A rebel without a clue.

Climbing into the bed in my hotel "cell", in the Franziskaner Kloster on Frauenberg, and I feel cosy surrounded by a luxurious duvet, deep pillow and starched white sheets, but somehow Saint Francis of Assisi is absent. A mendicant friar order should surely be closer to the poverty of the ideal and shouldn't have a hotel next to their monastery and keep themselves to themselves while I battle with those reformation ghosts again Once, many years ago, as I cried on the threshold of another Kloster, desperate for a place to sleep, those brothers took me in for the night. This was at a Capuchin order in 's-Hertogenbosch. Perhaps I was more "bare" for all to see because I really didn't know why I was traipsing across the Netherlands and was falling lower and lower mentally. In my memories of that occasion I recall feeling pushed, briefly, towards that way and seriously contemplated signing up. While I sat there at the same table with the monks, fo...

It seems I've no choice but to find €45 this night in the Kloster Frauenberg however on the positive side my last two nights were with Steffi and Mike so my allowance for Germany is still workable ... If only not everywhere is so expensive. The price difference in Germany is proportional to the distance it is from Santiago I am sure. It nearly worked that I was going to stay with a private individual who is part of the association running Fulda's Jakobsweg towards Frankfurt, but she isn't around until 8 PM and hasn't had a chance to clean the space. It's fate. I fought it a while, but I know the Camino will balance itself out from the moment I stumble on the path? It's definitely time to be horizontal and peaceful a while as I cool off from the steep incline that brings on to the Franzikaner Gasthaus at Frauenberg Kloster?  ... I didn't really go to Lala land with so many differing emotions. Mainly I was relieved to be somewhere warm and dry, but...

Yesterday Mike showed me around the old centre of Frankfurt: a city utterly destroyed during the latter years of WW2. To be honest I didn't really like the modern rebuilding of the pre-war Altstadt and this was flavouring my feelings about Frankfurt. Tall banks and pseudo antiquities taking all the money don't do anything for me ... But was it ever possible to just leave the ruin for people to reflect up the brutality of the USAAF and RAF? Thankfully, once we left the north side of the Main, across the Eisener Steg, and reached Sachsenhausen, a vibrant and more cultural area presented itself. With plenty of Wirtshäuser selling Apfelwein and vending Bratwürst, with beautiful tangy Sauerkraut and gentley steamed Kartoffel, nothing could feel warmer! Mike is almost tee-total and I am far from it! Too often I get absolutely carried away by locally frequented bars - ones without Chinese faces gapping open mouthed and oblivious everywhere - and plates of truly loved combustibles pile...

Late on Sunday evening I caught a overwhelmingly crowded Flixbus, which departed Cologne/Bonn Airport on time, for the penultimate leg, of this very tiring day, to finally connect with Mike and Steffi, who were waiting to collect and bring me the short distance to their home in the northern suburbs of Frankfurt am Main. At around two thirty am, European time, I was snug and exhausted in their office room where they had a sofa-bed made and where I was to be housed for the two nights prior to connecting the last dots in the journey to begin on the Jakobsweg in Hessen. It's early on Shrove Tuesday and I am collecting my thoughts, brewing coffee and turning my considerations towards the following fourteen days. As of Ash Wednesday I will be walking south east from Fulda on the direction of Trier and it's been such a struggle to get back to where I do belong! The Way will be stretching out ahead of me, in all kinds of seasonal weather's, with the unknown path feeding my feet, du...

The beginning of the end. The beginning has ended so I am walking away from my increasing shadow. That path is growing over: the browns and greens, becoming impenetrably interleaved, do not brush my face, shoulders or back. Facing into the sunrise, the darkness is cast out, I'm given mana and am strong. My life has been divided along a very stubborn ridge yet I'm clambering down off that barren jagged escarpment, standing on virgin fresh soil and smiling at my lengthy procrastinations. Walking onwards in strength with courage and without fears. To turn to Love, for all it is to give me, and dwell whole: as I am. Nothing can now stand in my way.

I tried to switch off, but the Chinese takeaway is replaying. Time to get my act together. Peppermint tea and then back to LaLaland. First hostel for a while. Indeed since Alicante when I started the second leg of this idiocy. Already I feel a little better in my head: there really isn't anything to worry about! I've many good memories since leaving Alicante back then on the 7th November, and obviously some real challenges - which I overcame each time. Last night a lad from Wisconsin who was traveling and busking around Europe: and was an excellent chap, gave me two short novellas, to envelope, which I will dig out tomorrow or Friday. After I've cleaned up this abused body with a good night's sleep and then I'll shower, get fresh and cleaned (unnecessary) clothes on - I managed to wash all in Alba de Tormes and properly unwind tomorrow. But clothes ... I mean why? *** What is this word "holiday"? It makes no sense to me. 13.8 billion years for us to appear...

Christmas Eve: Had to cheat a little this morning. Up at six and leaving the Casa Parroquial at seven I spent half an hour trying to find a place to have breakfast before walking to Salamanca, but I failed. Crossing over the river Tormes I thought there maybe an option there, but no there wasn't so I began to feel it best to stick out my thumb and go another way to Salamanca? Here I am. Just gone eight and it always amazes me just how direct, far and fast it's possible to go via the internal combustion engine! And how the city shines in the morning sun. The fellow who picked me up was delivering some Jamón to the Central Mercado and so now I'm here. On the way, in my very broken Spanish and his broken French, we discussed some things: his jamón business, the fact he knows the US but not the UK and I asked him about Christmas Eve and when the shops etc shut. It appears that by 1pm that's it! It's a bloody good job I didn't walk... I'd have arrived to a possib...