Outside cemetery in Los Arcos.

Think about that – You are who I was, and I am who you will be.

Today I walked 30 kms. The last eight were SO DAMN HARD. My pain du jour was my shin soreness. Oh yes, and now my blister on my heel. I have a triumvirate of pain – a Triumvirate of Pain – that shifts allegiance between my knee, my shin, and my blister. It does this with exquisite timing, and calculated indifference.

My knee has quietened down somewhat, probably because it is bathed in a Nurofen glow. It could also be that my knee realises that I'm not going stop, no matter what kind of fuss it kicks up, so it's retreated to sulk. But every now and then it slams doors and spits the dummy, just to remind me that it has some relevance in my pathetic life, that's been reduced to getting up, walking, eating, drinking, doing my laundry, eating, drinking, applying Voltaren, having my Nurofen, and going to sleep.

The walk out of Viana was beautiful, coming into the big town of Logrono. I had breakfast by the cathedral – two coffees and a bread roll with beautiful Spanish cured ham. Total cost? €3.60. In Australia, one coffee alone costs $3.60 to $4.

It took hours to walk through the outer suburbs of Logrona. There was an exercise path that a lot of locals were using – I was constantly passed by old men out on their constitutional, or walking their dog. They left me in their dust.

I thought – hey mate, I'm going to Santiago. I'm not walking the dog. Fuck you. Well, actually i'm a pilgrim and pilgrims don't think curse words. But I am going slowly, because of my Triumvirate of Pain.

Today I thought, okay I'm going slow, but I'm like an ocean liner. I just keep going. Nothing will stop me.

Then I thought of the Titanic.

I got to a beautiful little town called Navarette by lunch time. I went into the church and saw a painting of Jesus wearing a skirt. Jesus cross dressing? That was weird. I quickly left, and didn't leave a donation.

It was meant to be only 8 kms to the next town, Ventosa, but by his stage it was hot and there was no shade and the road was interminable. It just didn't seem to end. An Italian lass from Lake Como sauntered by dressed in caravanseri pants and a silk shawl, as only an Italian lass from Lake Como could do walking the Camino. She didn't seem to be walking at all fast but soon she was just a mirage.

That's how slow I'm going.

But I got there. I got to the albergue, pulled off my sock and I got squirted by a jet of fluid from my blister. Thanks for the 30 kms today, it seemed to be saying.

(I've spared you the photo. That will be in the Director's cut of this blog.)