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THE BOOK OF CAMINO WISDOM

ADAM WELLS

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Copyright 2014 © by Adam Wells All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or copied in any form without written permission from the publisher.

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CONTENTS FOREWORD ......................................................................... 6  ROUTE MAP ........................................................................ 7  DAY 1 ..................................................................................... 8  FROM HOME TO THE PYRENEES ..................................  DAY TWO ........................................................................... 17  ST JEAN PIED-DE-PORT TO RONCESVALLES ............

DAY THREE ....................................................................... 23  RONCESVALLES TO LARRASOAÑA ..............................  DAY FOUR .......................................................................... 29  LARRASOAÑA TO CIZUR MENOR .................................  DAY FIVE ........................................................................... 33  CIZUR MENOR TO PUENTE LA REINA .........................  DAY SIX .............................................................................. 38  PUENTE LA REINA TO AYEGUI ......................................  DAY SEVEN ........................................................................ 44  AYEGUI TO TORRES DEL RÍO .........................................  DAY EIGHT ........................................................................ 49  TORRES DEL RÍO TO LOGROÑO ....................................  DAY NINE ........................................................................... 54  LOGROÑO TO NÁJERA ......................................................  DAY TEN ............................................................................. 60  NÁJERA TO SANTO DOMINGO DE LA CALZADA  

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DAY ELEVEN ..................................................................... 66  SANTO DOMINGO DE LA CALZADA TO BELORADO  DAY TWELVE ................................................................... 70  BELORADO TO AGÉS .........................................................  DAY THIRTEEN ................................................................ 75  AGÉS TO BURGOS ...............................................................  DAY FOURTEEN ............................................................... 79  BURGOS TO SAN BOL .........................................................  DAY FIFTEEN .................................................................... 85  SAN BOL TO ITERO DE LA VEGA ...................................  DAY SIXTEEN ................................................................... 90  ITERO DE LA VEGA TO CARRIÓN DE LOS CONDES  DAY SEVENTEEN ............................................................. 95  CARRIÓN DE LOS CONDES TO TERRADILLOS DE TEMPLARIOS ........................................................................  DAY EIGHTEEN .............................................................. 100  TERRADILLOS DE LOS TEMPLARIOS TO EL BURGO RANERO ..................................................................  DAY NINETEEN .............................................................. 107  EL BURGO RANERO TO LEÓN ........................................  DAY TWENTY ................................................................. 109  LEÓN .......................................................................................  DAY TWENTY-ONE ....................................................... 112  LEÓN .......................................................................................  DAY TWENTY-TWO ...................................................... 114  

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LEÓN TO VILLAR MAZARIFE .........................................  DAY TWENTY-THREE .................................................. 118  VILLAR DE MAZARIFE TO ASTORGA ..........................  DAY TWENTY-FOUR ..................................................... 122  ASTORGA TO FONCEBADÓN ...........................................  DAY TWENTY-FIVE ...................................................... 127  FONCEBADÓN TO PONFERRADA ..................................  DAY TWENTY-SIX ......................................................... 131  PONFERRADA TO VILLAFRANCA DEL BIERZO ........  DAY TWENTY-SEVEN ................................................... 136  VILLAFRANCA DEL BIERZO TO O CEBREIRO ..........  DAY TWENTY-EIGHT ................................................... 141  O CEBREIRO TO SAMOS ...................................................  DAY TWENTY-NINE ...................................................... 146  SAMOS TO PUERTOMARÍN ..............................................  DAY THIRTY ................................................................... 151  PUERTOMARÍN TO PALAS DE REI ................................  DAY THIRTY-ONE ......................................................... 156  PALAS DE REI TO ARZÚA .................................................  DAY THIRTY-TWO ........................................................ 160  ARZÚA TO SANTIAGO DE COMPOSTELA ...................  

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FOREWORD The Little Book Of Camino Wisdom is a compilation of insights I gleaned throughout my journey of walking the 500 mile/790 km Camino de Santiago in spring 2011. I hope that this book will serve as a reminder, to a wider audience, of those often forgotten life truths which when followed provide positive outcomes to situations and interactions when they occur. Following my Camino, I established ‘Discover The Camino’ (www.discoverthecamino.com) which helps to prepare and inspire individuals to take their own transformational journey along the Camino de Santiago. Adam Wells November 2014

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ROUTE MAP

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DAY 1

From Home To The Pyrenees

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The First Step Is The Most Important The adventure begins with the knock on the door at 4.10 am. All the thinking, planning and talking about walking 500 miles (800 km) over 31 days is over. Now's the time to fulfill the dream of 15 years. Now's the time to walk the pilgrimage route of the Camino de Santiago.

A chill in the air greets me as I leave my flat. No time to re-pack the rucksack; a luxurious chariot in the shape of a Mercedes SEL awaits to carry me to the Eurostar terminal at St Pancras. What a lovely, comfortable way to start. Peculiarly inappropriate for a pilgrimage, but I'm not going to argue. Pampering will disappear from my life all too soon.

The Eurostar terminal is a bustle of activity at 4.30 am. I navigate check-in, security and passport control within ten minutes. Three-quarters of an hour before the train to Gard du Nord leaves: time for the ritual of the last cup of English tea. While sitting in Caffè Nero, I hear an ominous announcement: “All trains going to Paris may be subject to a 30 minute delay due to engineering works en route”. Will I still have time to cross Paris and catch my connecting train from Montparnasse station? It will be close, very close. ¡Que será, será!

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At 5.25 am, the train edges towards the garden of Kent. What a dull, misty day or is it the tint of the train windows?

Plan Each Day’s Villages The train trudges onwards as I reflect on the adventure ahead. The Camino meanders through different parts of Spain with very different landscapes.

The first day is the hardest and most difficult. You're the least prepared, yet you must face the most difficult challenge: the indomitable French Pyrenees.

Starting in the foothill town of St Jean Pied-de-Port, you ascend to the Col de Leopoeder mountain pass at 4,757 ft/1,450 m. Just before here you enter Spain before descending to Roncesvalles.

From the foothills of this Basque country hamlet, you travel through Navarra region to the city of Pamplona. This, the regional capital, is famous for the running of the bulls festival held each July. Leaving the mountains standing far behind, an undulating landscape next unfolds covered by a carpet of vineyards.

La Rioja region follows. One of its highlights is the Camino town of Santo Domingo de la Calzada, distinguished by its architectural treasures and monastic importance.

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La Rioja falls away, and Castile and León comes into view: a region famous for the cathedral cities of Burgos and León. Under the dome of Burgos cathedral lies the last resting place of warrior general El Cid. Expect a flat and barren landscape, with longer walking distances between a smaller number of villages.

After conquering the Leonese mountains you enter the final region, Galicia. Rolling hills, woods, dairy farming and the greenery of the Pyrenees return. Little hamlets abound as the Camino enters the city of Santiago de Compostela.

Factor In Contingency Time As the train sneaks out of the Channel Tunnel and into the flat landscape of the Pas de Calais, it immediately picks up speed. As a Brit, the change of pace strikes me as ironic. A little over an hour and a half later, Paris comes into view. I'm only ten minutes behind my original schedule. Fantastic: all I need to do now is buy a metro ticket, collect my SNCF rail ticket to St Jean Pied-de-Port and get to Montparnasse station to jump on the train.

I get to Montparnasse with just enough time to refuel with a cafe crème and croissant before joining the throng of people piling towards platform number nine.

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Analyse Assumptions Out of curiosity and excitement, I automatically assume that everyone laden with a rucksack is on the same mission as me. Are my new best friends among this lot? Only time would tell.

Weigh In Correctly According to the books, the maximum weight of your rucksack should be either 18 lbs / 8 kg or no more than 10% of your bodyweight. Scaling the Pyrenees tomorrow will indicate whether I still have some non-essential items. In going for lightness, on a recent business trip to Buenos Aires, I purchased a couple of items which are practical but make me look ridiculous: bright yellow Croc sandals and a navy blue, fold-up Stetson hat.

Motivation Comes From Knowing ‘Why’ What motivates people to walk the Camino? There can be many reasons: religious, spiritual, to reflect on life's purpose and meaning, or as a physical challenge, a long distance walk.

For me, I think it is a combination of all three. I'm not particularly religious, but there is undoubtedly a spiritual element to the Camino. Stepping out of your ordinary life for a month and into the 'unknown' makes you question your beliefs and current

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practices, as well as providing plenty of opportunity to see alternatives.

A further motivation for me is that I simply love the historic buildings and ambience of Spain. As a seven-year old, I visited El Escorial, King Philip II's 17th century monastic-styled palace, the Roman aqueduct and Alcazar in Segovia, and the Plaza Mayor in Madrid. All of these left their impression on me. And, of course, there's the attraction of the culture, the fine food and the even finer wines. The Camino encompasses it all.

In early afternoon, the train crosses over a wide river just before it halts at Bordeaux. I make a mental note to check that it´s the Garonne. Whatever its name, it's a stunning sight. I'm now in the province of Aquitaine: serious wine country. I sense the closeness of the Camino.

Each Journey Is Unique The TGV (Train à Grande Vitesse) arrives at Bayonne station just before 3.00 pm. This is where I need to take a connecting train to St Jean Pied-de-Port. I collect my pack and jump out onto the platform. I see a rainbow of prospective pilgrims, and notice the different colours, brands, textures, styles and appropriateness of their clothing and kit. I let go of my long-held belief that I’m not fashion-conscious.

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Track The Right Crowd We all troop down the platform together: everyone seems reluctant to take the lead. I experience this as a metaphor for the European Union functioning at its finest. And guess what? It works: we all shuffle patiently onto a two-carriage train and find ourselves a seat.

Avoid Comparisons My seat is next to a pile of rucksacks, all of which are at least double (between 33 lbs / 15 kg and 44 lbs / 20 kg) the size of mine. Inadequacy colonises my mind: "What have they got that I haven´t?” Sanity reasserts itself as I remember the 18 lbs / 8kg guideline. I shall look out for the owners of those packs en route.

The Journey Takes As Long As It Takes The journey from Bayonne to St Jean Pied-de-Port lasts just over an hour. Travelling through green, rolling Pyrenean foothills, covered by a blanket of forest, we steadily gain altitude. The train chugs its way, parallel to a gushing, gurgling river, full of snow melt, flowing down from far upstream.

Deepen The Desire To Be Curious During the journey, my attention wanders to the other pilgrims. I suspect all of us are equally

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curious about one another. In front of me are an elderly American couple who are loving every minute of the scenic journey. To my right is a man whom I would describe as solitary, except he is accompanied by a gigantic rucksack, a bum bag, and a camera bag. I feel overloaded just looking at it all.

Further down the train, I catch sight of a beautifully prepared pilgrim: an Asian lady resplendent in purple. None of us makes conversation. Are we all suffering from collective shyness or will we only be able to talk as we walk? I wonder if we'll even see each other again after the train.

Stand Out From The Crowd Le petit train halts in St Jean Pied-de-Port at tea-time. As I disembark, I have a flashback: it reminds me of going to boarding school for the first time at the age of eight. Not a happy memory; I shake it out of my head. We stream ant-like into town. I break ranks only when I spot my bed and breakfast accommodation. After settling in, I set off to find the Pilgrims' Office.

Complete The Paperwork Correctly It's at 39 Rue de la Citadelle: on the left-hand side of the street as you walk up to the castle overlooking the town. Already I'm off the pace: in front of me in the queue are most of the train passengers, including the American couple and

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solitary but over-burdened man. We're all waiting to get our very own pilgrim passports (credencial).

The wait torments me; in time, the Camino will teach me patience. At this stage, though, I am my everyday, impatient self. Eventually, it's my turn: I sit down, complete a couple of forms, pay two euros and pick up from the table my very own pilgrim passport - already adorned with the stamp of St Jean Pied-de-Port. Now, I can legitimately call myself a pilgrim (peregrino).

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DAY TWO

St Jean Pied-de-Port to Roncesvalles

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Relinquish The Thought Of The Size Of The Task After a good night´s sleep, I pop down for breakfast at 6.40 am. First light is barely discernible outside. My bed and breakfast Madame has already set my table and is waiting for my appearance. She has prepared a feast: tea, compote of natural yogurt, bread and butter pudding, and a delicate fruit salad. I prepare to stand up and rapidly sink back down, overcome by overwhelm. My next steps will be my first on the Way of St James. From now on, I shall be walking every single day for the next month.

Getting Lost Is Natural In The Beginning The first few steps are far from promising. I get lost in St Jean Pied-de-Port – turning left upon arriving at Rue de la Citadelle instead of right. The weight regime I've imposed on my backpack has led me to jettison the guide book with all the town plans. This may not have been one of my finer decisions, if I can't even escape from the tiny town at the very beginning of the Camino. Fortunately, a couple of fellow pilgrims point me the other way towards Spain.

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Follow A Strategy My walking strategy is to conserve as much energy as possible: I'm concerned about my back. It had stopped working properly one month previously during a business trip to Buenos Aires - an occurrence for which I, as owner, take full responsibility. Pain and I have become intimately acquainted in the intervening weeks. My worst imaginings see me collapsing under my load in the Pyrenees. I will be walking slowly: very, very slowly.

Consider Cause And Effect As I climb, I resemble a plodding mule. Pilgrim after pilgrim overtakes me including super-fit and confident Mark, an Englishman living in Norway with a passion for mountain biking. We talk only briefly as he has a mountain to attack, even though it's been here for millennia and will not be going anywhere. Others pass me who are obviously over-burdened. I wonder if they will pay the price for their enthusiasm. I continue in the slow lane in my own mulish way. And my strategy pays dividends: I get to meet and greet many other pilgrims.

Live The Journey Not The Destination At around 8 miles/13 km, the monotony of my plodding pace is interrupted. I see the tiny statue of the Virgin of Biakorri peeping out from between the

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rocks. She is surrounded by votive offerings, including a single walking boot. This strikes me as half-hearted: either continue barefoot to Santiago de Compostela or go back fully booted, but do not abandon one boot - and all hope - at this early stage.

While I'm musing, I meet Piedro. We walk together for the next ten minutes, enjoying a philosophical discussion about the headlong rush to today’s destination of Roncesvalles. What's the hurry? We have all day.

Network When The Opportunity Arises As I climb, I pass and re-pass two other men. Finally, we introduce ourselves. Simon hails from Australia; Alex from Brazil. They met earlier that morning. As Simon is always bounding ahead, I find myself talking to Alex; we become so engrossed in the conversation we find we walk all the way to Roncesvalles together.

Dance To Your Rhythm Approximately 200,000 people complete the Camino each year. In spite of these extraordinary numbers of pilgrims, you can still enjoy the beauty of the Camino by yourself if you want. Nobody will take offence. I find that the whole experience changes when you walk alone. Early each day, my mind frets about my back; to distract myself, I focus

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on the sounds of nature. The chorus of the birds, the rustle of the trees, the rushing of the rivers: these all delight me. Once my body adjusts to the rhythm of nature, the walking becomes easier, my load lighter. I don't know how or why this works, but it does.

