This is where I stayed last night, in the Municipal church albergue in Belorado. The price was by donation – I donated €10.

I left early this morning – by 6:30am, after having a wonderful breakfast of coffee and toast and marmalade, made by one of the hospitaleros who was helping run the place.

Truly wonderful people.

This morning was the coldest I’ve experienced so far. There was frost everywhere, and without gloves it was bitterly cold. Clear skies though, and soon the light was soft and golden.

The first section of the walk today was through green cultivated fields, and through a series of small villages. After about 2 hrs, and 8 kms, I stopped for my usual two coffees. There I met up with a young aspiring filmmaker from Austria – Emanuel – whom I’d met briefly yesterday.

We set off together and talked movies – he asked me what was my favourite film of all time, and I told him The Tenant, by Roman Polanski. He’d not heard of Polanski, and then I told him he should look at The Godfather Pts 1 & 2, 2001 A Space Odyssey and Paths of Glory, Blood Simple, Jean Luc Godard’s Breathless, Vertigo, Lawrence of Arabia, and anything that Billy Wilder has made.

I bought lunch today from a supermercado. Big mistake. Yesterday I was caught without anything to eat. I’d walked to a town expecting to either pick up a meal at a pub, or buy something from a store. But there was nothing. No stores – and the only restaurant refused entry to pilgrims. It’s the first negativity I’ve struck on the camino. The owner of the restaurant got quite aggressive when I walked in with my backpack and sticks.

I smiled, wished him Buen Camino, and left.

The reason it was a mistake buying the food for lunch was that I then had to haul it up a series of huge hills. One pear, one orange, one banana, one baguette, one packet of sliced ham, one quadrant of cheese, and a bottle of Gatorade. Doesn’t sound much, but when every gram counts, it was damn heavy.

It was then a long 12 km walk to the next town, and by this stage the sun was high but the wind still had a bite to it. My knee has now settled down – it’s still sore from time to time, but the swelling has reduced back almost to normal. The heel blister is still painful, but it’s on the mend. And the shin soreness has refused to let up. But the best thing for me to do was to walk – and on these long stretches that’s when your mind begins to really kick in on things that have been percolating on the Camino.

What I began to think about was a lovely elderly couple I’d met at the buffet breakfast in the hotel at Santo Domingo. They were doing the Camino in stages – meaning they’d done some of it last year, and they were doing some this year. They always stayed in the best available hotels – never the pilgrim albergues – and they got a transport service to carry their bags ahead.

The woman, when explaining this to me, looked up at me guiltily and said: “We’re not true pilgrims.”

And it got me thinking – what is a true pilgrim?

I noticed that someone had posted on a Camino forum a couple of days ago a comment about my progress, excoriating me for doing a couple of 30km+ days, and saying a “true” pilgrim does about 20-24kms a day.

That too got me thinking.

So I looked up the definition of a pilgrim. It’s a traveler from afar who is on a journey to a holy place. By that definition, the couple from Britain, at the buffet breakfast, were definitely pilgrims. I’m probably more of a pilgrim because I’ve come from Australia, which is further “afar.” Ha ha.

But it’s funny how we like to categorise and judge.

For instance, the bloke who had a go at me for doing a couple of long days – implicit in his criticism of me was that I was somehow less of a pilgrim for going so far each day, and perhaps missing spiritual meaning along the way.

As I did this long hard 12 km stretch, I started to muse –

• What about the person who crawls on his knees carrying a heavy cross on his back, all the way from his front door in Brittany to Santiago – is he more or less a pilgrim than the person who gets off a bus in Sarria and walks with a tourist group the last 100 kms to the Cathedral?
• What about the person who rides a mule, as against the person who rides a mountain bike?
• Way about the person who carries his or her own backpack as against someone who gets it taxied ahead each day?
• What about someone who walks the whole way listening to rap music on their iPod, as against someone who walks with a vow of silence? Or saying their rosary the whole way?
• What about someone who takes a bus for some of the way?
• What about someone who walks with an umbrella instead of a staff, which is what I saw today!

Which are the true pilgrims?

We’re very quick to judge, and to categorise. Making judgements about people, based on the external.

Judgement of others is at the heart of racism, hate crimes, discrimination of all kinds. Judgement makes us feel good, because implicit in judgement is that we’re better than the person we’re judging.

We’re better informed, we’re smarter, we’re more cultured or more sophisticated, we have perspectives or wealth or status that the person we’re judging doesn’t have.

But really, aren’t we all just soul energies swaddled in transient corporeal bodies that soon will decay and die?

