As I write, I´m perched at a pay as you go computer in a German pilgrimage hostal; so I´d like to say I´ll keep this short and sweet, but let´s face it, that´s just not my style is it!
I covered 38 km on this fine Spanish day of faultless blue sky and omelette baguettes for luncheon; which, although sounds merely adequate is, believe me, bloody tricky when you´re lugging your belongings and the kitchen sink on your back. My spine is suffering somewhat but hell, it´s day 2 and the strain will take some getting used to. I can now empathise with Quasimodo at last, poor fecker. Another three weeks of this and I could be a lookalike for him.
Highlights for me, so far, include:
1. Believing I accidentally stumbled across a dead body in a plant growing tent; luckily I´m ignorant of the Spanish code for 999 (maybe the same?), because with close scrutiny it turned out to be a massive mutated carrot of some sorts... Unless that´s how corpses look when they´ve rotted in the sun.
2. Belting out some karaoke in what I assumed was a deserted field, top of my lungs and awfully out of tune, only to realise there was a Spanish farmer somewhere behind me, very much laughing at my rendition of ´Faith´by my namesake Mr. Michael. The dramatic air guitar finale probably didn´t help matters...
Yet overwhelmingly, what stands out most from the crowd was the company I shared yesterday in my hostel; there were three interesting and extremely friendly people, who I enjoyed having a long discussion with. Perhaps it was the glass/almost bottle of red wine I guzzled; however, everyone had a story to tell, and an interesting one at that on the hole. Jon, a pipe smoking giant and uber cool Dutchman, spoke of how he wished to take disadvantaged young people, often with an abusive and/or criminal past, along the mountain roads to give them a sense of accomplishment and freedom. Stephen was a French airline engineer who helped planes get into the sky and stay there; he spoke faultless English and told tales about sozzled pilots coming into land till the early hours. Finaly, Dominic, a 57 year old businessman just retired, spoke of how depression had forced him to re-evaluate his very existence. After already walking through half of France for the last five weeks, he still has almost 650 km to go. Journeying with him today, his company and insight helped get me through the arduous final stretch.
Speaking to such people only makes me more eager to try and achieve something this difficult, by making it to the end and being able to genuinely say: yer. Not bad going. Firstly I´ve got to make it there of course, but the journey is off to a good start.
Now, I have an ice cold cerveza in hand and a selection of manky blisters on both feet; though when you´re having this much fun, who cares?
Adios,
George
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