Highs And Lows Come In Equal Measure The Col de Leopoeder pass is a landmark for us: the Camino becomes a downhill track from this point. A mere 2 miles/3.5 km later, we glimpse Roncesvalles through the beauty of a beech forest. Perfect timing: our rucksacks need to be elsewhere.

Roncesvalles truly is a hamlet: with no more than ten buildings, including a church, monastery, pilgrims' refuge and two or three hotels. Pilgrims have been welcome here since the monks founded a hospital in the early 12th century.

Simon, Alex and I claim our place in the refuge and then go to eat in one of the hotels. With a bargain set pilgrim menu at nine euros, we are not alone. Sixty of us seat ourselves at circular tables of ten, and the social evening element of the Camino begins. We put away copious quantities of pasta, trout and chips (trucha y patatas fritas), and yoghurt.

On the stroke of 7.55 pm, we rise as one body of men and women to celebrate the pilgrims' mass in the 12th century church. In spite of my lack of a

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conventional Christian belief, this is a truly spiritual experience, linking us all to the pilgrims of the past.

Three priests conduct the mass, providing the same pilgrims' blessing for a safe journey to Santiago de Compostela as their predecessors have been delivering since the 11th century. Sleep follows mass, as surely as night follows day. It's the end of a tiring but gloriously satisfying day.

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DAY THREE

Roncesvalles to Larrasoaña

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Set A Bold Ambition I say my goodbyes to Alex and get off to an early start at 7.15 am. I see a sign: 'Santiago de Compostela - 790 km' (490 miles). The numbers mean nothing to me; I am fully focused on today's distance: 17 miles / 28 km to Larrasoaña.

Alone Does Not Equal Loneliness I walk alone: Alex told me that he is venturing only as far as Zubiri, the village before Larrasoaña. He also has unlimited time to walk his Camino and I am reconciled to not seeing him again as he wants to take his time to complete the journey. This is how the Camino is: other pilgrims drift in and out of our days. All of us have a unique, individual destiny to fulfill.

Continue Conversations While adjusting my rucksack, I catch sight of Carmen whom I met over dinner last night. We walk on and off together through the dewy morning.

After Espinal, the countryside reminds me of the undulating green of England’s Chiltern Hills, especially as it is enlivened by the sight of mares and their new-born foals nestling against each other.

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Answers Come From Going Within I spend much of today alone. This is when I realise that the Camino is two journeys in one. The external one takes place with new-found friends and acquaintances. The internal one is a deeper, altogether scarier experience.

Thoughts come unbidden when you walk by yourself. The unique features of the Camino stamp themselves on my mind. Usually, on a walk, if pain or discomfort strikes, you can change your mind, your route, your timings. This is not the case on the Camino. Yet somehow you find the inner resources you need to continue.

I believe this is why it draws so many people out of their comfort zone and onto its paths.

Action Conquers The Fear As I enjoy a break in Zubiri, I overhear a conversation about the refuge in Larrasoaña. Neither of the conversing pilgrims is continuing. Both fear that the refuge there will already be full, and the only alternative accommodation is awful. My guidebook is of the same opinion. Does this account for the lack of pilgrims en route? Everyone else has hedged their bets, but I decide to take a risk and continue.

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Somebody Is Always In A Worse Position The final stretch of today's walk runs firstly through a cement works and then parallel to the Arga River. It is both the most pleasant and the most difficult part of the day; this chimes with my thoughts perfectly. The only other person I now pass is a lady struggling with knee problems - and she's in world of her own: with her iPod.

Meet The Minimum Requirement I find the refuge: as predicted, there's a long queue which I join. Over the next 30 minutes, it moves forward painfully slowly. Just as I inch my toe across the threshold, the refuge manager appears. The deli counter at Sainsbury's pops into my mind; I know what's coming next. The manager walks down the queue - counting. “17, 18, 19, 20 and now we are full”, she says in English. I'm number 19: the spirit of the Camino is with me today.

The couple behind me face a moral dilemma: one bed; two heads. The wife declines the last bed without hesitation; husband and wife move off together in search of an alternative billet. The new number 20 enters the hall: it's the iPod lady from just outside Zubiri. Magically, the rest of the queue melts away.

As I explore the building, I come to the conclusion that it had a previous life as a town hall. There are

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six or so rooms upstairs, each equipped with four bunk beds. My room mates are Suomi, the resplendent Asian lady from the train, Carmen, and a newbie to my acquaintance: Richard from Austria.

Base Decisions Upon Real Time Information At 7.00 pm, we all decamp to the only bar in town. My expectations are low: my guide book has already warned me that Larrasoaña is devoid of eating establishments. The sight of all the other pilgrims from the refuge tucking into a wholesome meal confirms the accuracy of this information.

The owner tells me that advance booking is required. We will have to wait until the next sitting at 8.15 pm. ¡No importa!, as the Spanish say. A bottle of Navarran red wine will pass the time.

Preparation Pays Off At the allotted hour, we claim our table. Carbs call to me loudly from the pilgrims' menu: pasta, beef stew, rice pudding, and more red wine - all in generous portions.

I talk to my neighbour: a lady from Guam who has decided to walk the Camino on a whim. It's two years since she's enjoyed any long-distance walking, she's done zero planning, and only bought her equipment in St Jean Pied-de-Port two days

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before. Her feet are already hurting and she's considering finishing in Pamplona in two days' time. I go into motivation mode, urging her to continue. I may have failed to convince: I haven't seen her since....

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DAY FOUR

Larrasoaña to Cizur Menor

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Accept The New Reality Back in Blighty (England), it's Royal Wedding Day, but this fact passes unnoticed in Larrasoaña. We rise like robots at 6.00 am, and assemble - complete with our kit, on the parade ground in the town square by 6.45 am sharp. It's almost as though we're ready for roll call followed by a brisk route march.

Go The Extra Mile A crisp morning awaits. I'm delighted by my decision to go the three extra miles to reach Larrasoaña yesterday. This morning´s walk will be one of my Camino highlights. I feel in tip-top physical condition: my legs are pain-free, and my back seems to be improving daily. Can the Camino be a more effective, healthier and safer remedy than either doctors or drugs?

Bridge The Gaps The Arga River reunites me with Carmen; we head towards Pamplona together. Our first sight of the city is its famous city walls built in 1571 on the orders of King Philip II.

Entering the city entails crossing the river and the Magdalena bridge: the most important of the city's four medieval bridges. A short climb leads us to the drawbridge and arch of the French Gate (Portal de Francia). Somewhat appropriately, we find

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ourselves entering the old city via the street called Calle de Carmen.

Connect To The Senses All that crisp, brisk walking has sharpened our appetite. We go in search of a bite of brunch: no easy task in the narrow, dark, labyrinth of passages of the old city.

Our sense of smell saves us: leading us directly to a baker's and a window full of freshly baked cakes. We are not alone: it takes us 20 minutes to reach the head of the queue before we finally emerge into the sunlight with our manna from heaven.

Practice New Daily Habits Carmen and I part company at the Museum of Navarra. I enjoy a spot of sightseeing before continuing to my destination for the day: Cizur Menor, (3 miles / 5 km) west of Pamplona. I pass through genteel suburbs and the lawned gardens of the University of Navarra. The final stretch involves climbing into Cizur Menor which perches on a hilltop overlooking Pamplona.

Once installed in tonight's refuge, I indulge in the by now familiar daily routine of washing myself and my clothes. Relaxation beckons: as the afternoon ticks by, familiar faces from Roncesvalles appear. The bonding has begun: we're beginning to feel like a family. Before too long, last night's

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room mates have agreed a rendez-vous: 7.00 pm by the refuge turtle pond.

Expend Energy Wisely That night, surrounded by snorers, I learn an important lesson. Pareto´s Law is decisively correct: 80% of individuals snore and 20% of individuals suffer. Trying to ignore others' snoring is like trying to ignore your own pain. To make peace with either, you have to pay attention first. Relief comes in the wake of reconciliation.

Discontent: Create A Solution As I strive for that elusive quality, I identify the types of snorer in the dormitory: those that puff and blow; those that suck and snort. I fantasise about tagging the culpable parties with a large 'S' on the forehead and isolating them in a separate dormitory at every refuge. Hardly in the spirit of the Camino, but the idea distracts me from the snoring. Eventually, I stick my fingers in my ears and resolve to use my ear plugs - and a healthy dollop of tolerance - tomorrow.

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DAY FIVE

Cizur Menor to Puente La Reina

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Delay Gratification The Slovenians in the dormitory are up and out at 5.15 am. I luxuriate in bed until the lights come on at 6.00 am - another echo of boarding school. Now, I'm ready for a new day.

Agree The Exit Strategy As I leave, I pass Carmen with a heavily strapped knee. She tells me that she is “OKish”. Today´s terrain may be challenging: a 13 mile / 21 km journey to Puente La Reina, including a climb over the Alto del Perdón at 2526 ft / 770 metres. This will be steep and rocky in places.

We agree to walk together until the first village: Zariquiegui, one and a half hours away. The sun rises on our backs and on the Pyrenees behind us in the distance. Farming country welcomes us: patterned fields of brown and yellow.

Discover The Passion Our thoughts tend towards Camino-like challenges. Carmen relates the tale of the Australian woman who travelled across the Outback on a camel, with her dog as her only companion. Everyone thought her mad and foolhardy but, with proper preparation, she achieved her dream. 'National Geographic' featured her story, and she is now a motivational speaker.

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Face The Greatest Fear At 8.20 am, the hamlet of Zariquiequi is still sleeping gently. Carmen and I part company, with me wondering how she will cope with her knee. She now has to face the challenge of the Alto del Perdón - without the support of my walking pole which I have lent her thus far. My parting thought is that we will all have our personal challenges to face before we reach Santiago de Compostela.

Others Have Gone Before The climb becomes ever steeper; it's also extremely rocky in places. But there's a reward at the top: a group of iron silhouette statues representing pilgrims of old, both on horseback and on foot, all travelling to our final destination.

Status Has Its Symbols Next up is Obanos: a tiny village with a huge church - particularly appropriate for the meeting point of the two branches of the Camino: one from Roncesvalles and the other from Somport, in the middle of the Pyrenean mountain range.

I look up and notice how each ancient house has a family crest carved above the entrance. Even in those far-off days, status had its symbols.

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Progress Is Ever Present Forty-five minutes later, I arrive at Puente La Reina. This town grew in parallel with the Camino during the Middle Ages. The High Street (Calle Mayor) is impressive, with huge, solid, wooden doors fronting each house. Even the church of St James is more like a cathedral.

Beyond the church, the town square comes into view. It's Saturday: market day, and the market's in full swing. My senses exult in the sounds, colours, textures, and aromas. I continue down the Calle Mayor to the jewel in the town: the 11th century Pilgrim Bridge. Queen Doña Mayor, wife of King Sancho el Mayor, ordered its construction so that pilgrims could cross the River Arga safely. It's the bridge that gives the town its name: Queen´s Bridge.

After completing my daily refuge routine, I head back into town. The sight of four large-headed, strange-featured, grotesquely costumed characters stops me in my tracks. Today is not only market day, it's also fiesta day.

Silence Is Found Within I go inside the Iglesia de Santiago church and find myself alone. In the midst of the busyness of the town, I savour a moment of total silence.

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Vary The Routine As today's refuge is out of town, we pilgrims eat in this evening. Most opt for the English breakfast, Spanish style: two fried eggs, bacon, chorizo sausage.....but no baked beans. The wine arrives in a pint glass, three-quarters full, to make up for the omission though.

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DAY SIX

Puente La Reina to Ayegui

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Listen To Rather Than Hear My first step outside the refuge chimes with the seven strokes of the bell of the Iglesía de Santiago church. As the echoes fade away, the birds begin their refrain. I begin my 15 mile / 24 km journey to Ayegui, feeling as though I have stepped into an aviary.

Consciously Choose Each Step Once again, the Camino runs parallel to the Arga River. Then, it runs parallel to the motorway. Rich, flourishing pastures surround me: everything in my world is perfect.

But not for long: the stench of raw sewage serves as a potent reminder of the contrasts of life. Every journey will undoubtedly have its 'moments of pooh'. We just need to remember to walk around rather than through them.

All The Facts Are Hard To Come By My gaze drifts downwards: I notice hundreds of caterpillars crossing the track from left to right in front of me. I tread carefully: an image of humans during rush hour trying to cross the M25 motorway that circles London comes to mind. I pity the caterpillars and their ignorance of the multitude of pilgrims that could swifitly end their days.

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Earn Respect I pass through Maneru and on to Ciraugui: a hilltop town nestling between crags. I climb through narrow, arched streets and emerge into a tiny, medieval plaza. A few hardy revelers left over from the night before and a temporary bandstand attest to the presence of fiesta here too.

One of the party animals wishes me “Buen Camino” or “Good Camino” as I pass. The reverence and respect afforded to those undertaking the Camino is a recurring feature of my adventure.

Put A Pause On ‘Real’ Life This thought sparks deeper thoughts about the Camino. Five days in, I realise that, as I make progress on the path, I'm walking away from my 'real life'. This holds true for all pilgrims who choose to fully step out of everyday life for as long as it takes to complete their Camino.

As 'real life' disappears, more expansive thinking takes its place. More becomes possible in the absence of distractions and gainsayers. I have the sense that this evolution will continue: an intriguing and exciting thought. A prickling sensation on the back of my neck brings me back to the here and now. Have I had too much sun?

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Let The Disappointment Out I reach Villatuerta where I'm expecting two Camino routes to Estella: one old; one new. I feel a sharp stab of disappointment: the map on the village information board tells me the old route's been abandoned.

A Choice Ultimately Exists Hope revives as I leave the village; a signpost directs me to the old Camino route. For an extra 1.8 miles / 2.9 km I can after all return to the hills by the less frequented route.

What an understatement that proves to be: I find myself on a narrow, partially cobbled and overgrown path, hemmed in by huge, stone boundary walls. I am the first pilgrim to have ventured here in a very, very long time. I recognise my kinship with the pilgrims of old; I salute their dedication and determination.

Explore Off The Beaten Track For the next 45 minutes or so, I become firm friends with what I now regard as my very own stretch of the Camino. Finally, a turn in the path provides me with my first glimpse of Estella, a town steeped in Camino history. Three medieval churches, each on a promontory, overlook the town. Even though the view is now cluttered by modern buildings, it's still breath-taking. I can only imagine how much more

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awe-inspiring it must have been for the pilgrims of the Middle Ages.

Act Wisely I rejoin the throng of pilgrims on the modern route. I notice the huge queue outside the Estella refuge as I pass by on my way to Ayegui, three-quarters of a mile / 1.2 km further on. I am following the received wisdom of avoiding refuges in the larger towns. The first inns in town are rarely the best, however exhausted you are.