What is a true pilgrim? Anyone who takes the pilgrim trail to Santiago. No matter how, or why. It’s what’s in their heart that defines them as a pilgrim, and who are we to know what that is, far less to judge it…

Before I explain the provocative title of today’s post, let me go back to yesterday, and my rest day in Santo Domingo. Man o man, I didn’t realise how much I needed it.

As soon as the Farmacia opened, I hobbled in and asked for some Compeed for my heel blister, which by this stage was humongous. I had already Compeed it, if I can use it as a verb, however I wanted a larger patch. (Compeed is like a second skin that covers the blister and takes out the fluid. Usually it’s very effective.)

Anyway, the Farmacia bloke wanted to see my blister, so I delicately took off my shoe, then my sock, and showed him. His eyes widened in horror, he put his hand to his mouth, stepped back a few paces, then he looked at me gravely and said: Muchos problemo.

Now, I don’t know Spanish but I got the drift.

He wouldn’t sell me the Compeed. He said I had to go to the Municipal Pilgrims’ albergue and see someone there who would advise me what to do.

I had decided not to stay at the albergue – I wanted a private room so had booked into a hotel around the corner, but as it was apparent that the Farmacia would not only not serve me, but he regarded me as toxic goods, so I went around to the albergue.

It turned out that the lady who was at the reception desk was a nurse. I told her the Farmacia bloke had insisted I see her, so she too asked to see my blister.

Muchos problemo, she said, then nearly gagged.

(I’m not posting a photo of the blister out of common decency.)

She then proceeded to tear off the Compeed that was vainly clinging to my heel and the incumbent blister, then she dressed it with Bentadine, then some kind of antibiotic cream, and put a dressing on it.

She didn’t want any payment – this was something that she did for the pilgrims. I pointed out that I wasn’t even staying at the albergue, but that didn’t matter to her. I gave her a big hug, then went back to the Farmacia and bought all the stuff that I needed to carry on the treatment myself.

What an angel she was.

A side note to pilgrims staying in hotels: in the bathroom, the disposable plastic bags for feminine hygiene products are fantastic for holding your toothpaste, or anything else that tends to leak.

I slept in – determined that I would start my new “easy” Camino with the right spirit. Sleeping in for me was 7am. By 8am I’d had my buffet breakfast, and raided it with the same clinical efficiency I’d applied to the bathroom, then I was on my way.

Oh, I forgot about the cock.

Yesterday on the day off, I went to the Santo Domingo Cathedral. It’s very famous, but I didn’t know why when I entered. I was wandering around, and noticed that a young couple had entered too.

Suddenly I heard loud screech, and I turned and saw the girl laughing.

Keep it down guys, I thought. You’re in a church.

I wandered around a bit more, and heard a second screech. Louder this time. I looked around for the young couple, and again they were laughing.

The young have no respect, I thought. If you want to skylark, why don’t you go outside. I’m a pilgrim, after all. Can’t you tell? I’m limping.

And then I saw the girl pointing to something up on one of the walls. I walked over and saw it was a medieval hutch, and inside were a live rooster and a hen. It was the rooster, or cock, that had been making all the noise.

The Cathedral has a wonderful miracle story that goes back centuries, that involves a cock and a hen. And for centuries, there’s been a cock and a hen in a hutch in the church.

I was so quick to judge the young couple. When it was just a cock.

So, this morning I headed off, feeling not so much rejuvenated but a bit stiff and sore. But there were clouds, and it was cool, and great weather for walking, and I soon found my rhythm.

I crossed over the old bridge leaving Santo Domingo and headed into some of the most beautiful country I’ve seen so far.

I took it easy, stopping to take photos regularly. It’s interesting – by the time I actually left the town, it was 8:30am. Normally I’m on the road by 6am or 6:30am latest. And what I found is that a different kind of pilgrim leaves after 8am. The social pilgrim. The casual pilgrim. The pilgrim who is doing the camino in stages and often sends their backpack on ahead in a taxi.

This is something I would never countenance, however I’m not one to judge.

(Witness my judgment of the young couple in the church!)

This morning, there was a group of French pilgrims sauntering along ahead of me, having a great time. They asked me to take their photograph beside a cross by the track – and this I did.

The thing I’ve noticed with French pilgrims – they like to picnic, and they like to pee. Probably because they have wine with their picnics. They’re always picnicking, and always peeing. I saw a French pilgrim today walk past with two Perrier bottles strapped to his chest. No doubt he pees often too.

I was walking into Granon, a beautiful little village, and I saw the Grim Reaper walking towards me. A long way off, on the road up ahead, but wearing a black cloak, a black hood, and holding a silver scythe.

