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.)

Firstly, if anyone reading this has a loved one or friend affected by the Boston bombings, my sincere sympathies. I cannot fathom the thinking of the person or persons who could so such a thing.

Here I am on the Camino whinging about a crook knee, and athletes there have lost limbs, and lost their lives. It's horrific to contemplate.

My mate Nelson Woss sent me a message saying that I should use a cream called Voltaren. Nelson is not only a very fine producer, he's also en endurance athlete. So I took it on board. Then late yesterday I was limping around the village where I was staying, and this very sweet German lady approached me. She had been watching me limp everywhere, and she had a tube of – yes – Voltaren. She insisted that I not only put some on my knee straight away, but that I put some in a tissue and use it in the morning.

It worked. My knee today was much better, although the shin soreness on my other leg has now kicked in good and proper. So I'm kind of in balance.

This morning was one of those glorious days. The path from the village was relatively flat and smooth, and for nearly 10 kms it was beautiful walking as the sun came up. I figured out later that I was averaging nearly 5kms / hr, which with my various injuries was fairly powering.

I thought during that time that these guide books on the camino should do what the weather folk do with temperatures. They say its 20 degrees but it feels like 25 degrees. That's what they should do with kilometres. One kilometre does not equal one kilometre. A km this morning was not the same as a km going up the Pyrenees, let me tell you.

I didn't see many people walking today – only about 6-8 all up, including the 3 Asian girls who were staying at my place last night. I ended up doing 31kms today, and really felt the last 10kms. It was hot, and I was aching, and the backpack seemed disproportionally heavy. And I started getting another damn blister – this one on my right heel.

But I really wanted to get to this lovely medieval village named Viana. I'm staying in a hostel above a pub, on the Main Street in the old part of town. I had a late pilgrim's lunch – paella for starter, roast lamb chops with potatoes, and Galician ice cream. And a bottle of the local red wine. All for €10!

I'm writing this blog sitting at the front bar, and the barman has just done his cider trick for a patron. That's it. I'm having a cider.

Or four.

It seems my knee didn't appreciate me walking 33 kms yesterday.

It's got no sense of humour.

Today it expressed its annoyance in the only way it knows how. By being painful.

I left the albergue at 6am, which turned out to be problematic because it doesn't get light here until 7am, and the sun doesn't rise until 7:30am. So the first hour of walking was in pitch darkness. I have a headlamp, so normally it isn't a problem walking in the dark, except this morning the track was on an old Roman road, all broken up with scattered boulders and rocks, and most of it was down very steep hills.

And it was wet and slippery, with a lot of mud. In other words, it couldn't have been worse conditions for my churlish knee.

I was quickly overtaken on the track by three blokes who'd stayed at the alburgue last night. One was a fellow who looked like an ageing hippy. He was in his 60's I guess, although he may have been in his 50s but lived a rock and roll life – that's what he looked like; with his long grey/blonde hair and face full of character, he looked like a roadie, or key grip.

We all stopped for coffee at a small place and I got to talking to him. Turns out he'd been an Emeritus Professor, and Head of the Vet Science Dept at UCLA. This Camino attracts some amazing people.

Anyway I pushed on, limping all the way. And of course I started fixating on all the other physical issues that were arising because of my heavy limp. Like I've now developed a blister on one of my toes. And I have developed shin soreness on the other leg. These start to fall into two camps – are they short term nuisances which I can deal with, or could they develop into longer term physical problems which could stop me getting to Santiago.

The knee falls into the latter category. Here I am with something like 700 kms to go, and I'm limping like a mongrel dog that's been hit by a car. But the way I figure it, if I can keep putting one foot in front of the other, eventually I'm going to get to Santiago.

I'm not worried about permanent damage to my knee. It just means when i get back to Australia, I'll get a Handicapped Parking sticker. Always wanted one of them.

So now I'm in this gorgeous little hilltop village called Villamayor de Monjardin. I have a view of the old church from my bedroom window.

The thing I've learnt about beautiful little hilltop villages – they're on hilltops which means you have to climb to the top of the hill to get to them. And when you leave the next morning in the dark, you have to go down the other side of the hill.

That's one of the more profound things I'm learning on this Camino.

My walking sticks. They're my new best friend. Now I have three new best friends – my boots, my backpack, and my walking sticks.

I have resolutely refused to adopt sticks – I have seen these pilgrims using them, and I've thought they look like stick insects. Well, I've now joined the colony.

They're fantastic. Why didn't someone tell me about them before?

Well, actually they did but I liked my staff – it had style. It had romance. Those stick insect things were too technical. And they made that sound on cobblestones – clack clack clack. Like something with an exoskeleton crushing its mandibles.

Man o man they're good. They haul you up hills, and they act as a brake coming down hills. They supposedly take 25 – 30% load weight off your legs, and transfer it to the upper body.

I needed them today.

I woke early, after my rest day in Plampona. I got 7 hrs sleep – the first decent sleep since I've been away, which means the jet lag is finally gone. I left the Albergue at 6am, and quickly adapted to using the sticks. The sun doesn't come up here at the moment till about 7:30am, so the first hour and a half was in the dark.