Doors Will Not Always Open Arriving at the Ayegui refuge at 12.57 pm, I find it shut. Opening time is 1.00 pm: perfect. Peter, the manager, checks me in smartly and I benefit from the best bed and the hottest shower. Another treat awaits: Alex, whom I haven´t seen since Roncesvalles, soon walks in.

Challenge Long Held Beliefs Our numbers swell to three when, back in Estella, Alex and I recognise a peregrina (female pilgrim) standing in front of the Iglesía de San Pedro church. She has something we desperately need, but don't have: a map of the town. We introduce ourselves to Ninee.

Together, we find the town square, and settle down for some beer and banter. Ninee's friend Gunhilo joins us; they bemoan the fact that they only have a

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week to go on the Camino. I challenge their assumption that they have to go home. Ninee cites her domestic responsibilities. I continue relentlessly:

"Can't those responsibilities wait for another two weeks?”

I already know that the further you go on the Camino, the further you want to go.

I sense that Ninee is feeling this too. Will she stay on the Camino?

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DAY SEVEN

Ayegui to Torres del Río

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Arriving Too Early Is As Bad As Too Late One of the Camino's wayside wonders is just outside of Ayegui: the miraculous fountain of Irache. Installed by the Bodega of Irache, it offers liquid substance in the form of one tap for red wine and the other for water. Unfortunately or perhaps, fortunately, the wine isn´t flowing at 7.00 am.

Care For The Tools Of The Job Outside of Villamayor de Monjardín. I come across Suomi. Perched on some rocks, she's inspecting her unsocked feet with care. She's stopped for some much needed rest-bite while Richard, whom she has been walking with since Larrasoaña, has continued on alone. She declines my offer of help and gives me another goodbye.

Real Needs Matter Later still, I finally meet Justina, the woman who's been in front of me for 20 minutes or so. Now that I've caught up, I see that her pack looks way too heavy. And what I took to be a cow bell dangling around her neck turns out to be a digital SLR camera. I ask if she's OK and get a qualified "yes" in return: her feet hurt…

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Hard Questions Require Simple Answers We talk in Spanish. In her mid-20s, Justina is Polish by birth and Spanish in appearance. We discuss our motivations for walking the Camino. She bats away my suggestion that she might get a calling to a convent with a resounding laugh.

Justina may not be holy, but she is wise. One of her comments stays with me:

"Look for the simplest answer to life’s hardest questions”.

Lighten The Load I leave Justina in Los Arcos. She decides to lighten her load by dispatching some non-essentials from the post office.

Reveal Determination In The Extreme I encounter Alex sitting on a bench by the Iglesía de Santa Maria church and we continue together. Today's walk is tough. It's a combination of Lawrence of Arabia's landscape and Noel Coward's warning that:

“Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun".

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For two hours, Alex and I trek down a stony track across open arable pastures under the blistering heat of the day with no shade for comfort.

Dig Deep When Circumstance Demands Why do all the Camino's hilltop towns demand a knee-trembling final climb? Alex and I exult in our triumphant ascent of the hilltop village of Torres del Río, only to discover we've climbed its neighbour, Sansol.

Torres del Río is still ahead of us - and it's an even more tortuous climb. My legs want to know why I'm punishing them. And they drag my thoughts in an equally negative direction. I'm starting to expect things to go wrong. I make an effort to remain positive.

In Torres del Río, we remind ourselves of the proven advice not to stop at the first refuge because the rooms will be over-crowded, the queue long, the snoring loud. Alex and I choose the fourth refuge: Casa Mari. It's in the highest street in the village and its proprietor is a little old lady who, with her military style instructions, is a very scary little old lady.

Tortoises Do Beat Hares As I watch my washing dry in the courtyard, I notice two ladies arriving. I remember them overtaking

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me on day one when I wondered whether they were pushing themselves too hard.

As we relax together, we talk of their Camino. The consequences of them attempting to walk 22 miles / 35 km each day with an over-stuffed pack are only too evident: in the shape of blistered feet. They ask me indignantly why I didn't say anything on day 1.

"How could I? You were going too fast."

The lessons of the blisters have now slowed the ladies down to a more reasonable 12 – 16 miles / 20 – 25 km per day.

Satisfactory Alternatives Exist Today, the Camino takes its toll on me. I'm tired and hungry, and it's only 4.00 pm. I can't wait for food until 7.00 pm when the restaurants open - and neither can Alex. We supplement our simple pilgrim meal in advance with two baguettes (bocadillos) and lashings of Navarran red wine.

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DAY EIGHT

Torres del Río to Logroño

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Practical Solutions Might Not Be Pretty After saying goodbye to Alex for one more time, I cut a distinctive figure on the Camino, if only because my drying smalls (underwear) dangle from my rucksack as I walk. Overnight laundry duty is a necessity and I'd much rather dry my clothes in the midday sun than stuff them still damp into my rucksack. I seem to be in a minority of one though...

Work Smarter Not Harder Today, I'm walking to the city of Logroño. By now I'm in a routine: this is a day much like any other, but am I walking or working? If it's work, it's by no means unpleasant, but it still needs to be done.

Spot The Ever Changing Landscapes The landscape is beginning to change: heralding the flat, barren land that will dominate the next ten days. It's extremely stony underfoot and the midday sun is unforgiving. I sense that the worst is yet to come.

Power Can Either Create Or Destroy At 9.15 am, I enter Viana. This hilltop town is famous as the last resting place of Cesar Borgia, son of Pope Alexander VI of Spain. A ruthless individual, noted for his use of assassination, he

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took control of the papal armies in 1497. Together with his father, he won a series of military victories in the Papal States.

Be A Positive Role Model Cesar Borgia was originally buried in the Iglesia de Santa María church, then the body was removed, and re-interred in 2007, in a tomb bearing the inscription:

”Here lies in little earth one who was feared by all, who held peace and war in his hand”.

History Repeats Itself As the church is closed, I seek physical rather than spiritual sustenance. I head for one of the bars in the square bordering the church. While waiting to be served, I catch sight of a newspaper headline, “Bin Laden Dead”. Bin Laden was another man ”who was feared by all, who held peace and war in his hand”.

Persevere To The End Whatever the rights and wrongs of the United States’ quest to hunt down Bin Laden, its government persevered to the end. Is there a message here for all of us, inspiring us to reach our goals - whatever they are, however long they take to achieve?

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Engage With Tradition As I descend into Logroño, I take part in a time-honoured tradition, handed down from mother to daughter. I stop at La Casa de Señora Felisa for my pilgrim stamp. Felisa´s daughter, already in her 70s, stamps my pilgrim passport, as she did a mere 45,000 times last year. She also sells me some figs. When I look at the stamp, I see that it declares:

“Felisa – figs, water and love".

Indulge From Time To Time Refuges in large towns such as Logroño can be over-crowded and time-consuming because of the length of the queue. I decide to treat myself to a night of luxury in a hotel. The tourist office points me in the right direction. In no time at all, I'm immersed in a hot, healing bath.

Awareness Brings Reality As I idle down Portales, Logroño's answer to London’s Bond Street, I catch sight of Alex, Ninni and Gunhilo walking towards me: the Estella town square quartet are back in business.

Our search of food proves fruitless: the restaurants won't open until 8.00 pm at the earliest. We seek out a bar to kill time, but we don't kill time.

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We swap stories instead, delighting in discovering that we've all reached the same conclusions: less can be more; we can live without luxuries (excluding a hotel in Logroño). The Camino is simplifying our life as we follow its hallowed trail.

Take Pride In Work By 8.00 pm, our hunger craves satisfaction - rumblingly and immediately. Bar El Muro in Calle Laurel extends a welcome in the shape of Luis: a man whose passion for and pride in his work exudes from every pore.

Recommendations Count It's one of those memorable evenings of perfection: good company, great food, a fat-filled dessert, wonderful wine. At the end of the meal, Luis escorts us to the back of the restaurant where he shows us 100 different marks of Rioja wine. If you retain nothing else, remember this: visiting Luis in Logroño is a must - Bar El Muro, Calle Laurel 25.

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DAY NINE

Logroño to Nájera

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Carelessness Comes With A Price Disaster comes in all shapes and sizes. In my case, it strikes in the shape of a pair of Marks and Spencer underpants in a medium size. They're my emergency pair and they're missing. All I can do is engage my behavioural flexibility and look on the bright side: I have less to carry to Nájera.

Not Everything Can Be Explained As I enter Parque de La Grajera nature reserve, I find a single sandal sitting on the Camino marker. Does it belong to the same pilgrim who left the single boot next to the Virgin of Biakorri on day one? How long ago that seems now.

Walking through the park with its stunning scenery is lovely: the birds are singing on the wing; the fish jumping in the lake.

All's right in my heaven until I reach the last Camino marker of the park: a second single sandal lurks. This shoe fetish is beginning to get to me. I feel as though Jimmy Choo is demanding tribute.

Live The Moment The subsequent hour settles me down again: the climb over the Alto de La Grajera pass occupies me completely. The path first runs parallel to the noisy motorway, along the perimeter of a wood yard and then descends through the vineyards which follow.

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For the next few minutes, I lose all awareness of the traffic: I focus on hundreds of small, wooden crosses that adorn the wire lattice of the boundary fence. Made by pilgrims from sticks on the ground, the crosses surprise me with joy.

Help Whenever Possible I head towards Navarette, and a voice calls out from my Camino past. I meet Mark whom I had last seen on day one, just outside of St Jean Pied de Port. Chatting with me takes his mind off the excruciating pain of terrible blisters.

The Worst Often Never Happens Leaving Mark, I now have a solid four hours' walking to Nájera, all of it across a stony, 10 ft / 3 m wide track through La Riojan vineyards. As the sun blisters any unprotected patch of skin, it's just a question of engaging auto-pilot: one foot in front of the other - over and over again.

Accompanied only by the monotonous tread of my own feet for an hour, I suddenly hear Spanish voices. I know who's behind me, even before I turn round. It's the group of six Spaniards whom I'd seen yesterday on the outskirts of Viana, overtaking everyone. I nicknamed them the “Platoon” as they seemed to be led by a grey bearded gentleman whose facial features can be found in any number of portraits from Spain’s Golden Age. Yesterday, they had been trotting

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along the busy main road; I called them over to join me on the safe Camino track - and was ignored. They clearly survived the day.

Standards Differ One of these speedy Spanish men reminds me of Captain Mainwaring in Dad's Army, the BBC’s 1970s TV comedy. He has an impeccable dress sense and trim moustache, and has already taught me the importance of maintaining standards - in the unisex washroom at the Larrasoaña refuge. Nothing questionable; just a question of contrasts: me with my plastic BIC razor in a freezer bag, and the Spaniard with his leather wash bag, horsehair shaving brush, cream and clippers. I have much to learn in this life.

Mind Over Matter Mark and I rejoin forces for the final stretch into Nájera. His legs are now even more painful than his blistered feet. We resort to the same remedy: we put the world to rights to distract him from the pain. I can only admire his determination.

Extend The Comfort Zone A culture shock awaits. Even by the standards of Camino refuges, the one at Nájera is in a class of its own. It consists of one huge dormitory: 100 bunk beds crammed closely together, with only ten tiny windows for fresh air. I have two thoughts.

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One: it's a human battery farm; two: there'll be a virtuoso performance by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra of Snoring tonight.

Extend The Comfort Zone Even More I realise that I'm in for another new experience. The bunk beds are tied together in such a way that the two adjacent bunks resemble double beds with a two-inch gap between mattresses. I wonder about my 'partner' for the night.

Judge Not That Ye Be Not Judged Engage your imagination: he's big, bulky, bearded and bald. Yes, he's the very archetype of a Hell´s Angel biker - complete with tattoos and bandana. I can feel myself going into judgment mode, but manage to stop myself just in time. Go with the flow, Adam.

Move From Chaos Into Tranquility The flow takes me out of the chaos of the refuge - too many pilgrims (100); two few showers (two) - and into the peace and tranquility of Nájera. It's a lovely little town with the Río Najillo running through its heart.

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Surrender To Whatever Cannot Be Changed Contrary to my circadian rhythms (I'm a lark), I stay out late. I am loath to share air, space, bodily functions, and the night with 99 other people. Eventually, I confront the reality of my situation. I return to the refuge to don my ear-plugs and eye-shade. I cocoon myself into my sleeping bag. At 10.00 pm, the lights go out, an extravert soul wishes us all “Buenas Noches”, and I close my eyes, praying that sleep comes swiftly…

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DAY TEN

Nájera to Santo Domingo de La Calzada

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Fears Rarely Come True My fears are totally unfounded, as they usually are. I fall asleep immediately and sleep reasonably well - without any unexpected, intimate moments with my partner.

Evaluate All The Options I still awake at 4.00 am though. I contemplate what to do. It's a simple choice: enjoy the stale air and snoring for another couple of hours or implement my escape plan. I opt for the latter, even though it doesn't involve any World War II Great Escape tunnels to the perimeter fence. I just walk boldly and confidently out of the front door and into the darkness, without attracting any attention.

The only hurdle I have to overcome is a prostrate body lying by the refuge entrance door. Santo Domingo de la Calzada beckons me, but which way do I go?

Receive Advice From Those That Know I now need to find some of the Camino's famous yellow arrows. I retrace my steps to the main bridge and turn left. I'm on my way and I have a well-wisher - and a guide.

Under the amber glow of a street lamp, a man sits on a bench at a crossroads and stares at me. He

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wishes me “Buen Camino” - and it's only 4.15 am. As I acknowledge his greeting with a “gracias”, he indicates which of the four roads I should take. It's not one I would have chosen: his appearance seems peculiarly fortuitous for me. Job done, is he now going back to bed? I'll never know.

After The Darkness Comes The Light My elation is short-lived: the Riojan countryside is pitch black and my tiny torch is useless. My walking stick does double duty - as both weapon and pothole-detector. Any one of those potholes would put an end to my Camino adventure. Maybe my Great Escape plan is flawed.

After 20 minutes of darkness, I'm at yet another crossroads. I try using the screen of my camera to locate the yellow areas: ingenious, but futile. I'll just have to rely on gut instinct and faith. I decide to continue in a westerly direction.

Risks Deliver Rewards I look up: the resplendent night sky is awe-inspiring in its beauty. Even if I get lost, I'd still rather be here than in the bunk house.

New Direction Means Going It Alone Shortly afterwards, I see a light shining directly ahead of me. No buildings, no roads, nothing but

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the path - and yet the light is moving steadily towards me. Who or what could this be?

Double Check The Data In an eerie echo of an evangelical event, I meet Paul on the Road to Santiago de Compostela in the early hours of Thursday, 5th May 2011. It isn't St Paul, but the Paul who overtook me on the Camino the previous day.

Convinced that he's seen arrows pointing back the way we've come, he’s retracing his steps. I'm equally convinced that we are heading in the right direction, but he wants to show me the offending arrows. On closer inspection, I see they're white rather than yellow.

