Today was an extraordinary day, really.

I climbed to the highest point on the Camino, at 1515m. I put a piece of Mudgee slate at the base of the Crux de Ferro (Iron Cross) just as the sun was coming up, I walked across what seemed to be the top of the world, and ripped down into valleys full of the first flush of blooming wildflowers.

The sun was out all day. There was no wind. Blue skies. What a great day to walk the Camino!

I got up early, and was out the door by 6:30am, keen to get to the Iron Cross by sunrise (7:30am).

The Iron Cross is one of the major landmarks on the Camino. Tradition has it that you bring a stone, or rock, or some keepsake from your home, and place it at the base of the cross, or on the cross itself.

My wife pulled a piece of Mudgee slate from our garden, and I placed this at the base of the cross.

Then I climbed further to the top of the mountains, all the while taking in the magnificent views as the sun began to rise fully.

But then of course, I had to come down, and it was tough. A very steep descent over several kilometres. But what made it especially tough were all the rocks. So so easy to twist an ankle. And it wasn't too good on my bad knee too.

I went down really slowly.

And as I was picking my way down carefully, and painfully, it occurred to me that once again, the Camino is like life.

Yesterday I surged up a very steep climb to Foncebadon. I almost ran, I felt so good. And then this morning, I climbed even higher, up to the heights, and I walked along this elevated ridge in awe of the beauty around me.

And then I dropped down. And it hurt. And it was unpleasant.

How often have we seen people climb to extraordinary heights – whether in business, or politics, the entertainment industry or sport – and then they drop fast. Painfully fast.

It's often an ugly rocky fall from the height of their greatness.

How can you avoid that? How can you reach those heights, and stay inured from the fall.

Today when I was walking towards Ponferrado, I heard the tap tap tap of someone walking up behind me. This surprised me, because it was about 2:30pm and few pilgrims walk after 1:30pm or so.

But this bloke walked up beside me and we got to talking. His name was Pieter, and he was from Holland. He had started in St. Jean Pied de Port only 17 days earlier. That meant he was zipping along.

He said he was averaging between 30-40 kms a day. He hadn't had one injury. And no rest days. He walked long hours each day, but also took long breaks.

What impressed me about him was his smile, and his ease. He had such an incredible sense of calm. He said good bye and tap tap tapped off, and it occurred to me I should take a photo, but he'd gone.

And then of course I thought of the rise and fall of the Camino. He had levelled it with his calmness. When you're calm, and content, as he seemed to be, there are no rocky descents.

There is just easy effortless forward movement through life.

Today I was horrible.

I will have to atone once I get to Santiago.

First, I'll explain the day: I stayed overnight in Astorga in an €8 a night albergue. It was crowded, and noisy, and there were a couple of furniture rattling snorers.

I left early with Ivan the Terrible and his wife, the lovely Giovanna. We had breakfast in a cafe on the outskirts of town, and were on the way by 7:30am.

Today we headed into the mountains. The last big range before dropping back down into Galicia, and the home stretch to Santiago.

Some of the pilgrims who've been together over three weeks now are starting to get sad. The end is in sight. Even though it's been tough at times, some strong friendships, and a couple of romances, have formed.

As we were leaving Astorga, we noticed a big bus pull up and disgorge a large number of pilgrims.

I felt great today. All my pain has now gone, for the moment at any rate, and I walked swiftly and strongly.

In fact I didn't realise but I walked 22 kms straight without stopping, or a break. Five hours. Towards the end I got a bit spacey, because other than a croissant at 7:15am I hadn't had anything to eat at all. But it put my head in a very interesting place. I had a robotic rhythm going with my walking, and I started to free associate with my thoughts. It was wonderful.

And then after 22 kms I stopped, went into a small store, bought two apples, a small bread roll, a wedge of cheese, and two cans of diet coke. I found a bench on the edge of town and sat down and had lunch by myself.

I then had a further 6km, a stiff climb, up into the mountains before ending up at Foncebadon, which is where I am now.

There's no wifi here so I will only post a couple of pics.

But, getting back to me being a horrible person today…

I'd been walking a couple of hours, was deep in a meditative place, when I heard these shrieks of laughter, and yelling and chattering behind me. I turned and saw this group of about fifteen pilgrims coming towards me. They were clomping along, and were making a huge racket.

I turned back and tried to zone them out, but I could feel them coming up fast behind me. They were like this boisterous tide – rolling along with their noisy laughter and the yelling and shrieking.

They got up alongside me and I looked across and said: Where are you from?

From Madrid, one of them said.

And where did you start the Camino, I then asked.

We started this morning, in Astorga, the bloke replied.

Ah, I said. That's why you're so loud.

The guy looked miffed.

Where are you from, he asked.

Australia, I said.

And where did you start?

From St. Jean Pied de Port, I said, trying to conceal my air of superiority. And failing.

Somewhat subdued, they moved on. Talking quieter.

I realised that in that one moment, I'd blown all my 21 days of Camino spiritual development.

I'd been a complete dick.

I shouldn't have begrudged them their first day's exuberance. The excitement at the start of their journey. And when I started to analyse why I'd reacted the way I had, I came to the conclusion that it had nothing to do with me being peeved that these people were coming into the Camino for merely the last third, and hadn't done the hard miles that we “true” pilgrims had done.

It had to do with the sacred nature of The Way.

For me, this path has become a place of contemplation and meditation. It has become sacred. It was like they'd walked into a church and started laughing and shouting. Same thing.