I left the suburbs of Plampona fast – doing about 5kms/hr, thanks not only to the sticks but also the lighter backpack. 1.75kgs makes a big difference.

Soon Alto del Perdon loomed ahead – by this stage I'd already done about 10kms, and began the climb. My knee was twinging, but holding up ok, thanks in large part to the sticks, which enabled me to keep a lot of weight off. The Nurofen was also working too – and I very soon got to the top.

Going down the other side was harder – very steep with loose stones and rocks. Put a lot of pressure on the knees, but again the sticks helped.

There weren't many people on the path today – some Korean girls, and a few Germans. Once I got down the other side of the mountain I stopped in at small place to have breakfast – the most delicious fried eggs and slices of pork, with crunchy chips and a bowl of pimento soup – all for the princely sum of €8.

I then walked through to Puenta la Reina – a beautiful medieval town. By this stage it was 12:30pm – I'd been walking 6 and a half hours, and had covered about 23 kms.

I found a little pub off the main square and had a half roast chicken, and 4 local ciders. I forgot that ciders in this part of the world are quite alcoholic, so I got a bit pissed. And I still had another 10kms to walk.

Everyone in the pub was watching the formula 1 Grand Prix. They love their sport in Spain.

I then pushed on to this little hilltop town – Ciraqui- – by this stage it was very hot, I had a gutful of roast chicken and 4 alcoholic ciders, and needless to say the last section was a bit of a slog, made more so by a gnarly hill of Mt. Misery proportions. It was hard going.

I'm now in this little Albergue opposite the towns church. €10 a night, and €9 for the evening meal. The laundry facilities leave a bit to be desired, but hey –

My knee is swollen so I'm icing it now, before dinner. It did 33 hard kms today, which was a bit naughty of me pushing it like that, but I wanted to walk after the rest day.

I might take it easier tomorrow –

But then again, maybe I won't. Maybe I'll get to know my new best friend a little more…

Today I didn’t walk. I rested my knee. It’s driven me nuts. All I want to do is walk. But I figure it’s the responsible thing to do.

I said goodbye to my two mates – Balazs and Lazlo, both from Hungary. We shared a cab from Biarritz airport to St. Jean earlier in the week, along with a Dutch lass named Rosa, and we’ve bumped into each other a few times since. Because of the shared experience of hardship, friendships quickly develop.

However, i like to walk on my own. I like to stop and take photos when i want to, and not feel obliged to meet someone else’s pace. i also like to be alone to think, and to take in the beauty of the place. Because there’s no doubt some of the country is spectacular.

My knee settled down a bit overnight. The swelling reduced somewhat, and when I went out walking around town today, the pain was still present, but not as bad as yesterday. However, it hasn’t gone away, and I hope it remains manageable pain, not pain that will curtail the walk.

I posted forward to Santiago some stuff that I don’t think I’ll need – thermals, wind stopper vest, gaiters and a book that I won’t finish. All up it came in at 1.75 kgs! That’s a big chunk off the weight of my backpack, which should now be around the 7.5 kgs, without food and water. My knees will be very thankful!

I then visited the Cathedral, which was small but evocative, and had fried calamari tapas for lunch. There was a big demonstration in the main square here at lunch time, and some people were wearing paper mâché outfits.

Tomorrow I’m back out on the road, this time with my new walking poles instead of my trusty stick. I love my stick, and I’ll be sad to leave it behind. But tomorrow is a big climb up to Alto del Perdon – and evidently an even stiffer descent. So perhaps my new walking sticks will help.

I don’t like hanging around. I want to get out and keep walking. I suspect a one or two day rest isn’t going to make much difference with my knee – it probably needs 6-8 weeks. And that ain’t gonna happen, to use the vernacular.

So, the Alto del Perdon tomorrow, or Hill of Forgiveness.

I hope my knee will forgive me.

Today would have been one of the most glorious walks of my life, except that i was in pain. My knee. My damn knee.

I kept asking myself, what kind of twisted logic was I employing in thinking that my crook knee would only get better with a brisk walk over the Pyrenees?

Pyre-knees.

Today was about working through pain. I did 22kms limping like I was a suffering pilgrim. When I finally got to Pamplona, after 6 hrs of walking, my knee had swollen out to the size of a small grapefruit. I couldn't put my full weight on it. But you know what, I'm going to finish this Camino even if it means wearing a titanium leg for the rest of my life. As long as I can out one foot in front of the other, I'm keeping going.

There are obvious lessons for me to learn with this – and perhaps one of them is that I should have listened to my body 6 weeks ago when this pain first presented on a 32 km training hike.

So, anyway, the bloke who runs the Albergue here in Pamplona immediately put ice on it, and I then hobbled to the Farmacia and got some Nurofen and some pain killing gel, and this evening now I'm feeling a bit better.