Trust Is The Invisible Powerhouse Within "They're not Camino arrows", I tell him but Paul is still dubious. However, my conviction that we're on the correct westerly path wins the day. Ten minutes later, Paul finally relaxes when his torch picks out a tiny yellow arrow on a small rock to the side of the path.

Believe Help Is At Hand He confesses that he was grateful for my arrival, regarding me as an angel rather than a ghost when I emerged out of the darkness.

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Commit To A Cause The beating heart of Santo Domingo de la Calzada is its tiny cathedral, dedicated to Santo Domingo, the patron saint. He spent his life helping the pilgrims who passed through the Rioja region on their way to Santiago de Compostela.

Suffering: The Body Talks First No sooner do I leave the cathedral than the pain takes hold. Not, as you might expect, in my feet, legs or back, but in my right eye. It had first started niggling the previous evening as I climbed into my sleeping bag. Now, it's so severe that my right eye is completely closed.

Pain Demands Action My E111 Health Insurance Card gains me immediate admittance to the nearby hospital. A doctor sees me in short order, and hands me a prescription in even shorter order. A chemist hands over some eye drops and my eye infection is now under control.

Work Until It Is Time To Stop On my way back to the refuge, I meet Ninni - on her last day on the Camino. For the previous two days, she has walked alone and found it a very moving experience. For her, Santo Domingo de la Calzada is the perfect ending place for her Camino - except it isn't. Her next steps will take place at

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home in Norway; Ninni's return represents a new beginning.

Bizarrely, her pilgrim passport is full, completely covered in refuge stamps and she can´t continue without one. Is this a sign perhaps? We agree to meet at the 8.00 pm mass in the cathedral.

Love From The Beginning The cathedral is full, as it has been for the same purpose for the past 900 years. I sit at the end of a pew, feeling somewhat under-dressed in my yellow Crocs, especially in comparison with the elegant, elderly component of the Spanish congregation.

The choir files into the ornately carved wooden choir stalls, four priests also enter, the choir sings, and then a priest sermonises - without notes and beautifully. He is totally consumed by the power and passion of his message: “love”, everything starts with “love”. The faithful are transfixed - and so am I.

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DAY ELEVEN

Santo Domingo de la Calzada to Belorado

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Competition Is Always Present The refuge is way too comfortable for an early start. I luxuriate in a lie-in, but the 'platoon', the Spanish equivalent of the Walmington-on-Sea Home Guard Defence Force, is on the move at 5.15 am.

As I peer over the bedclothes, I can see that they're all very tired. They're having to make a real effort to get going, but the show must go on. I realise that I've been misfiled: I'm in the Alpha dorm with all yesterday's other early arrivals, I also see the 'Canadian', a 65 year old retired fireman walking with his daughter, who without doubt is the current wearer of cycling’s 'yellow jersey'. The competitive spirit reigns supreme: now everyone else is stirring as well.

Make The First Move Coincidentally, in the bunk bed to my right, lies my Hell’s Angel 'partner' from the previous night. There's now a foot between our beds - and we still haven't exchanged a single syllable. Is it any wonder that relationships don't flourish?

Relate To A Partner In the refuge lobby, as I’m tying up the laces of my boots, Alex appears. After all our bumpings into each other, we finally decide to continue together. No longer would I have a journey walking predominantly alone which is no bad thing. As it

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turns out, Alex also visited the hospital yesterday: for stitches for a deep cut in his hand after accidentally drawing blood with his very nasty looking penknife.

Transition When The Time Comes Transitions are key moments in our life. Today, between Grañon and Redecilla del Camino, on the crest of a hill, Alex and I leave La Rioja region and enter the region of Castile and León. Barring accidents, it will take us 15 days to cross. After Castile and León, comes Galicia region, leaving only 102 miles / 164 km to Santiago de Compostela.

Beware The Underdog We arrive at Viloria De Rioja at 10.15 am. It's only a tiny, empty village, but its fame will endure: it's the birthplace of Santo Domingo. The only inhabitants on the move are two menacing miniature dogs. They bark and dart forward, then retreat as we advance towards them fearlessly.

Conflict Results In Casualties The Camino track broadens as we enter Belorado shortly after noon. Of Roman origin, it was also the site of a battle during the Napoleonic Wars (c 1810). We stand in silent reverence beside the grave of 400 fallen warriors.

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Pay Attention To Those Around We pass a church and then Alex draws my attention to a building with 'Auberge' tiled into its wall. Before I have time to knock at the door, I catch sight of a woman unloading groceries from her car. She waves at us to wait.

Although we haven't booked, we can have a twin room for 35 euros: semi-luxury awaits.

We head out for a menu del día lunch and bottle of wine. This is the genius of the Camino experience: it's hardship and heaven in equal proportions - and you never quite know what each day will bring.

Delays Are Not Necessarily Denials Alex fancies a siesta and heads back to the auberge; I stay in the restaurant to write my journal. A voice interrupts my jottings. Coincidence strikes again: my Hell's Angel partner is at the bar.

Although he has no recollection of seeing me before, Alfonso, as his name turns out to be, speaks first. Forty minutes later, we part the best of friends - after an utterly absorbing Camino conversation. As the good book has it: “Judge not, that ye be not judged”. Quite.

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DAY TWELVE

Belorado To Agés

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Prioritise In Order Of Importance Ask me the day or the date. ¡Ningún idea! (No idea!) Such concepts lose all importance on the Camino. In fact, there are only three things that are important: food, footsteps and fellowship. I will experience all three today.

Beauty: Remove The Noise From Life During a comforting sleep, I seem to have drifted into a parallel universe - with a different chronological system: at 3.00 am, I am hearing nine strikes of a bell. My sleep-befuddled brain realises that it is the bells of the three adjacent churches chiming one after the other. And, now I know the village's name of Belorado is perfect. All I need to wait for is for the bells to chime 18: a new walking day begins.

Ten Commandments Of Tiredness Pre-walking breakfasts are becoming a thing of the past. They now take place in the first village with an open bar. Today, that's in Espinosa del Camino, five miles/8 km from Belorado.

After three rounds of toast, a pain au chocolat and a café con leche, Alex and I are ready for whatever the day brings. Its first offering is a sign detailing the Ten Commandments of Tiredness:

1) You are born tired and you live to rest.

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2) Love your bed as you love yourself.

3) Rest during the day, sleep during the night.

4) If you see someone resting, help him.

5) Work is sacred. Don´t touch it.

6) Don´t do today what can be left for tomorrow.

7) If there is something you have to do, let someone else do it.

8) No-one ever died from over-resting.

9) If you feel like working, sit down until the feeling passes.

10) If work is healthy, long live tuberculosis.

I decide it could only have been written after a nocturnal Belorado bells experience.

Perspectives Differ Walking up to the summit of Alto de la Pedraja, I feel as though I've gone through a wormhole created by a Stargate and emerged amidst the glorious mountain scenery of Snowdonia in Wales. The brooks and forests are identical, as is the wild, wet weather; I feel completely at home. Alex does not: he hails from tropical Brazil.

Build A Strong Foundation What goes up must come down, and we do: descending to the small village of St Juan de

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Ortega, 15 miles / 24 km from Belorado, and the site of a huge church and monastery. It occurs to me that the Camino is the medieval equivalent of England's M4 motorway heading out to the west of the country. My awe at seeing such magnificent buildings in such tiny villages never seems to lessen.

Every Cloud Has A Silver Lining An hour's walk from San Juan de Ortega is the village of Agés. We continue our descent, but this time we walk along the top of a ridge of hills in wide open country. The rain god tires of half-measures, and fully opens the tap above our heads. The wind god follows suit: gusts buffet us from the south, almost pushing us off the path. I take secret delight that the weather gods don't know how much I enjoy wild weather walking.

Work, Rest And Play No surprises await at the refuge in Agés: Captain Mainwaring's platoon are already installed, washed and ready for a night on, what passes for, the town. I search for but do not see their grey bearded leader known to me as 'The General' though.

Everybody Has A Story To Tell One of the toughest aspects of the Camino is gradually converting to the Spanish way of life - and

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it's happening to Alex and to me. We prepare ourselves for the daily challenge of a long, three-course, ten-euro lunch as we trot into the Comedor restaurant next to the refuge bar.

Fernando and Basilio, two Spanish men whom Alex had met previously, join us at our table. They come from a Galician fishing village just above the Portuguese border. They tell us about all the Spanish Caminos that they've walked.

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DAY THIRTEEN

Agés To Burgos

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Attachment Is Unhealthy Accustomed as I am by now to sharing my sleeping space in the refuges, the night in the refuge of Agés is a night to remember. I find myself in the middle of a snoring contest between two Alpha males, both of whom take 30 seconds to inhale loudly, and 30 seconds to exhale in the same manner. What are the odds of that happening? Maybe I've been misfiled again: this time with the snoring singles.

Life: A Speck In Time The little village of Atapuerca lies 45 minutes further on from Agés. It has two claims to fame: it's on the Camino, and it's the site of the famous Sierra de Atapuerca caves. These contain fossil finds of the earliest human beings in Europe from nearly one million years ago.

Inspire To Transform We move from the depths of pre-history to the heights of a nameless col/pass standing at 3,444 ft / 1,050 metres. A huge cross guides us to the summit and to our home-made ritual of the stones. Rocks and stones in the shape of a coil surround the base of the cross formed out of two wooden sticks. Alex and I decide to journey to the centre of the coil in order to touch the cross and feel its spiritual magic. Nothing happens immediately, but the large numbers of pilgrims passing by us clearly think that the two of us are in

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dire need of the divine inspiration we're so desperately seeking.

Look Ahead Not Behind There's a surprise in store: a short distance from the circle of stones, a panoramic view of the Matagrande Plain and the sprawling city of Burgos, 11 miles / 18 km or so distant, greets us.

We can see the Gothic spires of Burgos’s medieval cathedral. The sight is still awesome, but it must have been very different for earlier pilgrims. Cresting the same ridge and walking down the same escarpment, the cathedral must have appeared like a beacon of faith, dwarfing every other building in sight. To have finally reached such a landmark, after having heard so many stories of its grandeur, must have been a truly emotional Camino experience.

The 21st century view includes a motorway, airport, industrial park and a Las Vegas style ribbon road leading into Burgos´s eastern suburbs - all navigated via a walk on solid concrete.

Skillfully Excel The Camino winds its way into the heart of the old town, directly to its centrepiece: the cathedral. Begun in 1221, its towers still dominate the city; its bulky presence defines it. Inside, it's the work of the master stonemasons - the sculptural marvels - that astound all-comers.

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The Path Unfolds Each Day After securing luxury accommodation (but only in the interests of saving time), Alex and I begin our customary search for lunch. When the waitress's orange Crocs match mine, I recognise it as a sign that we're on the right path for the day.

The excellence of the lunch confirms my instinct: croquetas de bacalao (croquettes filled with cod), gambas (prawns), and a solomillo (sirloin steak) - all washed down by a bottle of red Ribera del Duero Crianza wine.

Spirit Is Important Staying true to our routine, we attend pilgrims' mass in the cathedral’s Chapel of Santa María. Although we take comfort from the familiarity of the faces of our fellow pilgrims, the mass is dull and pedestrian; the oratory of the priest in Santo Domingo de la Calzada is absent. After the pilgrims' blessing, we go our separate ways.

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DAY FOURTEEN

Burgos To San Bol

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Freedom Inspires Movement The exit from Burgos is in complete contrast to its entry. The path meanders along the wooded banks of the Arlanzón River.

Forty minutes later, we reach the former pilgrims' hospital on the outskirts of Burgos and then turn right into fields bordered by the city´s ring road. The forbidding outline of Burgos Prison looms less than half a mile away, bringing thoughts of The Great Escape once more to mind. Are those incarcerated within busy with the Spanish equivalent of the Tom, Dick and Harry escape tunnels (Enrique, Pablo and Jorge perhaps)? If so, the fugitives would have a more or less direct path to Santiago de Compostela for forgiveness and pardon.

Sing Out Loud Suddenly, we hear singing behind us. It can only be Fernando and Basilio whom we last encountered in Agés. Today, they are flourishing sticks (bastones) with floral decorations as they sing their Galician folk songs. Were there to be a Camino singing contest, they would undoubtedly win - if only because they are the only contestants. These two are such inspiring Camino role models for me: starting each day with a spring in their step and a song in their heart.

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Irritations Are Self-Created From Rabé de Las Calzadas, the landscape reminds me of the Yorkshire Dales, although on a vastly bigger scale. Alex and I are confined to walking in single file on a gravelled path that wends its way through knee-high grassy fields implanted with electricity pylons that stretch unbrokenly to the horizon. The silence is complete, apart from the chattering of invisible colonies of crickets. I choose to allow this to annoy me.

Delve Into The Real Self The guidebooks all say that this part of the Camino, known as the Meseta, is a psychological test for any pilgrim. The ups and downs stretch monotonously into the distance while the weather can be as random as a roulette wheel: blazing heat, biting cold, stinging rain. It all takes its toll, and let's not forget the eerie silence.

This last quality infects the pilgrim in the manner of a virus: hardly anyone speaks. We all keep our heads down, fully focused on the endless climbs and intolerable heat. We're penetrating deeper and deeper into Spain; also deeper and deeper into ourselves.

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Respond Spontaneously A building appears through the heat haze. It's the tiny refuge of Arroyo de San Bol, standing in splendid isolation about 300ft / 100 metres off the beaten track to the left of the Camino path. Alex consults his guidebook and reads the description out loud:

“(10 beds + floor). Basic, reported much improved. New composting toilet. Meals available”.

Alex suggests we stay there for the experience.

Patience Is A Virtue A handwritten sign on the ground informs us that the doors will open at 2.00 pm; it's now 1.30 pm. We decide to wait, and form an orderly queue with Dominic from France - which we do for the next hour and three-quarters.

Decision time: we either have to walk another three miles to our original destination of Hontanas, even though all the refuges will be full by the time we arrive, or we can continue waiting. I step up to the challenge: "Let's keep the faith and wait". Ten minutes later, a car screeches to a halt and an apologetic Edita jumps out.

Delight In The Quiet Time We enter the small, cosy refuge. To the right, we glimpse a room with ten bunk beds and a large

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window. To the left, stands a tiny dining room under a beehive-like domed ceiling. And, even further to the left, is the composting toilet somewhat modernised.

Edita explains the house rules, including a description of the medicinal powers of the stream outside. Pilgrims who wash their feet in it will be free of any further foot problems en route. I can't resist - in spite of the coldness of the waters.

There's nothing to do until dinner. I sit outside, listening to the crazy call of a cuckoo, the full flow of the stream, and feeling the freshness of the breeze on my face. I give thanks for being in the best place in the world for me right now, without any outside contact whatsoever.