It freaked me out. Surely it couldn’t be the Grim Reaper. But it looked exactly like the Grim Reaper looked in that Bergman film.

I started to wonder, what if it IS the Grim Reaper walking the Camino, walking up to me. What would I do? What would I say? I mean, I know I’ve had my physical difficulties lately, but jeees – it’s just a blister.

I know – Muchos problemo.

Anyway, I figured I’d tell the Grim Reaper that there was a fat bloke behind me who had red blotchy cheeks and was having a hard time on the hills, and he really should go have a chat to him instead.

As it turned out, it wasn’t the Grim Reaper, of course. It was an American lady wearing a poncho with a silver coloured bag slung over her shoulder. She had a radio, or a some kind of tape recorder, because she was blasting out Country & Western tunes as she wandered through the streets of the beautiful village.

I got through to Belorado today – 23 kms. It was a glorious walk. My knee is almost back to normal, the heel blister is on the mend, and the shin soreness is calming down.

Not time for the Grim Reaper yet.

I’ve now walked nearly 250 kms and I’m nearly 30% of the way to Santiago. It’s a good time for me to stop, rest, and reflect on the past 9 days.

I started off this blog with the opening line: “In April I will attempt to walk the Camino.” I didn’t say I would definitely walk it, or complete it, because I figured that was the wrong way to approach this. It would have shown an arrogance and lack of respect for The Way, as they call it. I had no idea, setting out, what obstacles would confront me. That’s why I said I’d attempt it.

I’d prepared meticulously. I’d done my research, I’d trained sufficiently, but I hadn’t over-trained. I’d walked with my backpack loaded, and my boots and socks, trying to simulate as much as possible what I would experience on the Camino. I had good aerobic fitness, I had good core strength, my boots were properly worn in, I had my backpack down to 8.8kgs. I thought I was prepared.

The fact is, nothing can properly prepare you for the Camino.

The Camino is many different things to many people. I’ve now met a lot of folk – some are doing it as a goal oriented exercise. They’ve done the Pacific Crest, or the Appalachain Trail, now they’re doing the Camino. Some seem fixated on getting to the end, and they rush by some extraordinary towns or villages. They don’t stop and visit the churches. Instead they get to the albergue early in the afternoon and they take pride in being the first to do their laundry, get the best bunk, and then they have a beer and watch the other pilgrims stumble in, while they plan the next day’s onslaught.

Others saunter along, have picnics, canoodle with their sweetheart or simply sit in the shade and take a breather, and you sense that they’re not really sure why they’re doing the walk.

Others have obviously very deep personal needs. Perhaps a loved one has died, or they are very sick, and whilst they engage with others on a superficial level, you sense that there is something much deeper going on underneath. I visit churches and I see one or two pilgrims sitting in the front pews, either contemplating or praying.

I am not a Catholic, and I’m not religious as such. On the last census I put down as my religion Buddhist, more because I figured they’ve had a hard time in Tibet and they needed statistical support.

However, I’m conscious that this is a pilgrimage. This isn’t the Appalachian Trail, or the Coast to Coast walk in Britain. This is an ancient pilgrimage route to a Cathedral where the bones of a Saint are supposedly buried. Each day, we walk along a route that Charlemagne and other great men and women of history have walked. We pass by monuments and churches that are over a thousand years old. Literally, millions of pilgrims have done this walk over the last 1400 years.

I believe there is a soul imprint along this route that is the sum residue of all those who have been before. You can feel the energy coming up from the ground. And that soul imprint asks you questions, every step of the way.

Who am I?

What am I doing here?

What matters?

The Camino is ruthlessly and sublimly reductive. It reduces everything down to elemental needs. Each day you walk. You walk sometimes on even steady paths, sometimes up impossibly steep hills, sometimes down rock strewn tracks that a goat would find difficult. You carry on your back everything you need to live. You walk long distances in the heat, the cold, the rain, and sometimes the snow.

This reduces down to: You need to eat and drink. At night you need shelter. You need to stay fit and healthy. And the next day, you need to walk again. And sometimes, the next day you need to rest.

What this reductive process does is it forces you to ask those soul imprint questions. At some point, you can’t avoid it. And it might be months later, after you’ve returned home, that these questions bubble up.

For me, I had a very strong need to do this Camino, and only now am I starting to understand why. But first, let me explain some of my beliefs: I believe we are comprised of three entities; our physical body, our emotional body, and our spiritual body.

It was my spiritual body that compelled me to do this Camino.

It’s been my emotional body that has caused me such pain.

And that pain has manifested in my physical body.

