A rebel without a clue.

From today I really need to detox, both mentally and physically, which was the plan of this walk. Yesterday I managed to resist alcohol with my evening meal and so I was awake at six when breakfast in the hotel isn't available until 8; with no one in the dining area I was sat patiently for the time of activity to begin. Last night I felt I'd been overlooking the other way too long: peaceful within and mindful at every instant. It's so easy to forget this proven path to an instant when all the perceived pains are shown to be nothing beyond what exists in the mind. There have been times I've being feeling so tarnished that the walk was unpleasant. It's become something of a meaningless ritual. The pleasure I've felt from walking is become just another habit which has taken me over. Although I think that by constantly carrying more stuff in my sack than I will ever use is blatantly stupid and could be making it feel less inspiring. The craving to feel the inspirati...

Venezuelan breakfast. Arepas, onions, cream cheese, yogurt, tomatoes and strong coffee. Off to finish my ablutions and walk due west for five more days. Into Salamanca on Christmas Eve. The rain has stopped and the birds are chirping in the Albergue yard. The wind from last night has abaited. The Venezuelan gentleman makes ice cream in Valencia, but here in Spain he is a gardener. Must be awful being a refugee in the cold Meseta? *** A guy at the bar said this weather was perculiar, even in winter, for this part of Spain. Cold, but dry, not windy, cold and wet like this. But it is wet and windy and I must endure four more days walking the tedious terrain with nothing to break up the day. Gosh and I'm carrying far too much stuff: I looked at my trousers, etc, this morning and questioned my reasoning... Far too many changes of underwear, shorts and at least three pairs of trousers: ok the waterproofs are necessary, but two pairs of shorts?!? It's constantly making the walking in ...

With mallet finger and something happening in my jaw: is it a wisdom tooth, abscess or just a result of too much air turbulence from two flights recently, here I am up in a Café, just away from the core of the city. Being here i am reminded of Cahor in some way, but there it was the river acting as a boundary looping around two thirds of the city, here it is the finest mediæval wall I know - and it's all the way round. How would all British cities look with them entire? York has a fair allowance of walls, and so does Canterbury (rebuilt in Victorian times?) But most bits and pieces I've seen in Newcastle, Exeter or London have to be sought out. I've been on an extensive perambulation and now, although it's a quarter before noon, I need a restorative beer and Racíones. The only place which has true beer and doesn't have a television on in the corner or music blaring out seems to be Cervercía La Barraca therefore I will stop there, before back to the Albergue for ...

Day Five is here and it's raining outside. I am exceptionally tired this morning. The stiff jaw which developed after the turbulence in the air going back to England at the end of November is still aching, although it is feeling less painful, and the ear is still aching. Sleeping on my right side is difficult. I'm trying not to eat anything which requires too much chewing! It's twenty days since Alicante ... *** It was quite a day! But I feel Ávila is worth the drenching I got coming over one monster climb: and I thought today would be simple. It's actually freezing outside - which might be positive as I love the crunch of frozen puddles and it's a million times better than the rain. Finally a proper day off tomorrow because I need it. Sierra de Gredos was tough - three days to cross with a lot of ups and downs. The Amigos of the local association are letting me stay two nights and it seems they've a fiesta planned for tomorrow evening. Six days to Salamanca on ...

So begins day four: with a night of indigestion which woke me at two am until the gases subsided and I managed a few more hours away from my own fears: I should not have eaten the Cornetto I saw in the freezer? The Albergue here in Cadalso de los Vidrios is well appointed: the número una as It was rebuilt with American Pilgrims money when it was falling to bits, but it was pretty cold in there this morning as I struggled back to sleep. Today is a fairly long etapa, without a break in a village along the way so I must await the opening of the supermercado to get some combustibles for the journey: and it's up further into the mountains, but I hope free of asphalt? How many days since Alicante? 19? Well finally got to the Camino which is more like those in France on Chemin St Jacques. *** There is no chance I could've managed to walk the extra 19kms through these mountains. As the sun was setting I found myself exhausted, but back on the road. And I thought better I wait to thumb ...

Tired, but not hungover. Many many strange dreams which woke me with a start throughout the night. Here I am at the Churrería around eight thirty and there is a dubbed Game of Thrones playing in the corner. The voices just sound wrong, aka funny. There are a few late night locals heading home in here and a handful of hunters about to head on another morning of killing. From a distance I heard the ricochet and the barking as I, finally, left the asphalt and farm track behind. It was still a well worn track, with bicycle treads everywhere, but finally I was alone and happy. Without a hangover. The last five kilometres to this short day was on another road, but as I saw brambles and juniper I was transported to northern climes, looking everywhere for nettles, and a reminder of Lola and home. My tiredness becomes frustration at what I misperceive which blinds me to what is really outside - like a child who moans when they fight sleep I did so again yesterday and found it necessary to attac...

Ghost villages on the edge of town. Bricked up windows and plots with little more than a suggestion homes were going to be built here. A lady sweeps outside her gate and a dog barks at me passing the final empty abode before Val de Santo Domingo. Must stop as my guts are rotten. *** The sun is shining and it's suddenly away from the asphalt on a true grass track where there are puddles to negotiate and there is the accompaniment of bird song. Stopping for a little Tapas in Maquenta rescued me and now I'm in a more pleasant environment as I think Castilla-La Mancha is tappering out.  Coming down a shandy track I reached a brook and a ford which was too deep to wade through so I removed boots and socks and gave my feet a pleasant. Back up the path I heard, then saw, some hunters out gathering up their dogs, about to head away with their trophies, loading their vehicles. I stopped round about there to clean off my feet and restore socks and boots: it was roughly half way between M...