... you have a good mind and capable of doing something amazing ... but you won't open up the possibilities.'

I won't open up the possibilities... What does she think walking into the unknown is? It's being limitless and looking for possibilities! But she's never understood me. To her a pilgrimage is 'religious' and she takes a gulp, a deep breath and signs every time she says the word; not quite rolling her eyes! The same as my father did when he swore and couldn't quite say 'f@#k' so said 'fack', but that's no facking good and would've made LoB an entirely different message: are you the Judean People's Front - Fack off with your rich imperialist tit-bits.

Blue skies as I climb aboard the 10:45 to Sevilha(on time)and find my seat occupied. After a conversation about Poker and Texas Hold em with a Quebecois the time between breakfast and putting Tavira back in it's box is completed. Now we've crossed into Andalusia via the Guadiana International Bridge as majestic clouds hang omnipresently above Huelva, with plenty to break their complacent arrogance: please let the rain stay yesterday!

As Ernesto Ché Guevara crosses borders, from Chile to Peru, and we're sat still on the main road A-49,  with the regular noises of sirens coming through the traffic, and our occasional movements forward... I am being so conventional sat near the back of the bus. And I keep looking at the byways with longing knowing I could just walk to the next pueblo and find my own Way ... if I had a little more courage? And more of the precious time (which is also money) caught in the systematics as the same omnipresent clouds laugh at my feebleness and all I can think is at least it's not Andalusia in July and we're stuck in traffic...

My 'trips' often begin with the opening of a frontispiece in something of literary merit. Usually on el Camino I have something filled with grand ideas in the bag, but I am often too self absorbed and concerned with what I am witnessing and walking through, but stuck as we are on this road, going nowhere, it's an ideal time to be transported to any time and place; not some place either simpler or more innocent (that's a untruth often told). Pushing back the hounds of boredom who may be snapping at my neck. We're moving normally once more. One small death and some time waiting and that is all over now? Or was it part of the tractor strike effecting the main roads of Europe ... I will never know as I was reading the book!

Getting on the bus I removed my boots and then, just prior to the stalling of our journey, I put them on once more. But now our arrival to Sevilla is retarded by a good hour ... C'est la vie. Back to the book with boots on

***

Plaza del Altozano and I forgot about the wonder of Spain (al-Andalus specifically). Portugal doesn't do Tapas. It's that nice portion which sits so sweetly next to Vino(Manzanilla) of a lunchtime... A late lunch as I made my 'two nights' bed looked at the wonderful Polish lady on reception an extra time and vanished back to Sevilla. A place I got off the train in many years ago in 38°C as I was interailing around Spain (domino pass) on my way to Cordoba from Valencia... Or was it from Madrid to Valencia... I wasn't a pilgrim, and rarely a hero, then. I found some bites this morning... And then I found antihistamine. I packed it as I know of those Asiatic brutes!