Be Grateful Edita prepares the evening meal and summons us to seat ourselves on the outside veranda. Before we tuck in, she says grace for the simple meal of rice, lentils and vegetables which we are just about to receive. I feel even more grateful and fortunate.

Give Without Expectation Footsteps coincide with our first forkful: a swarthy man appears in front of us. He announces himself as a pilgrim, but a pilgrim without money to pay for a night's lodging. He asks if he can work for his bed. Edita dismisses the suggestion instantly: he will sit, eat, and sleep in a bunk bed rather than on

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the floor. Antonio from Valencia joins our company of pilgrims.

Learn The Lesson We eat and talk at the same time. Edita rebukes us, asking us to eat in silence. "You'll enjoy the meal more fully if you take in the sounds of your surroundings and the beauty before you." Edita is directly descended from an honourable line of matrons chastising naughty boys. I'm transported back to boarding school again. She is, of course correct and we obey dutifully.

Giving Is A Gift As soon as dinner is over, Antonio takes care of the washing up, transforming himself from penniless pleader to handy helper.

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DAY FIFTEEN

San Bol To Itero de la Vega

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Update The Plan Regularly Our unscheduled stop at San Bol means that we are now behind schedule. Does it matter? No: we went with the flow, savoured the moment and had an amazing experience - one that could not have occurred in a refuge in the busy pueblo of Hontanas: our original destination. Opportunities can come out of nowhere. Our challenge is to recognise them and have the courage to follow them, even if it means diverting from our original path. An extra hour's walking this morning to cover the three miles is a small price to pay.

Integrity = Peace Of Mind On the Camino, everyone goes at his or her own pace. Javier's is fast. He gallops into our company, imparts some useful information about the flora and fauna of the Meseta, and gallops off again. During his explanations, I nod enthusiastically, laying claim to a knowledge I do not possess. I make a note to ask St James for forgiveness upon arrival in Santiago de Compostela.

Clarity Appears Bit By Bit Something strange looms in and out of the misty morning: wind turbine blades. The turbines stretch out across the Meseta, but the masts remain hidden in the mist.

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Stop To Enjoy More Two miles after passing the San Antón monastery arch, we arrive at the pueblo of Castrojeriz. The church is both impressive and welcoming, but Alex and I ignore the hallowed advice to enter every church that is open. With time pressing, we walk on by.

Fame Travels Far After the strange sight of the turbine blades, we now encounter an even stranger one: a Brazilian flag fluttering above a bar. Alex has to investigate: he feels at home. The owner, another Antonio, explains that the flag is in honour of Brazilian author Paulo Coelho who stopped at the bar during his pilgrimage.

‘Coincidences’ Occur As we leave the bar, Alex notices a Brazilian state flag hanging down the exterior wall of the bar. It's the same state flag that Alex is carrying on the back of his rucksack. A strange coincidence indeed…

Reality Decides The Decision 16 miles / 25 km later, at 2.00 pm, we arrive at Itero de la Vega. Do we continue five miles/eight km in the scorching heat to Boadilla del Camino, thereby getting back on track, or do we stop here? We break the hard-learned rule about not stopping at the first refuge in town, and do exactly that. In this

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case, there is only one good quality refuge in town - and we're in it. We ask the owner to phone ahead to the next refuge in Boadilla del Camino: it's already full. We'll be stopping here for the night.

Smile And The World Smiles With You Itero de la Vega is the proverbial one horse pueblo. The nightlife consists of two elderly ladies chatting in their open doorways. I bring a youthful smile to their faces as I call out “hola”.

Schedule Meal Breaks The in-situ sleepiness affects me deeply and I miss the first sitting in the restaurant. When I do arrive, at gone 9.00 pm, all the other pilgrims are finishing their food. I order and wait ravenously for mine to arrive. Alex meanwhile takes the opportunity to retire early and re-fortify his strength.

Add Value The diners depart, bar one: a Dutch lady takes pity on my solo plight. She explains that she is a recently retired empty-nester walking to find new meaning in her life, a meaning that will add value to others. She confides in me that her passion is “the piano… I always wanted to be a concert pianist”. I tentatively suggest that her musical passion could easily add value to others' lives, hoping that this will

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provoke some deep thinking tomorrow as she continues across the Meseta

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DAY SIXTEEN

Itero de la Vega to Carrión de Los Condes

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Work Outweighs The Thoughts About It Dig deep, Adam: Itero de la Vega to Carrión de los Condes is 22 miles / 35 km of inhospitable, sun-stinging Meseta.

It takes us a full eight hours of head-down, monotonous plodding along interminable stretches of dusty track through wheat fields. It also requires plenty of breaks: at the pueblos of Boadilla del Camino, Frómista, Villovieco, Villarmentero de Campos and Villalcázar de Sirga.

Take Self-Responsibility Today, the only entertainment comes from within. I start by drawing an analogy between Santiago de Compostela and the big goals we have in life. Initially, such goals can seem impossible, so we give up. Why? Perhaps because we don´t know exactly how to get there; similarly, we don't know exactly how to get to Santiago de Compostela. One thing we do know though: Santiago won't be moving towards us - and neither will our goals. To reach our chosen outcome, each of us needs to take responsibility for each and every step of the way, however hard that may be.

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Regret Comes From Not Trying Just before Frómista, the Camino path meets a goal from the 1750s, in the shape of the Canal de Castilla. This became one of the most important infrastructure projects in Spain between 1753 and 1849. The canal was destined to connect the rich fertile lands of the interior with the port of Santander to the north, but it never fulfilled that destiny. Until the middle of the last century, it transported local produce along its 200 km length. Today, it serves as an irrigation waterway supplying life to the surrounding fields.

What Gets Measured Gets Managed Marie Curie once said: "I never see what has been done; I only see what remains to be done". Today, on the Camino, I experience this in action. Just outside of Villalcázar de Sirga, I see a road sign: “463 kilometres (287 miles) Santiago de la Compostela”. I have already completed 229 miles / 368 km and am therefore almost half-way, but fail to recognise the importance of this key performance indicator. It is only in retrospect that I recognise and celebrate my achievement.

Remember The Basics There's no getting away from it: the next four miles to Carrión de los Condes are simply a long, hard slog. The only word in my head is 'relentless'. My fitness and stamina have undoubtedly improved

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over the first half of the Camino, but today my body both aches and feels sore. I even lose touch with the basics, forgetting to drink as often as I need.

Flow Reduces The Energy Burden Since Burgos, the Camino experience has changed. New pilgrims are joining all the time, many of whom have overloaded rucksacks. They have yet to adjust to the flow, to find their own pace and peace. The chattering is incessant, the race to the refuge intense, the queues for accommodation interminable.

Alex and I take a stand: we refuse to participate in the race for the refuge. Instead, we opt for Doris Day and “Que será, será”, even though we know our new mantra will be sorely tested.

Opportunities Abound When we arrive in Carrión de los Condes late in the afternoon, the refuge is full. Hooray: we can move one step up the residential scale and stay in a hostel - without feeling guilty.

No sooner have we made the decision than a vision of feminine loveliness steps out of the hostel that we're approaching. Retrieving Horace's admonition to "carpe diem" (seize the day) from my schoolboy Latin lessons, I ask if there are any rooms available. There aren't, but the vision points us in the direction of a friend two doors down. Said friend provides us with a twin-bedded, en-suite room in a brand new

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town-house, overlooking the river - and all for the bargain price of 20 euros each. A good night's sleep sans snoring is a priceless gift.

Sleep When Sleep Demands I decide to forget the rigours of the day in an early night. Thanks to the vision of loveliness, I drift off immediately and sleep soundly…

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DAY SEVENTEEN

Carrión de Los Condes to Terradillos de Templarios

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Suffering Is Optional: Feel The Body First Even the quality of my slumbers cannot erase the burdens of yesterday's walking from my body. A blister is gestating on my left heel and all four of my limbs are aching. And today it's 16 miles/26km: across flat lands to Terradillos de Templarios. My only consolation is that Alex is my companion in suffering.

The Old Still Serves A Purpose Three miles / five kilometres in, an old friend: the Vía Acquitaine, the old Roman road from Bordeaux to Astorga, re-enters our Camino story. Sadly, this time, there are no original stones to lead the way. Instead, for the next seven miles / eleven kilometres and two and a half hours, we tread a wide, gravelled path that scars the open wheat fields as far as the eye can see.

Environment Affects Attitude Seven miles / eleven kilometres without distraction is a tough gig. I decide to think about not thinking. My experiment fails within two minutes: thinking about not thinking requires thinking. What next?

I assume the persona of an English Milord who has served in the British Army’s Coldstream Guards Regiment. Shoulders back, stomach in, chest out, I twirl my walking stick as though I am monarch of all

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I survey. Totally convincing - for all of three minutes. I revert to being a commoner again.

Teamwork: March To The Same Drumbeat Thankfully, I no longer have to provide my own entertainment: other people do it for me. Two women with identical rucksacks, who are walking at an Olympian pace, overtake us. Five minutes later, four more women with the same rucksacks also leave us behind.

With my thespian tendencies still unsatisfied, I morph into Belgian detective Hercule Poirot. I deduce that these women are all part of the same walking group. I imagine their backstory: during a suburban coffee morning, these 40-somethings have agreed to walk the Camino - and simultaneously ignited their competitive spirit. With varying levels of fitness and stamina, they're now trying to out-do each other by racing along at between 3.5 and 4 miles (6 km and 6.5 km) an hour.

I share my speculations with Alex, asking: “How many of these ladies will still be friends at the end of their Camino?”. I never find out how many soon-to-be-ex-friends there are, but first one and then two more of the tribe overtake us. If this is a demonstration of the survival of the fittest, these last three are doomed.

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Distractions Impact My next distraction lasts two miles: it's a wobbly bottom of the female variety. It's not my fault: it's moving at exactly the same pace as I am and there's nothing else to catch my eye.

Replenish The Energy Levels The seven miles / eleven kilometres eventually come to an end in the pueblo of Calzadilla de la Cueza. As is usually the case, all human life is concentrated in the one bar directly situated on the path of the Camino. The scene resembles the scene at a ski resort bar.

Fond as I am of fruit, an apple and banana have proved a poor substitute for my customary café con leche and tostada. At 10.45 am, I am more than ready for elevenses.

As I enter the bar, I notice that the rucksack ladies are happily ensconced in one group, temporarily re-united as they air and share their blisters with the world.

Time Forges On Regardless Suitably refreshed, Alex and I arrive at the village of Ledigos 45 minutes later. We stop and chat to a man in his nineties who tells us that his name is Francisco de Assisi. During his lifetime, he's witnessed the village's population decline from more than 400 to 36 old-timers.

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Deliver Quality: Be Fit For Purpose The refuge materialises just before the signpost for Terradillos de Templarios. Built in 2010, it resembles an Australian homestead, complete with a big deck out front. Large and well-planned, it looks like a great place to stay.

As I climb the steps onto the deck, the sight of a seated Captain Mainwaring takes me aback. I find the rest of the platoon in the lobby. Either Alex and I are getting faster or they're getting slower. It's definitely not the first.

Comebacks Occur On my way to laundry duty, I meet Mark whom I had last talked to walking into Nájera, when he was suffering badly with blisters and aching legs. Recovered and rejuvenated, he's now leading the Alpha male pack, setting the pace for both the “Canadian” and Captain Mainwaring’s platoon - and beating them soundly to the refuges.

Advice Is Not Always Followed The Camino choir - Fernando and Basilio - reappear as Alex and I sit in the refuge cafeteria later. Basilio now has bad blisters; Fernando is suffering from the early stages of tendonitis. The doctor has advised three days' rest; Fernando has interpreted this as three days' walking at a slower pace.

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DAY EIGHTEEN

Terradillos de Los Templarios to El Burgo Ranero

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Superstition Is Simply Superstition It's Friday the 13th, but I'm not superstitious. How can I be when I leave to the accompaniment of a shining sunrise and realise that only one of my 16 days' walking has been affected by rain? My good fortune looks set to continue.

Allow The Future To Not Distract The Present The way from Terradillos to El Burgo Ranero consists of 19 more miles / 30 km of the same flat, open landscape. It's so flat that it reminds me of the Netherlands. The hardest climb of the day will be up a bridge over a motorway.

In the distance to the north and north-west, we glimpse the Cantabrian and Leonese mountains. This solid barrier of rock will finally put an end to the flat table-top of the Meseta plateau. But that's for another day; today, we have to tackle the tedium of the terrain.

Value Your Values As is often the case on the Camino, conversation comes to the rescue. Dominic, whom we had met at Edita's refuge, creeps silently up behind us and announces his presence with a “Bonjour”. Dominic is full of French bonhomie, and we walk and talk for a couple of hours.

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He's a chef by trade; an artist by instinct. He carries a journal in which he draws beautiful sketches with crayons. He's revelling in his time on the Camino; whenever possible, he stays in the most basic refuges. After our experience at San Bol refuge, he tells us that he stayed in a tiny refuge at San Nicolás del Real Camino which doesn't even have electricity. The wardens symbolically bathe the feet of the pilgrims, serve them a cooked meal under the glow of an oil lamp, and ban them from doing any work. The work of the pilgrim consists of walking the Camino. Experiences such as this connect Dominic directly to the simple ways of the old Camino.

Less Is More As Dominic relates his Camino philosophy to me, I feel a shiver down my spine. How many of us have ignored the San Nicolás del Real Camino refuge because we crave electricity for our modern gadgets, or feel uncomfortable occupying one of only ten beds when we could savour the security of occupying one in a hundred? Alex and Adam, for two; we have yet to learn that simple lesson: to benefit from the full Camino experience, less is more.

Demand Comes Before Supply We reach the day’s 12 mile / 20 km mark just after the town of Sahagún. We're now into the hottest part of the day - and the emptiest part of the

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landscape. Partially completed roads - of the major variety - criss-cross the Camino a number of times. It's as though some long-departed shop steward on the construction site had commanded: “OK lads, down tools now” and the lads disappeared forever.

The only traffic that travels on these ghost roads now is caterpillars, snails and other assorted insects. They traverse the vastness of the tarmac in absolute safety and solitude. The road-builder had been banking on a population migration to the ghost towns of the Meseta, but it never materialised.

It's during this stretch of the Camino that Alex and I identify a new category of walker: the tour group pilgrim. We're still adhering to our strategy of not racing to the refuge - and we're alone in this. Wave after wave of walkers overtake us, including a troop marching side by side, practically goose-stepping. All its members are very fit: they carry light day packs and cover at least four miles an hour, darting forwards and westwards like lizards after their prey.

Ascertain The Common Language The pueblo of Bercianos Real Camino is yet another ghost town, but at least it boasts a yellow arrow and the word 'bar' painted on the tarmac.

A can of fizzy KAS orange does indeed refresh the parts that other fizzy oranges don´t, and all is well. Good job, because this is where my interpreting

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career begins, bridging the gulf between South Korea and Spain. On behalf of a South Korean man, I offer thanks to the Spaniards for the help they provided to him today. The South Korean man then asks me to add that “he will be returning next year to do more of the Camino and will make contact again”. The Spaniards nod and smile politely.

