Saturday, October 31, 2015

Third Week Stompin´To Santiago

Astorga. The first week is one of attrition as many are sidelined with injuries. The second week the tribe gels and the evenings vary from crazy spontaneous dinner parties to subdued serentity of monestries and the calming influence of nuns. Then the trail winds into a city and pilgrims are unleached. Too much wine exasperates the blister wobble. It is now week three and walking thiirty km shouldering ten kilos goes almost without thought as one tunes to nature´s frequency.

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Sinners, Saints and Keroracs.

I woke up this morning,
I´d turned into a centiped,
This ain´t no Kafta,
It´s Santiago we´re after,
10,000 feet, 500 miles,
We are a giant centiped,
Stomp, stomp, stomp,
Sinners, saints and Keroracs,
With kilos on our backs.

First it is Logrono,
Then it is Najara,
Mario´s doing the cooking,
And tonight it´s pasta and paella,
We walk for Jackio, we walk for Jackio,
There´s tinto in the jar.

Saturday, October 17, 2015

Travellin' Slow

Logrono, Day 6

Church bell, cow bell, rooster crow,
I´m on the ancient Camino flow,
I squeeze all the juice outa life,
By travellin´slow.
Some folks find romance,
And make their juices flow,
I just got bed bugs lay eggs inside my soul.

The patio bar in Los Arcos,
Could be an outpost of Red Cross,
Spavins, splints and tendons scream,
For some the end of a dream,
Dawn unfurls and the trail is once more a string of perigrino pearls.

Thursday, October 15, 2015

Bunk-bed Blues

Lorca, day 4.

It´s three o´clock in the morning,
Finally there´s no snoring,
The bunk bed´s made in China,
The woman above me spent too much time in the diner,
When she moves,
I shake with the bunk bed blues.

I tipple a jar,
In Hemmingway´s bar,
Now it´s up hill and dale,
Every perigrino has a tale to tell,
We live in a magic mystic spell.

I woke up this morning with blisters on my mind,
My good feet gone and left me,
A long, long way behind,
Now I got those lowdown walking blues.

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Canino de Santiago - take 3

Pamploma, Spain.

I got those walking blues and am walking across Spain and Portugal instead of biking Route 66. The bus pulled into Pamploma at 1.30 am. I attempted to find a hotel room, happily failed. Walked into the bar district, throngs of Saturday night revellers, backtracked across park skirting the zombies lurking on benches. Found the way marks for the Camino. Crossed another park on edge of town, slept under huge pine tree sheltered by boughs sweeping the ground. Soft fragrant pine needles. Slept in until 8, it was a bed money can,t buy. Later bussed to St. Jean Pied de Port in France and hooved it across the Pyrenees the next day.
In idle moments I mash icons on my phone in hopes of waddling onto the Web, to no avail.