A rebel without a clue.

I had dinner, a shower and then mosquitoes. Now I am watered and breakfasted ...it is dawn. Fantastic masala omelette for supper. I splattered a mosquito filled with my blood too angrily: mountains of regret. Getting out of Ghent was fluid. In a Priest's home. Thankfully. I was at the end of my day's endurance: I had no place to sleep. Everything seemed full or no one answered the phone. The one who did spoke no English: I'm not more than several words in Flemish so I hastily hung up. But here I am only five kilometres short of Oudenaarde: Welden. I shall never forget as it includes a dog and four year old Orval across the street. Tomorrow is Sunday. Half day closing. I grabbed two pears in a village before Lunch. I decided to keep away from the curvy river and follow farm tracks and minor roads as direct as possible. Today could have been nearly 40kms if meandering.

One hundred percent day. Zero percent sleep in the noisy hostel. But I was delivered to a pilgerherberge away from that other nonsense. Like a fool I wandered here and there knowing I couldn't walk on Saturday with the same set of circumstances as the Hostel on the bridge. Now I am up three flights of stairs away from fear. Fear never gripped me, but I wavered in that place unsure of tomorrow. I still have no destination tomorrow, but I have no worries: something will come along. Ulrich and Christena - a Camino couple have a perfect place for the Ghent etape: he's a German Physics teacher and she's a Flemish maths teacher. I returned my key to the damned hostel and returned to a very long siesta. Tomorrow I head to Oudenaarde.

The GP I saw, who I am now seeing regularly at the Light Surgery, thinks maybe the world is crazy and I am normal and that I will never fit it. I'm an outsider. I was inside for a while but feeling like I didn't belong or understand a thing. Now I'm always looking at this thing but it's as if I'm walking around an exhibition, or a zoo, where I can't grasp what the purpose of the merchandise is. I'm become an alien bemused or perplexed by something happening outside my experience: my reference point is now the Camino. Off I go again. Only back a couple of weeks. No where to move to in Wetherby do I'm stuck in Little London for the time being. Plenty of places are coming up in that area, but always if I'm 60+ or have a family. Flying to Brussels Charelroi and late bus to Ghent. An additional night in Ghent. Heading on the Via Scaldea six or seven days. Not got so long this time: Glenn joining me so we can visit some WW1 sites. Must be in Reims on 11th...

Already I feel attacked by the modern world. I told a group from England that they're carrying too much so one insulted me by calling me golden baldylocks and just now a man clearly pushed in to get on the train, even before everyone had got off and when I said you're being rude told me it was I being rude. People. And I should always keep my mouth shut. It's a world of attack I call upon myself. Those Brits need to learn their own lessons and who cares if someone appears to push in ... I'm on the train with plenty of time to kill. Rather than hang about all morning I decided to walk a little further on the GR65 just to observe all these hopeless newbies. So much blubber to use. So much conversation being ranted. Americans, Canadians etc. They don't like the noise of themselves or that of nature I am sure. Then I'm arrogant. It's a way, but you'll never see me wasting my life surrounded by more of the same. By eck I pong and am surrounded by flies. The ...

Mint by the roadside fills my mind with beautiful thoughts so refreshing. The sweat was so strong at the end of yesterday the salt stung my eyes until I was blind. Foot hills to the Pyrenees and now I know it. Amazing views all along the vale from the top where the GR65 and GR654 merge. But now I couldn't find any beds so I have a demi-pension €35 evening meal, bed and breakfast above the bar. I am grateful. I will have no money left by Saint Jean. Zero. But I know I'll be OK there.

We have so many saints we don't know what to do with them. Like an over stuffed sofa we're very uncomfortable. Down and through up and over, down and through up and over, ad nauseum. Pasture, cows and corn for miles. Until the end. Into low land around the river. Arrived without any idea what to do. So walked around quite witless. It's a promontory so had to climb many steps. Everything is closed. There is the remnants of a Fete happening. I put my head in the church. Silence. Then I struck for the tent. Asked if anyone spoke English. Now I'm with Isobel who has the Chambre D'hotes. But now I have no money and I'm locked away in the Tour Montréal.

Coffee. Before seven. 6:59. Dark out. Sunrise 7:12 and the stars are out. PMU express. Tired this morning. Bit of a battle with myself. Trying to just let mosquitoes be. If they didn't go for the face for location finding, and buzzed in the ear! They buzz so that the male knows he has women near him. Nothing changes. Some got me before I realised that there were any in the room. Again during the day. Early evening: six. Thought it was a fly, harmless fly, it was not. How did the ancient sailors manage? Most of them probably died of strange diseases in sweat drenched places totally cut off for anything they understood: Batavia, Calcutta, Hispaniola. Here's Johnny. That was a relentless day. But quite nice. I had to sit down once just prior to Orthez, which is another crap town. Many hills. Much sweating, searing heat by one. What's with this September? One by one they arrive and take showers, wash clothes, etc, but now it's me again. Alone. The outside noises only dista...