The other thing I did was get a set of walking poles. The experienced walkers here advised it – said that it took about 25-30% weight load off the knees. I've resisted this up to now – I don't think they look very elegant, I've seen these hard core walkers with their dual sticks and thought they looked like insects. Clack clack clack.

I like the romance and style of a pilgrim's staff.

But right now, this is not about style, this is about getting to the end without the need for hospitalisation. That's not very stylish.

Apart from all that – today was magical. Clear blue skies, paths through magnificent woodland forests, streams that ran beside the track, with the occasional little waterfall. And Pamplona looks like a gorgeous little town.

I'll probably stay in Pamplona tomorrow and rest up. And let the Nurofen work its drug induced magic. And get some ice on it. And give some thought as to why I've brought this on myself. Why, after all this time and anticipation, am I making this so damn difficult?

I can only believe that it will right itself, and in a few weeks the remembrance of this pain will be merely a post on a blog.

Jet lag is pernicious. I've come to that conclusion. It's like a blood sucking mosquito that doesn't want to leave you alone. At least with a mosquito, you can nuke it with Mortein. With jet lag, you just have to let it mess with you until it gets bored.

I didn't sleep well again last night. About 4 hrs sleep, I reckon. Couldn't wait to get out on the road. Did my yoga at 5:30am – the knee seemed ok. Then left the refugio at 6:20am. It was still dark, and so used my head lamp to find my way through a beautiful forest with trees covered in lichen.

My light provided illumination for a young Korean couple who came with me the first 15kms or so. They were strange, which I guess is a national trait. Ergo Korean missile crisis. But I digress… It seemed they were sweethearts, but every now and then they'd stop and have a ding dong barney.

Wonderful how the Camino embues us all with warm gooey love and kindness.

Anyway, the plan was to walk to Espinal and have a coffee. That was something like 6.5kms from where we started. But of course it was too early, and everything was shut. Didn't actually get my coffee, and a jamon tortilla, until about 11am, after having walked about 12 kms. Not going to make that mistake again.

My knee though decided to be painful. Almost from the start, from when I left Roncesvalles, it gave me sharp stabbing pain. I thought once I'd warmed up, it would back off, but it didn't. If anything it got worse.

The day was 20kms of up and down mountains, mostly along bush tracks that were very muddy and slippery. The down sections were very painful on my knee. Going up wasn't so much a problem. I think I'll have to see a doctor or physio or something, because I don't want this pain to spoil this incredible walk.

I'm now in a private pensione in Zubiri. For €30 I've got my own room, wifi, a communal shower and laundry. and a nice comfy bed. I'm hoping that I can get a decent night's sleep and give my knee a good rest.

I knew today would be contentious when I woke up at 2:21am. This was not a good start. Why didn't I wake up at 2:22? That would have been propitious. That would have been the Universe telling me today was going to be a great day. Instead, the Universe diddled me out of a minute.

I didn't go back to sleep. And the wonderful Pilgrim's hostel where I was staying in St.Jean Pied de Port has a policy that you can't get out of bed until 6:45am – which is great because it means everyone gets their sleep before the toughest stage of the Camino.

But for me, it was torture! I had to lie in that bed for 4 hrs.

So at 6:30 I got up and went with one of the ladies running the hostel up to the bakery, to collect the bread for breakfast. And I saw these pilgrims setting off in the dark, heading up the Pyrenees to Roncesvalles, some 30km away.

My plan had been to ease into my Camino – just do an easy 8kms today. But when the sun came up, and it was a beautiful day for walking, I decided to do the whole slog.

And let me state this very clearly, this was physically the hardest day of my life. I knew it was going to be tough, but man o man, it was TOUGH. It was like doing Mt. Misery 10 times. Worse. The inclines just didn't let up.

But it was also beautiful. Truly beautiful. The thawing snow meant that the streams were cascading, and the vegetation is just starting to kick in after winter.

But the jet lag meant that after about 20km going up, up, up, with my backpack 10kgs +, I just ran out of energy. I felt like those marathon runners who talk about hitting the wall. I mean, I had woken at 2:21am and hadn't gone back to sleep, so I was buggered. I mean BUGGERED.

Anyway, one foot in front of the other, and I got to Roncesvalles, after 8hrs walking. Or rather, climbing.

The other complication was my dodgy knee. It was giving me intermittent pain – not enough to stop me, but enough to make it very uncomfortable at times. I wonder how I'm going to hold up over the next 780 kms!

The pilgrims hostel in Roncesvalles is in an ancient hospital, but it's been totally modernised. Someone is doing my laundry for €2.70. These were the clothes that I wore from Sydney, so they were rank. The lady doing the washing needed protective gear because she was handling hazardous chemical waste.

The hostel is €10 for accommodation, and the same again for a 3 course meal. Strangely now that I'm here, and I've started the Camino, I don't feel tired. But after dinner, I'm sure I'm going to clunk out.

Anyway, I've started. And I've climbed over the Pyrenees. So I feel good. I hope the knee is ok tomorrow.

Note: these photos do not convey how steep this walk was today. An elevation of about 1200m I think!