Whatever Will Be, Will Be Five miles and two hours of hard walking stretch ahead of us. Frustrated by the same old, same old scenery of the Meseta, I abandon the Camino path and take to walking along the dotted line in the middle of the road for about three miles/5 km. With ghost towns, ghost roads, there are ghost cars. I estimate our arrival time at El Burgo Ranero as 3.00 pm; we are still refusing to race to the refuge and so will probably arrive when all the beds have already been bagged. So be it: lo que será, será.

Failure Brings The Opportunity To Try Again My estimate is spot on. Now, where's the refuge: Albergue de Peregrinos Domenico Laffi?

As we approach it, the scene shifts to the Wild West, Hollywood style. All the old hands are already installed: they have raced for the refuge and made this one-horse town their own. Their

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eyes bore into us as we walk down the one and only street. We are the newest, rawest, greenest gunslingers in town.

The illusion continues: the refuge has swing doors in the manner of a Wild West saloon. We enter and nothing happens: the loud music continues; no-one acknowledges us. The refuge owner eventually raises his eyes and looks at me pessimistically. He informs me that he only has one bed left.

Back outside, we make our way through a body of pilgrims and cross the street to our next port of call: the Piedras Blancas hostel. We meet with the same response. It's beginning to feel like the nativity story. It's third time unlucky when we try the Hostal El Peregrino.

It is time to walk the half mile / 1 km to the lorry drivers' motel located on the outskirts of the village.

Rewards Often Exceed Expectations Surrounded by throng of smug and settled pilgrims sitting at a terraced café, we contemplate the way ahead. A woman leaps from her café chair, and asks me in French if we're looking for beds. My schoolboy French comes to my rescue as I reply “Oui”. She beckons us down the street; we follow eagerly, only too keen to learn the same lesson

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again: never refuse a woman when in need of a bed for the night.

The El Nogal hostel looks as though it's falling down, but we're beggars so we can't be choosers. With gratitude for a bed for the night - and we have a choice: communal bunks for eight euros each, or twin beds in a separate room for ten euros each. Neither of us is Einstein but, one swift cost-benefit analysis later, we opt for the twin room. Our que será, será strategy is still working. Who said Friday the 13th was unlucky?

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DAY NINETEEN

El Burgo Ranero to León

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Step Into The Unknown Today´s journey will take us to the city of León; a daunting 25 miles / 40 km and the longest day’s walking so far. Our desire to spend a full rest day in the city spurs our ambition.

We have a hard, long day ahead of us. What price will we pay for this extra mileage? Only time will tell.

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DAY TWENTY

León

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Permit The Gut To Talk As it turns out, I pay the price for something else, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. We arrive at León, the fourth largest city on the Camino, unscathed. It was originally a Roman military encampment, occupied by Legion VII Gemina; its name comes from the contraction of Legión to León. Subjected to wave after wave of Barbarian and Muslim invasions, it wasn´t until the 10th century that it became the capital of the Kingdom of León and took an active part in the Reconquista against the Moors. In 1188, the city hosted the first parliament in European history; it was named as the cradle of parliamentarianism in 2010.

We visit the 13th century Gothic cathedral which is a similarly impressive structure to the one at Burgos. We go for the 1.00 pm Sunday mass, pausing to notice the damned souls sculpted forever in their descent into hell above us as we pass through the porch. The stained glass windows, reputed to be the finest in Europe, are equally arresting. This is definitely one of the jewels in the Camino's crown.

As the centre of León is pedestrianised, you can stroll through the narrow streets in a relaxed way, without having to worry about traffic noise or fumes. There's plenty of opportunity to appreciate the historic character of the centre, especially the small, independent, family-run shops which look as though they haven't changed in generations.

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Pilgrims in León are spoilt for choice: there are so many outstanding historical buildings on offer. The Basilica of San Isidoro was a compulsory halt for pilgrims of old, but the only thing I halt for is a seafood pizza in the square outside the Basilica. My mistake: I should have followed in the footsteps of the pilgrims of old, rather than over-riding my gut instinct which warned me off the pizza.

Maybe the powers that be take the same view because I enjoy my favourite bottle of red wine, Marqués de Riscal, and my lunch for no more than 45 minutes. My stomach starts churning: I recognize the symptoms of food poisoning. I know where they're going, and I know where I'm going. And so a wonderful Sunday in the beautiful Camino city of León ends prematurely: at 5.00 pm.

Drop Everything Without Question When Required There's no arguing with food poisoning. I spend the night fully occupied in the hotel bathroom.

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DAY TWENTY-ONE

León

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Check Out The Escape Route First No change to the situation. I can thoroughly recommend the bedroom and bathroom of Room 109 in the centrally located:

Hotel La Posada Regia, c/Regidores 9-11, CP-24003, León, Spain

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DAY TWENTY-TWO

León To Villar Mazarife

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Acknowledge A True Friend Alex very kindly agrees to stay in León while I recover. I am extremely grateful; although we are of completely different nationalities, backgrounds and cultures, Alex and I have become good friends. Walking the Camino together makes it an even richer experience. When the inevitable moments of hardship do occur, they become more manageable when you know you have a supportive friend by your side.

Do The Right Thing We leave the safety of Hotel La Posada Regia at 8.30 am, headed for Villar Mazarife 14 miles / 23 km away. I am both tired and dehydrated, but do have a stomach full of breakfast, not because I fancied it, but because eating was the right thing to do.

Fortune Favours The Brave

It takes five miles / 8 km and two hours to clear León´s western suburbs and strike out into the open countryside, leaving the noise and pollution of the main roads behind us. Weakened by the food poisoning episode, I find the mere mechanics of putting one foot in front of the other intolerable. Fortunately, today's walk is relatively short in Camino terms.

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Holidays Are For Fun We arrive at Villar de Mazarife after 1.30 pm. We head for the refuge with the highest number of shells - according to Alex´s Camino guidebook. It should be a sure sign of quality, but has the guide taken snoring into account?

It's almost the first building on the right as you enter the village, and first impressions are favourable. With a manicured lawn and garden furniture, it resembles a holiday camp. We join the queue for fun in the sun.

Socialise Appropriately Villar de Mazarife is unique in my Camino experience. Completely surrounded by arable land and grazing sheep, it has an interesting historic church, an outstanding statue of a journeying pilgrim, and a segregation policy. The old men gather in one particular bar; the old women keep to their doorways. Pilgrims need to know where to go to find their particular brand of social activity.

Streamline The Process Even in the 21st century, technology isn't all-pervasive. The cashier at the tiny local supermarket has her own unique way of taking payment:

1) Write down the price of each product on a piece of paper.

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2) Add up all the prices using mental arithmetic to get the total cost.

3) Type the total into a calculator.

4) Show the customer the calculator detailing the total cost.

5) Type the total cost into the electronic till to record the transaction.

She radiates happiness and keeps repeating “muchos peregrinos” ( many pilgrims) as more and more of them squeeze into her tiny shop. Her mental arithmetic can only improve still further.

I return to the refuge for an early night. Still feeling weak, I need some quality sleep - before the snorers get going...

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DAY TWENTY-THREE

Villar de Mazarife To Astorga

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Begin Each Day Early We make an early start: a full moon high in the sky lights our way westwards towards today's target: Astorga 19 miles / 30 km away. Only a few hours more and we'll finally be free of the flatness of the Meseta, and able to focus on our next challenge: the Leonese mountains.

Honour Commitments Forty minutes later, Alex and I enter Hospital de Órbigo. This village is famous for one thing: the medieval bridge that stretches 670 ft / 204 metres in length and spans 20 arches. Known as the “Bridge of the Paso Honroso”, legend records that in 1434, Suero de Quiñones defended the bridge successfully against 166 challengers. And all for the honour of one woman: such chivalry.

Repair And Maintenance Are Inevitable I only find this out afterwards, perhaps just as well. As I cross the bridge, I note that it is undergoing so much major refurbishment that I'll be surprised if a single, original stone remains.

Boundaries Protect Astorga is only ten miles / 16 km from Hospital de Órbigo, but its significance is measured in far more

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than mere mileage. We've said goodbye to the flat lands of the Meseta once and for all. We revel in the change. We're back in vibrant, natural surroundings: hills, woods, brush, birdsong.

Astorga is a Roman city and stronghold founded in 14 BC. Linked to the Roman network of roads via the Vía Acquitaine, it still retains its protective stone walls. To this day, they encircle the old town. Looking up into the city, you see the refuge: a large rectangular building which enjoyed a previous existence as a convent.

Conduct A Cost/Benefit Analysis Over the centuries, the act of walking the Camino has provided countless pilgrims with the solutions to innumerable obstacles. No doubt many of those solutions have been elegant and easy. The obstacle between us and the refuge half a mile (0.8 km) ahead is a railway line; the solution: a pedestrian bridge. And what a bridge. It is neither easy nor elegant: we have to walk up five levels, to probably 328 feet / 100 metres in height, walk across 9 feet / 3 metres of train track. and descend five levels on the other side. It takes us ten minutes. However, it's an ill wind. I'm guessing that the bridge contractor made a lot of money.

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Sculpture Out One’s Life One of the joys of the Camino is the sheer variety and number of pilgrim statues and sculptures that grace the route. Outside the refuge, the pilgrim wears an overcoat and cowboy hat, dangles a suitcase over his left shoulder and holds a bastón (walking stick) in his right hand. He extends a warm welcome to every weary traveller.

Alex and I enjoy a late lunch at 3.30 pm in a taberna which borders the Plaza Mayor. We appreciate the imposing facade of the ayuntamiento (town hall) which has stood at one end of the square since 1675. Two Punch- and Judy-like figures inhabit the clock tower, earning their keep by ringing the bells at the appointed hour.

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DAY TWENTY-FOUR

Astorga To Foncebadón

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Assess The Difficulty No sooner have I congratulated myself on having passed the psychological test of crossing the Meseta than reality kicks in. Now, it's back to the easy stuff: the mere matter of scaling hills and mountains. Today's task is to travel the 17 miles / 28 km from Astorga to Foncebadón, ascending from 2,687ft / 819m to 4,904ft / 1495m in altitude as we go.

Discipline Yields Activity The day starts in a suitably strict style: a bugle sounds reveille at 7.00 am. The call to arms comes not from within the refuge, but from without: the barracks we pass on the outskirts of town. I count myself fortunate not to be subject to the severity of the soldiers' regime.

Pick The Right Mountain To Climb Between us and Galicia stand the Leonese mountains: a natural 30 mile / 50 km barrier between the two Camino towns of Astorga and Ponferrada.

The village of Foncebadón village sits 328 ft / 100 metres short of the mountain summit. This fact alone explains the popularity of its refuge.

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Carry Reserves As we climb towards the summit, my eyes cannot leave the peculiar object sitting on top of the backpack of the pilgrim in front. Initially, I think it's a large stone that she's carrying to place at the Cruz de Fierro (Iron Cross) which marks the summit. But I'm not convinced; as I overtake, I ask her what it is. "A pumpkin”; she explains that pilgrims of old would carry their water in hollowed-out pumpkins (of the right shape) with a cork stuffed in the opening at the top. She wants to follow the tradition, although she's dispensed with the water.

Loss Is Part Of Life We arrive in El Ganso and I'm back in the Wild West again. It's a pueblo on the smallest scale, but it still has a bar: Bar Cowboy Meson. Thanks to my Stetson, I feel right at home.

Such moments of serendipity are always worth a photo; Alex does the honours. Sadly, it turns out to be a memorial photo. Somewhere, between El Ganso and Rabanal del Camino, my Stetson and I part company. Maybe it feels its Camino is over and it returns to its spiritual home of El Ganso, site of both the Bar Cowboy and a Boot Hill-style cemetery. Or, on a more mundane level, perhaps it just falls out of my back pocket as I walk.

I shall never know. What I do know is that it has served me well. And what a Camino it's had: flying

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business class with me from Buenos Aires to London, travelling on Eurostar and TGV from London to St Jean de Pied Port, and then traversing Northern Spain. My Stetson reminds me of one of the core messages of the Camino: nothing stays the same forever, and letting go is part of the journey.

Appearances Can Be Deceptive Approaching Rabanal del Camino entails walking along the footpath running alongside the main road. Up ahead, in the middle of the road, I see an inert, lifeless form: a dead dog? I go straight into judgment mode: how can the villagers leave such a distressing sight in full view of the pilgrims, especially as the body might be run over?

Seconds later, the dead dog moves and I see that it's a bitch feeding her new-born pup. It isn't distressing at all; it's natural, maternal and a reminder of a lesson I've already been taught once on this Camino: judge not that ye be not judged.

Climb Higher For A Better View Eventually, we reach Foncebadón: nestled high in the mountains, it overlooks Astorga and the Meseta plateau stretching away into the distance.

The main refuge is the basement of a simple hotel, housing approximately 50 pilgrims. It's a refuge in all senses of the word: providing food, shelter, company, protection from the cold mountain air,

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and entertainment. It's the perfect location to while away the hours.

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DAY TWENTY-FIVE

Foncebadón to Ponferrada

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Define Success To Achieve Success Some mornings on the Camino, you wake up slowly as you walk; on others, you wake up sharply. Today's in the latter category: the cool mountain air reawakens all my senses. Looking east, a distant sun emerges from behind the horizon whilst westwards, high in the sky, a full moon casts its light to open up the darkness.

Half-an-hour later, after negotiating a stone-strewn track, Alex and I stand on the highest point of the entire Camino Francés: at the Cruz de Ferro (Iron Cross) at an altitude of 4,921 feet / 1,500 metres.

Read The Small Print This is where pilgrims honour the age-old tradition of leaving a stone from home at the foot of the cross as a symbol of their pilgrimage. As I've omitted to read this clause in the pilgrim contract, all I can do is watch Alex perform the ritual - and take advantage of the photo opportunity.

Gaze At The View We hug the ridge of the mountain as we plod onwards and westwards to Ponferrada, 19 miles / 30 km from Foncebadón. Occasionally, it comes into view, but it looks unattainable. Are we really walking that far in a single day?

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My thoughts change as I notice the sky and the scenery. Never has the sky seemed so blue or so clear, and the views are simply outstanding. Snow-capped mountains stand imposingly to the south with man's imprint (the obligatory line of wind turbines) running down their ridge-like backs. This is a perfect day for walking and being on top of the world: a true Camino highlight.

Focus The Concentration Unconfined joy ceases as the descent begins. In an attempt to keep the track from washing away, it's heavily stoned and bouldered. This exerts extra pressure on human knees, and calls for extra attention in selecting a suitable spot for each footstep. Two hours of heavy concentration only end as we enter the pretty pueblo of El Acebo.

Change With The Times Walking down El Acebo´s single, linear street, the first thing I notice is the change in architecture. All the houses have sloping, tiled roofs and protruding wooden balconies overhanging the main street. They're expecting the cold and the rain.

