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.

Every morning for nearly three weeks now, I've got up before sunrise, in the freezing cold and the dark, I've put on my boots, I've hauled on my backpack, and I've set off to walk some 20-30kms that day, which will get me incrementally closer to a place called Santiago de Compostela.

In the gloom, and as the sun rises and it begins to get lighter, I see ahead of me a beeline of several dozen others like me. I turn and see more behind me.

Elsewhere along this well trodden path of some 800 kilometers, at this same moment, thousands of people are doing the same thing – we're all following little yellow arrows pointing us towards a distant cathedral on the west coast of Spain, where supposedly lie the bones of a Saint.

We're all walking the Camino de Santiago.

Why?

That's the question I ask myself each morning, when I see all these people.

Some of us are limping, some of us are bandaged, some are on strong painkillers, some of us have a jaunty lilt in our step and look like we're out on a brisk Sunday morning stroll.

Some of us have started from Pamplona or Burgos, some have come from Le Puy in France or even further, and already have walked over a thousand kilometers.

We're old, we're young, some of us are sick, and some of us are dying. Some of us have our whole lives ahead of us. But we all share a fixed and common purpose – to walk to Santiago.

Why?

The statistics are interesting:

Last year, (2012) 192,488 people received their Compostela, which is a document you receive when you complete the Camino. You don't need to have walked from St Jean Pied de Port or Roncesvalles to receive the compostela, you need only to have walked the last 100 kms.

Of those nearly 200,000 people, 49.5% were Spanish. The next highest group was German, at 8%. Italians were 6%, Americans came in at 3.6%, British were 1.9% and Australians made up 0.98%. That's about 2,000 Aussies walked the Camino last year.

The majority of those that walked were aged between 30-60 years, at 57%. Under 30 was 28%, and over 60 was 15%.

The genders were almost equal – males at 56%, females at 44%.

The majority (21%) started at Sarria, 108 kms from Santiago. The next most popular starting point was St Jean Pied de Port, (nearly 800 kms), at 11.5%.

These statistics are somewhat misleading, because they're only those that actually got their Compostela. Many thousands more drop in and do stages, and don't go all the way through, often because they don't have the time. They come back the next year and do another stage, and then another, until they complete the whole camino.

So it's not inconceivable that last year, around a quarter of a million people walked the Camino de Santiago.

Why?

Why didn't they hike up Mt. Kilimanjaro? Why didn't they do the Appalachian Trail, or the Coast to Coast walk in the UK? What drew them to the Camino?

If you ask them, as I've done on my walk so far, they'll mostly shrug and smile and say they don't know. Some are walking with their sons or daughters, or other family members. They see this as a way of bonding.

Some say they do it for the social interaction – it's a way of meeting new friends. And I'm surprised at how many people cite the film The Way, starring Martin Sheen, as the trigger for them deciding to do the Camino.

But with all these people, if you dig deeper, you'll often find there are more profound reasons.

Many are in a transition point in their lives. They've quit a job, or been fired. They've had a relationship break up, or someone close to them has died. Some have simply reached a point in their lives where they've looked back at what they've done, they're not happy, and they need time out to take stock and reassess.

Many have retired, and see the Camino as a way of finding a deeper meaning in their final years.

Very few will openly tell you they're walking the Camino for religious or spiritual reasons. Yet you'll see them discretely mumble Grace before a meal, or cross themselves to give thanks before eating.

Sometimes as you walk you'll see someone linger at a roadside cross, or a memorial, and say a quiet prayer. Others, often the most unlikely, will be found heading off to a Mass in a village church at the end of the day.

In the evenings, after they've had a shower and done their laundry, many pilgrims will sit down and assiduously write up their journals. You can see the intensity in their concentration as they recall all those moments during the day that were significant to them. You sense that this Camino will stay with them the rest of their lives.

It's extraordinary, really. All these people. What's called them to walk this path? There are other cheaper much easier ways of having a holiday or finding new friends. They tell me the internet's good for that…

No, there's something else going on.

Okay, why am I doing it?

I still don't know.

I went to the Leon Cathedral this morning, a magnificent structure with lots of high stained glass panelling, and I sat in a pew and I found a quiet place in my mind and asked that very question: why am I doing the Camino?

I was hoping that a dove would flutter down from the high vaulted ceiling with a message tied to its foot giving me the answer. Or a wizened old homeless man would shamble up and sit beside me and, with pure clear eyes, would stare into mine and give me some mumbled utterance, in English of course, that would have me racing out straight to my iPad so I could include it in this post. At the very least, I was hoping that I'd suddenly get an unexplained and mysterious text message from an unknown sender that would snap everything into place.

None of that happened.

I left the Cathedral still not knowing why I'm doing this walk.

But I'm changing. I can feel it. People who know me tell me I am. I can feel subtle shifts in thought patterning, in attitudes, in judgements.

I'm smiling more. I'm laughing more. I'm limping more.

Ha ha

But… There's a rejigging that's happening within me at a molecular level. There's no doubt that I'll be a different person at the end of this, I know that. And I suspect that will be permanent – that the changes I'm talking about won't melt away after a few weeks or months.

One tangible thing – I've realised how little I actually NEED. I carry everything on my back that I need to survive. All down to 8kgs. If it rains, I'm covered. If it gets cold, I'm covered. If I need to eat or drink, i have food and water. It's incredibly liberating, knowing how little you actually need.

Also, I've already learnt that life is better uncontrolled. I was a control freak. Now I'm just a freak.

I have another two weeks to get to Santiago, and they won't be easy. There are a few tough stages coming up. Plus I'll soon be moving into Galicia, where it rains heavily, and possibly into snow too.

I bumped into three retired Aussie engineers today. They're funny buggers. They've rated each town according to how many storks they see on the church steeples. They were ecstatic walking out of Boadilla, saying that it was the first “five stork town” they'd been through.