Okay – when I really asked myself what did I want from the Camino, before I left home, the answer came back: humility. I wanted to be humbled. And to learn what humility really is.

Believe me, I’m learning that.

You have to understand that I am intensely competitive, I am dogged and unrelenting in the pursuit of a goal, and I try to be a perfectionist. In saying that I try to be a perfectionist, that means that of course every day I’m disappointed, because perfection is both elusive and illusory. And also, sadly, I’m not a genius. I blame my parents for that.

That aside, every day, I’ve been in pain. Pain from my knee, then pain from my shin, now pain from my blister. And I have to ask myself, why have I brought this on? Why have I made this section of the Camino all about pain? Because I have brought it on myself. I’ve done this to learn some lessons about myself.

I am the kind of person who can push through pain. It becomes meaningless if there is a greater goal to be achieved. But on this Camino, I’ve come to realise that I have 570 kms to go if I want to get to Santiago, and pushing through pain just ain’t gonna work. I’ve got to be smarter than just using my willforce.

In other words, I have to change.

Yesterday I did 35kms. About 20kms in I passed through a small village, and there was a Farmacia open. Under other circumstances, I would have walked right past, doggedly determined to get to Santo Domingo. But yesterday I stopped. And I had to wait for about 20 minutes while an old bloke in front of me had 10 prescriptions filled. Again, under other circustances, I would have harrumphed and impatiently stormed out. But I waited. And finally I was served, and the two chemists treated my shin soreness. The last 15 kms were relatively pain free.

Now, that for me represented change. I know it sounds dumb – that of course I should have sought treatment – but normally I wouldn’t have.

Another thing happened yesterday. I got lost. It was dark, I missed a way marker, and I got well and truly lost in the dark. I finally made my way back, found what I thought was the right track, and headed off. But again, a few kms along and not having seen any of the arrows, I began to believe I was lost again. I’d seen a couple of the blokes from the previous night’s albergue heading down this path, but they’d disappeared. Then I saw them on another track, running parallel to mine.

I yelled out to them and they said that yes, they were on the right track. So I managed to cross over. They were now about a km ahead of me, and because of my injuries, I was going slow. But then they stopped for a break, and I began to approach. These were the blokes I’d been hanging out with, loosely, for the past couple of days.

As I got closer, within about 100m or so, they put their backpacks on and headed off. They didn’t wait for me.

I was upset. Why wouldn’t they wait, just for a minute or two? Even just to say hello? Did they think that because I was going slowly, that they might feel obligated to go at my pace? That I might slow them down?

I felt rejected. Which is stupid really because I didn’t need their companionship. I’ve been walking alone the whole time, and I love walking alone. But even so, I felt this was a personal snub.

So then of course I started to think about all the times I’ve been rejected in my life. I work in an industry where rejection is the norm. After 30 years in the film industry, believe me you know how to emotionally deal with rejection. Those that don’t become teachers.

But with the exhaustion, and the pain, I started to wonder – had I offended them in some way? Had I been too assertive, or not assertive enough? Did they simply not like me? And if so, then why?

And then I checked myself. My emotional body was controlling me. It was manipulating me. It was taking me into dark places. Unnecessary places. It was messing with me. The simple fact is that these blokes were the goal oriented type, and they wanted to get to Santo Domingo fast, and they didn’t want to wait a couple of minutes for a spurious conversation with someone they hardly knew.

It had nothing to do with a personal snub, or whether they liked me or not. It had nothing to do with rejection. That was where my emotional body took me. And that’s what the Camino does – sometimes in the most subtle of ways. It makes you ask questions of yourself.

I’ve always had a hard time dealing with rejection. What I do is personal – making films – and so a lack of critical or box office response can be deemed a personal rejection. You have to put in place very strong psychological scaffolding to prop yourself up sometimes. That’s ok. That’s the life I’ve chosen to live. But yesterday’s little episode brought it all back. The Camino had asked me a question – my emotional body had responded. I then had to put my emotional body back in its box. Or skin.

The other big question the Camino has put to me is this:

Why do I believe that anything worth achieving has to be a struggle?

I’ve brought on this daily pain to make the Camino a hardship. Why? I do truly believe that anything worth achieving has to be hard. I don’t believe that success comes easy. I’m suspicious of easy achievements. So this is what I’ve created for myself on the Camino. I’ve made it hurtful and hard for myself! Well done, Bill! Good work. When you limp into Santiago with permanent physical damage, won’t you feel great! Won’t ypu feel like you’ve actually achieved something!

What total crap.

This is a habit, and a way of thinking, that I have to change. And maybe that’s why I’m doing the Camino. To break that mindset that in fact has been limiting me all my life.