In the early afternoon, the streets of Ponferrada are silent, but the yellow Camino arrows lead us into the old town - and past a perfect fairytale castle.

The original building fashioned by the Knights Templar is a faithful feature of Camino

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writings. Today's version has undergone numerous modifications since those early days.

Growth Never Stops Today, Alex and I have walked long and arduously; we deserve a treat and decide to stay in a small hotel close to the Plaza Mayor. A wise decision: there's a barber's right next door and I am more than overdue for a haircut.

No Journey Lasts Forever I do not realise how overdue until the light-headedness kicks in as I catch up with Alex in our constant and communal search for food. We eat in a restaurant bordering the Plaza Mayor and discuss how many new faces have appeared on the Camino since León. Many of our former friends and ensuing camaraderie have disappeared, and no new friendships are being forged to replace them. At times, the Camino resembles nothing so much as a rush-hour journey.

Perhaps this is a sign that the Camino is coming to an end: only 154 miles / 247 km remain.

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DAY TWENTY-SIX

Ponferrada To Villafranca Del Bierzo

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Strip Off The Surplus Layers As Alex and I leave Ponferrada at 6.45 am, the street-cleaning vans are already at work, hosing down the pavements. As the superfluous water drains away, before the daily drying-out process can begin, it strikes me that this is a visual reminder of the type of excess which we all accept as normal - prior to undertaking our Camino.

Excess Leaves Its Mark Walking through the leafy suburbs is delightful, but my delight is interrupted by the omnipresence of one particular feature. Had Alan Jay Lerner been writing the lyrics for 'My Fair Lady' now, he would probably have penned not:

"The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain",

but

"The crane in Spain is in the main".

Cranes - of the mechanical, rather than avian variety - dominate the landscape of the cities and pueblos through which we pass. A pueblo without one is an oddity. Are these the machines that helped to create the property bubble?

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Create A Name For Yourself The walls of the local church, dedicated to Santa María de Compostela, are both resplendent and resplendently covered in graffiti. Amongst all the scribblings, I decipher my surname "Wells”. Is this yet another sign?

Home Is A Temporary Refuge Is that a crane or a stork? It's a stork; and it won't be the last one we see. On this section of the Camino, they're everywhere: building their nest on the top of lamp posts, electricity pylons, church towers - on almost anything with a view. If a village doesn’t have a crane, it will certainly have a stork instead.

Produce The Goods Fertile countryside replaces the suburbs - and it's productive countryside covered by smallholdings (actually quite large), worked almost exclusively, and with hard, physical, manual labour by elderly men with bicycles.

Nurture Growth Today´s 14 mile / 23 km stroll from Ponferrada to Villafranca del Bierzo brings us into the province of Bierzo. Its main town of Villafranca is our next objective. The province is famous for its wine and produce; the rich and fertile soils yield an abundance of grape varieties and gastronomic

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delicacies. On the food front, the most regional dish is “Botillo” (pork rib and tail) which has been pickled, sausaged and semi-cured and finally boiled to bring out the flavouring.

Wise Decisions Work Twelve miles/20 km after leaving Ponferrada, Alex and I face a choice: two Camino routes to Villafranca confront us. We can either stick to the main road or turn right and head for the pueblo of Valtville de Arriba. The latter extends the overall journey by an extra 2 miles / 3 km, but is off the main road.

We opt for this, and soon find ourselves surrounded by vineyards and stunning views of the mountains standing tall on the far side of the valley.

As we walk, we - in common with the grapes - ripen in the mid-day sun.

Market Yourself Loudly We make it into Valtville de Arriba, and see a wall sign advertising ”Chiringito del Peregrino” as a rest stop. We don't know what this means, but that doesn't deter us from visiting. A couple of hundreds yards later, we receive our first clue - aurally: Mexican duets blare out from a speaker. The “chiringito” is a café graced with a few tables and chairs - and located inside the garage of a house.

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Retirement: Find A Purpose The “chiringito” turns out to be the retirement project of 80 year-old Bento. A village resident for 35 years, he now lives alone, his sons having left to live in Zaragoza. His talent for making outstanding sandwiches - local ham a specialty of the house - attracts all the company he craves.

Customer Service Counts As we stand up to leave, Bento offers us a coffee. We accept his generous hospitality. Black coffee arrives, and it's not solo. On the side is a carafe of “orujo” or firewater. Bento exhort us to: “add sugar and as much firewater as you like”. Unfortunately, following instructions is my forté. Don't expect to find "orujo" on the Starbucks' menu any time soon.

Forgive Before It Is Too Late We sneak into Villafranca del Bierzo through the back door of our quiet track which leads past the Iglesia de Santiago church, famous for its “Puerta del Perdón” or Door of Forgiveness”. Pilgrims who knew they were too ill to complete their pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela could receive forgiveness for their sins by crossing the threshold of the Puerta del Perdón. The obligatory village crane towers over the church.

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DAY TWENTY-SEVEN

Villafranca Del Bierzo to O Cebreiro

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Execute The Plan Today, it's an ultra-early start, even by Camino standards. We're travelling north-westwards: down the Valcarce valley and culminating in one of the steepest climbs since the Pyrenees. Our finishing point is O Cebreiro; to gain it, we will have to master 2,600ft / 800 metres of height, two-thirds of it in the last five miles / eight km). As we set off at 5.30 am, the streets of Villafranca del Bierzo are empty and eerily silent. Our strategy is to walk as far as we can before the heat of the day sets in. Unfortunately, the worst of the heat and the worst of the terrain will coincide.

We leave Villafranca del Bierzo in complete darkness: neither the distant stars nor my torch light our way. Fortunately, for the first 12 miles / 19 km, and until daybreak, the reassuringly hard tarmac of the N-VI road guides our way.

Notice The Environmental Impact The Valcarce River runs down the valley named after it, and the N-VI runs alongside both. The clatter of our walking poles harmonises with the sounds of nature: the rushing of the water, the chatter of the birds, the rustle of the trees in the wind.

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Delegate Effectively As we pick our way carefully down the valley, I pick up the sound of bells and barking from a nearby field. Over the brow of a hill, a dog shepherds seven or eight goats down to the river's edge. Once there, he both quenches his own thirst and keeps a watchful eye on his charges. There isn't a goatherd in sight: an excellent example of delegation.

Vote For It To Count Our constant companions thus far along the Camino have been posters of electoral hopefuls in today's regional elections. Posted on almost every type of street furniture, they remind me of nothing so much as police mugshots. They've had their period of photographic fame; now it's over.

Acknowledge Your Progress Monumental moments can sometimes be elegantly expressed. This is one of those moments: the boundary flagstone stands on a grassy bank to our right. It's simply designed and just has 'Galicia' inscribed on its face - with a plentiful supply of gratuitous graffiti for added effect. Everybody stops to take a photo: evidence that we've crossed the huge province of Castile and León. What a contrast between our exit, high in the mountains, and our entry, down low in the wine country all those days before.

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Search For The Substance As we cross the road into O Cebreiro, the first thing that strikes me is not a car (though I have had a near miss or two), but the buildings. They're all solidly built of stone, designed to withstand the rough winter weather.

In 1213, St Francis of Assisi passed through the hamlet on his own Camino and founded the tiny church of Santa María which is said to be the oldest remaining church on the Way of St James. Today, standing by the side of the one cobbled street, it looks like nothing so much as a backdrop to Disneyworld. Sad to relate, the Franciscan monks, standing outside the church in their black habits, only add to the tourist feel of the scene.

Allocate Time To The Chores When we arrive at the refuge shortly after 1.00 pm, 20 people are already in the queue in front of us. Forty-five minutes later, the hospitalero allocates us bunks in the 100-bed dorm. Just time to wash ourselves and our clothes before we head off for our customary menu del día lunch.

Seek Value For Money The Franciscan monks may look like Disney bit players, but they still know a thing or two, such as where to find the best lunch on the Camino. A huge plate of macaroni mixed with chorizo for starters, a churrasco steak and cutlets for main,

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and ice cream for dessert. All washed down with a carafe of wine. And all for the bargain price of ten euros.

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DAY TWENTY-EIGHT

O Cebreiro To Samos

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Know When to Walk Away Galicia with its jagged mountains and rolling hills is an extremely green garden. It benefits from copious downpours of rain that create a lush, humid and beautiful landscape. The province also has its own distinctive local language: Gallego.

Life in these parts means working on the farm, and dairy farming appears to be the norm. We soon get used to the walking of the bulls as a daily occurrence on the Camino. No need to panic: these are but very distant cousins of the fearless, fighting bulls of Pamplona. These Galician relatives live with a constant look of bewilderment on their faces as they struggle to amble down the track. They have no desire to explore on their own account.

They are not, however, completely harmless. If you don't move sharply out of their way, they give you a sharp prod with their horns to help you.

Find The Right Tool For The Job Time to re-connect with the Camino's shoe fetishist. Having previously abandoned single boots in the Pyrenees and sandals outside Logroño, he's now down to the next layer: a pair of socks dangle from a concrete fencepost. He's at the serious stage: the last stretch into Santiago de Compostela will be barefoot.

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Age Is A Number There's always an exception that proves the rule. Today, we meet her. Dressed in a blue skirt, floral blouse, and extravagant hat, she looks like the archetypal little old lady. But only until we see how she controls her herd of cattle: ferociously. Her Alsatian dog is similarly fiercesome, almost jumping up onto the backs of the cows, but she puts him in the shade in the savagery stakes. Does she morph into a gentle grandmother by her own fireside? I doubt it somehow.

Recognise The Significance The signs are multiplying. Outside of Ponferrada, I found “Wells” scrawled as graffiti down the side of a church wall and all that was needed was for "Adam" to go in front of it. Today, the Universe provides that as well: in a little Galician farm, just before Triacastela. It's on a label stuck across the windscreen of an ancient tractor: “Rey Adan SL” (King Adam SL).

I feel as though my presence on the Camino has been officially sanctioned by the powers that be. The feeling spurs me ever onwards.

Beauty Sits Amongst Every Scene From Triacastela to Samos, it's only 7.3 miles / 11 km, but this section proves to be as long and as

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tortuous as any of those that wind through the mountains. The track that winds endlessly just seems to compound the heat and our tiredness. The only compensation is our surroundings. The scenery is absolutely stunning. How could we not enjoy the forests filled with chestnut trees and more ghost villages where the only living being is a barking guard dog? It's a magical stage, but still a thoroughly exhausting one.

React To Changes In Temperature The monastery of Samos monastery finally stands below us. The Camino bursts out into the glaring sun from its long, dark, tunnel of enclosing trees. The tiled roofs and imposing walls of the monastery lie at the foot of the hill.

And what a different climate prevails down there from the one we enjoyed in O Cebreiro, 20 miles / 32 km and eight hours earlier when all we could see was a heavy morning mist.

Identify The Key Influencers We descend into the pueblo: the monastery dominates the village. Founded during the Visigoth era, it became a Benedictine monastery in the tenth century. By the Middle Ages, its power and influence extended across the whole of Spain: it controlled 350 lesser monasteries. To this day, it houses the largest cloister in Spain.

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Happiness Is Open To All We join the congregation of pilgrims in the monastery's church. On the chime of 7.30 pm, the Benedictine monks file in. Vespers begins with a Gregorian chant.

Well over half of the monks are over 70; the remainder are under 40, but they all exude a natural calm and tranquility - as does their singing.

The congregation is composed entirely of pilgrims; nevertheless, we listen attentively throughout the 45-minute mass. It is an exquisite experience that I shall treasure as long as memory remains.

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DAY TWENTY-NINE

Samos To Puertomarín

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Ensure A Shortcut Is A Shortcut Our decision to visit the monastery at Samos has taken us away from the 'true' Camino track. We are unrepentant though: Vespers and mass made the diversion more than worthwhile.

Rejoining the 'true' way entails another decision: either take the northern route or walk alongside the main road to Sarria. The latter is a couple of miles shorter, so that's the one we choose.

Play By The Rules Of The Game We walk the length of the road to Sarria: 7 miles / 11 km. It's a large town that's spread out in all directions from the old quarter perched high on the hill. After two hours twenty of hard slog, Alex and I stop for a well-deserved breakfast.

Sarria holds a special status in the pilgrim community, by virtue of it being just over 62 miles / 100 km from Santiago. Time to talk of the Compostela: the certificate issued by the authorities in Santiago. It confirms that you've completed your Camino in the spirit of pilgrimage. To be eligible, you must have walked at least 100 km and finished in Santiago de Compostela; hence the importance of Sarria. It's the starting point for many new pilgrims who begin by visiting the town hall, adding their name to the visitors' book, and receiving their first stamp in their pilgrim's passport (Credencial).

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First Impressions Count Back in the land of yellow arrows, we climb the hill towards the church of San Salvador. Just opposite the church, we see a sign advertising the many virtues of a refuge, but there's no promise of a snore-free zone - and no refuge is any good without one.

Further up the street, a door yawns invitingly. Alex and I can just glimpse a stamp and ink pad on the counter inside. Can we add yet another stamp to our pilgrim passport?

Yes, we can: all we have to do is sign the visitors' book. It's a deal. Flicking through the pages, I note with pride that not many other pilgrims have started in St Jean Pied-de-Port as we have. Most have started in the villages and towns between León and Sarria.

Secure The Family Silver As we cross Galicia, we notice that farm after farm has a strange structure close to the main farmhouse: a horreo. Built of either wood or stone, the structure stands high above the ground on stilts. It acts as a grain or food store, protecting produce (maize, potatoes, chestnuts) from the robust and roaming rodent population.

Another long day stretches ahead: it's a further 14 miles/ 23 km from Sarria to Puertomarín. The latter is now perched high above the River Miño and the

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Belesar reservoir. The old village of Puertomarín lies somewhere under the waters of the reservoir. Before those waters drowned the village, the inhabitants dismantled the historic church brick by brick and rebuilt it in the new village higher up the hillside.

Death: Our Days Are Numbered After crossing the wide reservoir bridge, we then climb up steep Aztec- like temple steps into Puertomarín village. We arrive exhausted at 4.00 pm.

At the top, Alex spots Suomi whom we haven’t seen for many, many days. We enjoy our reunion - and a lengthy chat. She asks whether we've heard the news about the Canadian father and son walking the Camino. This is not the Canadian pair that we've encountered. The father had a heart attack and died in his bunk bed. Suomi, shocked by the news, had only been speaking to him two days beforehand.

As you walk along the Camino, you can't fail to notice the memorials to those who've died en route, but I never expected to hear about a death on my own Camino.

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Remain Alert To The World Around I stand in silent tribute. As I raise my eyes, I see a couple of members of the Walmington-on-Sea Home Guard behind Suomi 's shoulder. No sign of Captain Mainwaring though…

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DAY THIRTY

Puertomarín to Palas de Rei

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Fine Tune The Process Getting out of bed in the morning is proving more difficult with each passing day. However, it's now so streamlined, so programmed into auto-pilot that the whole process from bunk to boots on road takes a mere 20 minutes, although both my soles and soul take slightly longer to adjust to the rigours of the day ahead.