We had a wonderful lunch together and I mentioned that today's post was going to be about why we're walking the Camino. One of them shook his head and said: For me, that's easy. I'm too bloody old to climb Mt. Everest.

Something though is calling us.

All these people.

All that way.

Perhaps I'll know once I get there.

Today was another long day – 39 kms. But I really wanted to get to Leon.

I love this city.

I was here two years ago with my wife, looking at the pilgrims clustered in an old cobblestoned courtyard near an ancient church, and I wanted to be one of them, one day.

Today I was.

I left El Burgo Ranero early this morning. I'd stayed in a beautiful little hostal that was only marginally more expensive than the communal albergues in the town, but what made it special was the matron who ran the place. She greeted me with such genuine warmth and affection, and then took my laundry and washed it, hung it out to dry, and insisted on no payment.

This kind of generosity of spirit permeates the Camino.

As I was walking into Leon this afternoon, an elderly man, all dressed up in his Sunday best, approached me. As he got closer he tipped his hat, in a mark of respect – presumably because I'm on a pilgrimage.

I felt truly touched by this small but significant gesture.

Anyway, I left at 7am, before sunrise again, knowing that this would be my last day on the Meseta. I knew I had a long day ahead of me, but I wasn't in any rush.

When I'm steaming, I do about 4 kms / hr. That's fairly slow. Most times i average about 3.5 kms / hr. That's geriatric. I've said it before, but EVERYONE passes me.

Actually, I retract that. I did pass someone yesterday. For the first time since starting the Camino. I felt really chuffed. I saw this person up ahead, and realised that if we continued at our relative speeds, that in about 15 minutes I would pass them.

Which I did do.

As I passed this person, I looked across and realised that they must have been at least 80 years old, and needing life support.

Still, it goes down in the record books regardless.

Today was hard work – not because of the mileage. It was the wind. I had four layers on till about 2pm. The wind was strong and bitterly cold. The temp was about 7-8C. But the wind was debilitating.

Most of my walking mates dropped off at Mansilla de las Mulas, after about 19kms. I wanted to keep going. I wanted to get to Leon. It was another 20kms.

I regard anything less than 20 kms a day as a “pussy” walk. So far I've only had one pussy walk day. That was yesterday, after the 41 km day.

I should explain that “pussy” in Australian parlance is different from the US meaning, which is a bit rude. Pussy in Australian slang means “sissy.” In Australia if you want to cast aspersions on a bloke's masculinity, you'd either call him a pussy, or a “big girl's blouse.” Same thing.

So, I've had one pussy walk day. I didn't want to have another two. So I just joined the two pussies together – 19kms & 20 kms – and there you have it – today's pussy free day.

I felt sad leaving the Meseta. To me it's been the highlight of the Camino so far. It was where my pain left me. It was where I shifted into another realm.

The space, the metronomic quality of the walking, the way the light was always changing. It loosened things held tight inside me. It enabled me to disassociate thoughts. I haven't used an iPod on this walk. I've wanted to be totally in my thoughts. The Meseta gave me the space, the solitude, the resonance to think about those three questions that keep arising for me:

• Who am I?
• What am I doing here?
• What really matters?

People talk of the Meseta being boring. I didn't find it so. For me, the country was changing every hundred meters or so. The light was always changing. There were always different sounds. Different colours. The perspectives were always in a constant state of flux.

I loved it.

I became strong on the Meseta.

If that story that Ivan the Terrible told me is true – that an Italian Priest told him the first part of the Camino is your life, the Meseta is your death, and from Leon to Santiago is your rebirth, then I can understand that. The Meseta for me was transcendent. It was like shifting into another dimension.

I'll miss it, and when in later years I think back on my Camino, probably my most vivid memories will be of the Meseta.

I have a rest day in Leon tomorrow. And I will do a post tomorrow reflecting on my thoughts so far.

I'm loving this walk…

Further to my previous post on injuries, I woke up in the middle of the night thinking that it's all about respect.

You have to respect the Camino, respect your body, and respect your reasons for walking – whatever those reasons may be.

If you carry that respect with you, then the Camino will be a time of joy.

I met up with a bloke today who I've seen on and off the last 2 weeks or so. We've said hello each time we've seen each other, but today walking into El Burgos Ranero, we got to talking.

He's 44 years old, he works in the oil industry doing hard physical labour, he's fit and strong. And he's having real difficulties with the Camino. He’s limping heavily.

Two days ago I saw a bloke up ahead going even slower than me. He was a young Frenchman – about 30 years old – a good looking and strapping fellow. He was limping heavily too. Bad knee.

I spoke to a 25 year old lass today from Canada. She'd had to go to hospital a few days ago. Lymphatic issue from walking.

Right at the moment I'm in a bar writing this blog, and there's a pilgrim looks strong as a bull, and his left leg is strapped with bandages.

No-one tells you how hard the Camino is.

There are some people who fly through it. Mostly they're the older folk, who either have more stamina, or more wisdom, than the young 'uns.

But I can't begin to tell you how many people I know already who have dropped out because of injury, or who've had to go to hospital, or are walking each day with painful injuries.

A lady I met in the first week, a 30+ woman from Denmark – fit and strong – had to bail because of pain in her back. I've since heard she's bitterly disappointed.

I'm not trying to scare you, or put you off. But this is no walk in the park.

You have to train, you have to approach it with respect, and you do have to listen to your body.

All that said, a lot of people each year do the Camino and they overcome their blisters and bad knees and other physical issues. And as I said, some sail through without any probs at all.

But, this is 800 kms, (if you start from St.Jean), with a heavy backpack, walking long distances each day, up and down mountains, and it's little wonder that it will take a toll.

But hey, it's worth it.