Why can’t worthwhile things come easy? Why can’t I have a pain free Camino? Why can’t this be a magnificent joyful experience?

You know what I did yesterday? I brought a big block of chocolate. I put it in my jacket pocket, and as I walked, whenever I felt miserable or sore, I had some. It was great. And today, having a rest day, I feel my energies recharging, the soreness leaving my body, and soon I’ll wander around this ancient town and tonight I’ll have a good meal, and I won’t in any way feel guilty for not continuing on today, or feel as though I’ve under-achieved.

Having a rest day isn’t only about giving your body a break. It’s also about reflecting on what you’ve learnt, or the questions the Camino has asked of you. That to me is the real benefit of taking time out. Because this is more than just a walk through Spain. This really is a spiritual journey. This is a journey that asks you to change your fundamental thought patterning. To break old well worn habits.

So tomorrow I’ll walk The Way again, and I’ll try and make it easy. Because why should it be hard?

Bill

The albergue I was in last night was beautiful – the San Saturnina in Ventosa. Two German blokes run it, and when I appeared in the door, one helped me off with my backpack, and the other handed me a glass of col water with a sprig of mint in it. They couldn’t have been kinder.

My room, (€9 for the night) was a small dorm of about 8 beds. Each was full, and in fact the whole albergue seemed to be full – about 20 beds – but even so, that represents a fairly empty Camino. What happened to the hundred odd pilgrims that started off from St. Jean my morning? And more started their Camino from Roncesvalles. Most of the Spanish pilgrims start there, and others who don’t want to do that brutal first day’s climb from St.Jean.

I’ve personally been aware of several who have dropped out already because of injury – back, leg pain, blisters. Then there have been others who only intended to do a week, because of work commitments. Each day, I walk and I hardly see anyone.

Today was glorious. A perfect day for walking, with cool temperatures and cloud. It wasn’t the best for my photography, but it was great for walking.

I woke up early, and was out of the albergue by 6am. I had a notion of getting to Santo Domingo de la Calzada, a beautiful medieval town, but it was 32 kms away, and I didn’t want to push it. I’d already done two 30km+ days the previous two days.

About an hour into the walk I realised I was lost. This Camino is very well marked, with the yellow arrows everywhere, and signs too, often. But in the dark, and way out in the countryside, I must have missed a marker because I walked probably a kilometre and a half before I discovered I was going the wrong way.

I backtracked, and saw some pilgrims who’d stayed at the albergue, and they’d picked up the marker, because it was lighter by then. So I followed them, and walked 12 kms into the small town of Najera. So by 9 am I’d walked about 15kms!

I stopped and had brekkie – three meatballs and three coffees. I’d also picked up a big juicy apple from a market, and had that too. Then I set off again.

I went slowly – everyone passed me! – but I stopped regularly to take photos. By the time I’d done about 20 kms though, my shin soreness was starting to be very bothersome, so in the next village I stopped into a Farmacia and two lovely ladies applied some magic cream that took the pain away almost immediately, then they strapped my lower tibia with crepe bandage.

If there are angels on this Camino, then those two ladies in the Farmacia were angels.

Then I shifted into a truly magnificent walk, through open fields with cultivated vineyards, and splashes of yellow flowers. The road surface was good, and the kms just seemed to whizz by.

A lovely middle-aged French couple from Lyon stopped and we had a chat, then the bloke asked if I wanted my picture taken, so I said ok. Then off they went at a good clip.

At about the 25km mark I stopped at a town that I was thinking I’d hole up in, but it was soulless, with a lot,of new subdivisions around a swanky golf course. So I kept going to Santo Domingo, which is where I am now.

Including the kms getting lost, I did about 35kms today. And you know what? I’m staying here two days. I’ve booked into a nice hotel just opposite the magnificent cathedral, and I’m going to rest and take it easy.

There’s plenty to look at in this town, plus I just need to recharge. Let my legs and my feet recover. The blister on my heel has taken on a life of its own, and I want to see if rest, along the magic cream and the crepe bandage, cures the shin soreness. My knee has been pretty good the last couple of days. I think the combination of the Voltaren cream, the Nurofen, and in particular the walking sticks, have helped a lot.

The sticks have been revelatory. What was I thinking poo-pooing them? I can’t imagine doing the Camino now without them.

So tomorrow I sleep in, have breakfast at the hotel buffet, wander around town, and basically let my soul catch up with my body. Also tomorrow I’m going to write a post about what I’ve learnt so far on the Camino. Already I’ve learnt a lot!

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.