I was reacting to what I saw as disrespect for The Way. My sensitivities were heightened too because I'd walked about 15 kms non stop and I was a bit zonked.

But even so, I shouldn't have got annoyed. I should have been more tolerant. I should have beamed over at them beatifically and wished them love on the journey.

Instead I sniped.

I'm a horrible person.

I think I'll have to do the Camino again.

I left late this morning – 8:30am. I had some business stuff to attend to before I left, and also I was in no rush. I had the whole day to walk to Astorga, about 24 kms away. I was looking forward to getting to Astorga, not only because it's meant to be a beautiful town (and it is), it's also two thirds of the way to Santiago.

I looked at the map of Spain last night and couldn't believe how far I've walked so far.

Anyway, I set out, noticing that the temperature on the town's electronic gauge said 2 degrees C, and found that the path lead away from the highway down some beautiful tracks.

I stopped by an old abandoned shed in a field. It had a yellow arrow on it, and it just looked beautiful, so I took some shots. As I was doing this, a couple who'd stayed at my albergue last night walked up, with puzzled expressions on their faces.

What are you taking a photo of, they asked.

I nodded to the shed. Isn't is beautiful, I said. The simplicity of it.

They looked at the shed like they were looking at a Jackson Pollock painting, trying to figure out why it's worth $100m.

The man turned to me. It's simple, alright, he said, but it ain't beautiful.

He slapped me on the back sympathetically, the subtext being that I should get back on my medication really fast. Then he walked on, sneaking a relieved glance at his wife, as if they were lucky to be getting away from me with their heads still attached to their bodies.

I looked back at the shed. The guy was right. It was an old decaying farmer's shack, with a busted window. It was hardly the Sydney Opera House. Or the Chrysler Building. Or the Palace of Versailles. Yet I saw beauty in it, and he didn't.

He's a businessman from Newfoundland. I'm a film director. We see the world differently. There are things he would find beautiful that would probably not impact on me. Beauty really is in the eye of the beholder.

Every day, I'm astonished at the beauty around me, and that sustains me on this walk.

I'm sure that other people don't see the Camino the same way I do – I have a particular visual aesthetic. Everyone does. Some people see beauty in sunsets or sunrises. I don't. Some people see beauty in vast vistas. I see beauty in old doors and bales of hay.

But we all see beauty. That's the thing. And it feeds us in the subtlest of ways.

The day I walked 41 kms, what kept me going was the beauty. The beauty of the changing light, the beauty of the storm clouds, the beauty of the fields and the colours.

The beauty took away my fatigue. It took away my pain. It made me feel light. It energised me. It RELAXED me.

For me, beauty is like love. It affects you emotionally in similar ways. It affects you chemically. You shift into a different space. You disengage from the real world. You do feel lighter. You do feel stronger. You find yourself doing things you wouldn't ordinarily do.

For me, every day I see beauty on the Camino.

Here's some of what I saw today:

I walked into an albergue at the end of today's walk out of Leon – I think I've walked about 27kms today – and a Canadian bloke who had already arrived took one look at me and said: Rough day at the office, hey?

It's funny him saying that, because that's exactly what I was going to write my blog about today – that if the Camino is a metaphor for your journey through life, then today I went to work. And it was tedious.

My pics today are purposefully dour – I just wanted to show that the Camino isn't all rolling hills or mesmeric Meseta – there are also sections that are industrial, commercial, beside noisy highways, and are generally very taxing on the nerves and for me, at any rate, my personal aesthetic.

But then again, I can find beauty and wonder in the grubbiest of environs.

What made today rough though was the rain – it rained non stop – and it was cold. I noticed at 9:30am that the temperature on an electronic read out was 3 degrees C. Later, it dropped down to 1.5C

I stuffed up, too. There are two routes out of Leon – a scenic route and a route that follows the highway. I missed the markers for the scenic route, so I copped the highway, with all the noise and trucks and billboards and industrial zones.

So once again, it's my own damn stupid fault.

But this notion of today being a work day fascinated me as I walked. I thought; That is life. There are days when you have to go to work and it’s tedious. It's a grind. It's unpleasant. But you have to put your head down and do it.

That's the camino, too.

That was today.

My rest day in Leon yesterday was great. It's such a beautiful city. Last night I bumped into some young 'uns who I've seen regularly over the past 3 weeks or so. They were all sitting in a bar near the cathedral, and I went in and we chatted.

It turns out that they'd caught a bus into Leon. They didn't want to do the long boring walk into the city. But a few of them were feeling a little sensitive about it. A little guilty. They'd been labelled “cheaters” by a couple of the others. (All in good spirits)

I spoke to one bloke who had fobbed it off, saying that it didn't affect his experience of the Camino. If anything it gave him more time in Leon. (To sit in a bar…)

I remember the day I walked into Burgos, and being open to the possibility of a bus. The last 10kms into Burgos was notoriously unpleasant, beside the highway. And that was when i was in serious pain. As I said at the time, if a bus pulled up beside me, and the doors swished open, and the driver leaned over and smiled genially and said to me: “Pilgrim. Burgos. One euro.” Do you think I wouldn't have got on that bus?

But Ivan the Terrible and his wife Giovanna appeared like Botticelli angels and spirited me through the parklands into the centre of Burgos, and so a bus never became an option.

And now, almost two thirds of the way through, I won't consider a bus or taxi or backpack transport service. I've come this far – I'm going to do the whole thing on foot, carrying my backpack, every inch of the way.

As for the young 'uns, I won't name them for fear of reprisal. But they read this blog and they know who they are.

Cheaters.

Ha ha.