Where are you from and how are your feet?

The pinky toe has recovered a little bit now. Pilgrims meet new pilgrims all the time. The conversations begin in Spanish by stating a nationality to elicit where the pilgrim is from. For example, "Español? Francais? Inglés? Americano?" Once their nationality, or most importantly, their language has been revealed, you are free to converse (provided you know the language). Mostly I'm speaking Spanish (loads more than in Madrid), then English (but I'm the only English person I've met. English speakers have been Irish, Kiwi, Kenyan, American, Australian, Canadian or German (Haha!). After that I've been speaking some French. Then I've been learning some German, Dutch and Africaans. And Swahili. And Latin. And Basque. No wonder I'm tired. You'd think 16 miles a day would be enough to get you to sleep!

After learning where they're from, the conversation quickly shifts to discussing the state of one's feet. Then plasters, needles, ointments and passed around while several conflicting bits of advice are passed around. Cover it with a plaster, don't cover it - let it breathe, pop it, drain it, leave it, cut it off, see a doctor, rest your feet, keep going till it goes numb... etc etc.

Mostly, United Nations (this is what we call ourselves) spend the evening with their feet in a big bowl of cold water.

The practicality and physicality of the journey has now become normality. Now begins the second phase. The mind. The pilgrim's relationship with the Camino. What it takes away from you, what it gives you, what it teaches you and how it tests you. Sound a bit mystical? When I started this journey I didn't feel remotely spiritual about it, although that had been my approach and my reasons for attempting it. It was a case of practicality for several days. Smelly feet, pain, snoring, sun, rain, hostels, food, water. It quickly became a holiday. Then something changed. Of all the unexplained things I have experienced in my lifetime, none have been more frequent than on this road. Most pilgrims are in agreement. There's something funny going on here. Lots of people (especially the Germans it would seem) come to this journey for the physical challenge - a good trek. But they leave with much more.

As I child I wished that I would find Narnia in my wardrobe, or be whisked away to Oz in a tornado, and even as an adult I resent never getting my letter from Hogwarts. That sense of wonder. What happens with the Camino is that it's you, the road, and The Way. The Way is not just the path. It's what flows through you. You feel yourself doing things - find yourself doing things. As a child again. You wake early and any number of things can happen between then and nightfall. That kind of freedom. You give yourself up to destiny, if you like. Remember how long a day was when you were 7? Because you never knew what would happen day to day. The summers went on for years. An evening lasted a month. No responsibility. Every moment was new. Someone else took care of the details.

It is the same on the Camino. It's as if by travelling with yourself and carrying your life on you back and being totally responsible for yourself, you are then utterly free to be open to where life takes you - to trust that the world will look after you where you can't. Just you and your bag. And the total relinquishing of control. You trust the Camino to take care of the details.

I haven't felt like this since I was a child. Each day really is a new adventure. You start walking, and things happen. Conversations take place. Ideas arise. Magic happens. You can run and play and be in tune with the world. It's not expensive because provided you walk you have somewhere to a sleep. Food is cheap. Everything else is free. Hot water is luxury. Simple acts such a cleaning clothes and preparing food become exciting because there is food to eat and the facility to wash clothes. You live so basically, that everything becomes a wonder. And then you are free to go where your intuition guides you.

Tonight, I'm staying in León. Tomorrow is the beginning of a gradual climb to the highest point of the Camino at approx 1,700 meters. I will get to that point in about 4 days. This is the last major city before my destination. This may be my last blog for several days in that case. I've been staying in monasteries, castles, churches, caravans, huts, school rooms, and in villages with 20 inhabitants and no phone. Coming to a big city after such experiences is Hell. I wandered into traffic earlier because A) I was so tired, B) Spain doesn't always have curbs so it's not clear what's a road and C) I forgot traffic existed.

Fortunately the oncoming car was sufficiently noisy to give me plenty of time to scuttle in a doorway. It was also very cold today. I was therefore wearing all of my clothes at once and looking completely insane. I'd forgotten about that and wondered why the girl serving me a sandwich was looking at me as if I was the Loch Ness Monster. I found it quite funny. She never smiled but looked fairly frightened as if I was unpredictable and perhaps dangerous. I wonder if it will be even worse after the next two weeks. It really is like a time leap from 15 century to now.

Well. Must dash. I left so early the other day it was still dark, and I left a pair of trousers in the hostal because I couldn't see them. I now have a pair of shorts and a pair of light cotton 'fisherman's' trousers. That's it for the lower body. I have to therefore go shopping and buy warm trousers for the mountains. Long johns should do it. Maybe I'll wear them on my head and go back to visit the cafe girl to see how disturbed she gets.

There's something awfully liberating about being a total misfitting, bewildered freak. I love it.

I will be uploading my pictures in July (when I have the cable!). For now, I recommend this site. This is not fancy photography. This is what it is like. Incredible.

http://www.shinealight.com/write/camino/htmfiles/images.htm