Rise To The Challenges Today´s target is the village of Palas del Rei, 16 miles / 25 km ahead. Both of the previous days have entailed 20 mile / 32km treks and they've taken their toll.

Alex and I would both like to arrive in Santiago de Compostela on Friday 27th May. It's only three days - but still 60 miles / 96km - away. Will we do it? Only by pushing our bodies to walk the same distance as they've already achieved over the past couple of days. Only time will tell whether they're fit for purpose or not.

Time + Practice = Experience Low mist covers the Galician hills as we trudge out of Puertomarín. Even at 6.45 am, the humidity is high: no need for a jacket or sweater. We join a line of ant-like pilgrims swarming towards Santiago.

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It reminds me of my first day on the Camino: with hordes of fresh pilgrims overtaking, desperate to reach their destination. It's easy to distinguish between the new pilgrims and the Pyrenean ones. The newbies wear all types of clothing: jeans, shorts, trainers, lycra tube-like things. Some don't even tote a rucksack. Even more shockingly, there's an absence of water bottles. Perhaps the most noticeable difference of all though is an expansion of the age range: from between 40 and 60 to between 20 and 70.

Tie Up The Loose Ends The sun finally succeeds in burning away the mist by 9.30 am. We buckle down to a coffee and bocadillo breakfast in a busy bar in the pueblo of Gonzar. Although it looks like a bar, it is, in reality, a gold mine. The owners know exactly how to part pilgrims from the contents of their purse.

Suomi pops up again in the bar. For such a petite lady, she carries a huge load, walks fast, and acts with great determination. She also closes a Camino chapter for me. She has been hanging out with a Camino celebrity: he who offered his boots, sandals and socks as a tribute to the Jimmy Choo shoe god. He's still here, in the bar, less than 15 feet/five metres away from me. Finally, I know what he looks like. He's completing his pilgrimage barefoot to Santiago, and I feel sure that the shoe god will be pleased and proud of his Camino contribution.

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Everything Has Its Life Cycle From Gonzar, the Camino ventures through an army of small villages. The Cross of Lameiros, one of the oldest on the route, stands to the side of the road. I stop to inspect it: images of maternity and rebirth adorn its top; those relating to death - the skull and crossbones - grace its base. This is only the second time I have seen this image of death on the Camino: the first is carved into the wall of a church in the Meseta village of Castrojeriz.

Encourage As Often As Possible Galicia is such encouraging territory for the pilgrim. One of the Camino constants in Galicia is a yellow arrow with CASI (meaning ALMOST) written underneath. As well as spurring us on, the arrows also remind us that we're not finished until we're finished.

Luck Always Helps The village of Palas de Rei (Palace of the King) proves to be aptly named. Although it's a sleepy pueblo, it does indeed offer palatial alternatives to the traditional refuge. Our two star hotel offers a room for 20 euros, and a restaurant with the customary menu del día lunch. Just as the food arrives, the heavens open and we witness a Spanish downpour. We watch as a steady stream of poncho-soaked pilgrims pass by. Our unbroken

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run of staying perfectly dry continues. Could it possibly hold out for two more days?

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DAY THIRTY-ONE

Palas de Rei to Arzúa

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Reflect On The Journey The penultimate day of the Camino: I can scarcely believe it's true. Only 43 miles / 69 km to go. Today, we're heading for Arzúa, just 18 miles / 29km away. Tomorrow, we'll tackle the final 25 miles / 40km, probably the longest daily distance we'll have covered on the Camino. Why? It's all down to the urgent, unparalleled desire to finish.

Today´s route takes us through Surrey-like country lanes and tracks, but I'm scarcely aware of the scenery: too busy reflecting upon the whole Camino journey. Reasons for undertaking this trek across Spain, either in part or in whole, encompass a wide spectrum: to find answers to life's important questions, to have a spiritual experience, or to just do it because it's there - and then take home a certificate to prove it.

What have I gleaned from my Camino experience? Undoubtedly for me, the highlight and my most profound learning coincide: at the mass in the Cathedral of Santo Domingo de la Calzada. I shall never forget the priest, his outstanding oratory, and his message: to achieve the best results in life, we need to do everything - in our work, relationships, cooking, parenting - in a spirit of love.

This message comes back to me as I watch individuals who are not enjoying their Camino. Some of them cannot even walk a relatively short distance without a backpack; the challenge proves

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too great, and they need a taxi. Why walk the Camino if you don't enjoy walking?

I realise that some people are looking for answers to big questions on the Camino. I don't have any dramatic flashes from above. My Camino is more akin to learning to drive. My lessons take place as I respond to the physical pitfalls and spiritual sights while I walk. I'll pass my driving test when I arrive in Santiago and receive my Compostela. And I'll start driving my life - as I wish it to be, after I've returned home. My Camino will have provided me with the time, space, stories and analogies that enable me to reflect and decide which 'villages' I want to walk through in the future.

The physical act of walking the Camino teaches me that wherever there is pain, you need to fix it. It won't go away until it is resolved once and for all. If there's a heavy burden on your shoulders, you can lighten the load. Choosing a like-minded partner to walk with will make the experience immensely more enjoyable than being alone, but choose carefully.

Even when you walk in company, your Camino will still be unique to you. Pilgrims always have a choice to notice or ignore the insights when they appear. Putting all my home-grown philosophy to one side, my Camino has been a truly wonderful experience. I've appreciated the people, the food, the scenery, the history, the camaraderie, even the snoring. I thoroughly recommend the Way of St James.

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Tomorrow, it is Santiago and journey's end. Whom from the past will Alex and I meet for the final time? We've met some wonderful people and enjoyed some great conversations along the way. Reconnecting with a number of them over fine food and wine would be a fitting end to the Camino de Santiago experience. Vamos a ver (Let´s see)!

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DAY THIRTY-TWO

Arzúa to Santiago de Compostela

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You Can Choose To Conform For my final day, I shall blend in: my rucksack will no longer look like a portable clothes line with my smalls dangling and drying in the breeze. It is, after all, time to resume normal life.

We enjoy a leisurely start, lingering over our coffee and tostada, and not stepping onto the path until 7.15 am. We have the whole day in which to reach Santiago.

Fight For Your Dreams Or Others Will Impose Theirs We pass through any number of small pueblos, re-viewing both the usual and the unusual. We see a standard-sized crane looming over a tiny house mid-refurbishment; happy, intelligent cows listening to a cultural programme on the radio while being milked; and the re-appearance of Paulo Coelho. This time, we find him 15 miles / 25 km outside of Santiago - in the A Casa Verde bar. A poster on the wall behind the bar proffers his words of wisdom: “Fight for your dreams, or others will impose theirs”.

Immediately before we reach Arca do Pino, I have a flashback to my first day on the Camino when I met Alex. Together, we had walked down a steep path through the beech tree forest to Roncesvalles. Apart from the steepness of the track and the forest now being eucalyptus, we're recreating the same

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scene. The first day and the last day of the Camino: the same for a moment.

It Is Not Over Until It Is Over The Way of St James proves to be a challenge right to the end: Santiago de Compostela seems to sit in the base of a bowl - and we have to cross numerous steep hills to reach that base. I feel as though the Camino is asking for every last drop of my vital energy before it will surrender the ultimate prize of Santiago to me. The persistent image in my head of a shirt being wrung dry: I am that shirt.

Say ‘Yes’ To Invitations After another breath-starved ascent, I begin talking to Oceo, an elderly Spanish gentleman, on the descent. We are all walking towards the village of Lavacolla and talk of the Camino. Oceo is planning to stay in Lavacolla overnight and arrive in Santiago tomorrow. He asks if we would like to join him for a beer at his hotel. That one word 'beer' has a certain appeal, and we accept.

Serendipity Plays Its Part Oceo's hotel is tucked away in the backstreets and off the beaten track. We cross a large courtyard in front of the hotel, and I stagger in surprise. There, right in front of me, are two members of Captain Mainwaring's platoon enjoying a drink. I had thought our criss-crossing path days were long over.

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I ask after the other group members. In particular, I want to know the whereabouts of Captain Mainwaring. He's engaged in the showering and resting routine; of course he is.

Never Give Up On Love We follow Oceo into the bar which is packed with young men. He is armed with a freshly plucked pink rose for the landlady. He is confident that she will remember him from his Camino of the previous year. I'm sceptical.

Oceo orders three beers, presenting his rose as he does so. Not a flicker of recognition crosses the landlady's face - and we wait some considerable time for our beers. Perhaps a red rose would have had the desired effect. We hope he'll have better luck on next year's Camino. We thank Oceo for the beers, bid him "adiós", and return outside to catch up with the platoon.

Expect Surprises I start talking to the oldest member of the platoon (whom I've referred to as 'the General' on account of his distinguished grey beard). I learn that he's already walked the Camino five times: a walking machine rather than a killing machine. On reflection though, he could be a killing machine: the members of the platoon are disappearing one by one - but only to rest. The General's wife has

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suffered greatly en route, having had to visit two different doctors for treatment for her feet.

I first encountered the platoon just outside of Viana 398 miles / 626km earlier, on day eight of the Camino. They were walking along the main road, headlong into the traffic. In my naiveté, I shouted out to them to indicate where the Camino was. Now I know that the 'General' knew every nook, cranny and secret that the Camino had to bestow.

The platoon's plan is to stay in Lavacolla tonight and conduct their final assault on Santiago tomorrow. We bid them farewell and put our best foot forward to complete our mission.

Memorise The Key Facts In 1989, Pope John Paul II visited Santiago de Compostela. A huge sculpture records the event on Monte do Gozo (Hill of Joy). This is the spot where pilgrims of old received their first views of the three spires of Santiago de Compostela’s cathedral. Our arrival at 4.20pm, after 31 days of walking and nearly 500 miles / 804 km on The Way, yields our first views: of Santiago’s expanding suburbs.

Enjoy A Joke Suburbs tend to spread: Santiago's spread forever. I search in vain for the cathedral spire to inspire me. My heart fails me: perhaps there is no cathedral, no pilgrimage, no Camino. Maybe the

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past 31 days and 500 miles have been one huge, delusional April Fool and someone is about to jump out at me and shout “Candid Camera”. I reconnect with my faith and it carries me forward.

Remove Expectations To Remove Disappointment As our mule-like plodding continues, new buildings give way to old, with the streets becoming narrower. They deliver their first surprise: Frenchman Dominic whom we had first met in the ten-bed refuge of San Bol. Newly arrived in Santiago, he confirms that he too has suffered the wrath of food poisoning.

The narrow streets deliver their second surprise: my first sight of the cathedral. It's not awe-inspiring and it certainly doesn't appear in any guidebook. I see the spire splitting the sky - and completely covered in ugly, grey netting. In spite of initial impressions, it's a magical moment and I'm not in the mood either to complain or to ask for a refund. Que será, será...

Fulfill The Promise The spire draws us magnetically towards the cathedral. We pass through the Porto do Camino (Camino Gate) which is the Camino entrance to Santiago´s old quarter. The cathedral will soon be upon us. Once it is, tradition will take over. Throughout the ages, to complete their pilgrimage, pilgrims:

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1) view the Tree of Jesse in the entrance;

2) give thanks for safe passage by touching the shoulder of the statue of St James standing behind the altar; and

3) visit the crypt to inspect the urn containing the saint's remains.

Capture The Scene A bagpiper plies his mournful musical trade, piping us into Prazo Obradoiro Square which sits in front of the cathedral’s western doorway. I notice that the former pilgrims' hospital, now a five star hotel, stands to our right. A multitude of flags flutter in the wind in front of its ornately carved facade. The cathedral entrance with its Baroque staircase stands to our left. In the centre of the square is something altogether more contemporary: a peaceful protest encampment against Spain's economic woes.

Celebrate The Triumph Before entering the sacred space of the cathedral, we decide to indulge a 21st century pilgrim obligation: to find a bar and down a beer. Our four feet are demanding deliverance; the least we can do is express our eternal gratitude for their hard work and suffering in getting us to Santiago.

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Finish The Job In Hand Duly refreshed, we climb up the ornate cathedral staircase. We enter regaled in full pilgrim costume: dirty, dusty boots and full rucksacks. We find ourselves in the minority; a rainbow of showered, shiny and slip-on shoed fellow travellers surrounds us.

Shouldering our backpacks, we stagger through the left hand cathedral door into the semi-darkness. To our right is the Tree of Jesse. Over the centuries, millions of pilgrims have touched the tree. Alas, those days are over: the tree already bears a huge indentation caused by human touch. Today, all we can do is jostle for the best possible view.

From the Tree, we move down the right hand aisle, running parallel to the nave, to the altar. A small wooden door will give us access to the tiny space behind the golden statue of St James. We add ourselves to the end of the queue. In no time at all, I find myself face-to-face with Santiago and I touch his golden shoulder in gratitude for my safe passage to his city.

As soon as we reappear on the other side of the altar, we turn to the left in our final cathedral quest: the entrance to St James’s crypt. We descend a few steps and find ourselves in a cramped, cavern-like space opening into a passage. At the end of that passage sits the ultimate point of pilgrimage: a small, spotlit, solid silver rectangular box enclosing the bones of St James. I imagine the millions of

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pilgrims who have stood here over the centuries; I proudly add myself to their number.

Acknowledge The Achievement Now only the final task remains: to secure the Compostela certificate from the Pilgrims' Office - the official confirmation of my pilgrimage.

There's an easy way to find the Pilgrims' Office: look for the queue of pilgrims, credenciales in hand, forming in the street. It's a queue of impressive proportions, snaking from outside the building, along the ground floor, up the staircase, and all the way along the first floor landing. It's a queue that calls for pilgrim patience, exactly one hour's worth to be precise.

It's my turn to be interrogated:

- "Where did you start?"

- "Did you come by foot, bicycle or horse?"

- "Did you take a taxi or any form of public transport?"

I answer all the questions truthfully, and then complete a summary sheet. Glancing at the 30 or so names above mine, I note that no-one else has started in France; most have only walked 100 or 150 kilometres / 62 to 92 miles to Santiago de Compostela. Had I known, would I have started at the 101 kilometre / 63 mile mark?

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The End Brings A New Beginning With our Compostela in hand, Alex and I formally relinquish our pilgrim status in order to return to civilian life. We realise how ravenous we are: we badly need a restaurant, but we're 90 minutes away from opening time. We decide to call it a day. Not only is it the end of a long day, it's also the end of a long - and unforgettable - journey.

We shall enjoy one last night in a hotel. Refugios and yellow arrows are now both an experience of the past - until our next Camino. When, where, what, and with whom will that be? That's all in the future. For now, all that remains is for me to wish you: “Buen Camino”.