Chemin de Saint-Jacques de Compostelle
(Santiago de Compostela)
I don’t know exactly when the seed was planted. But I really heard myself saying it out loud during Christmas dinner, with all my family members as blatant witnesses:
“The upcoming year I’m gonna walk the Santiago de Compostela.” Bam, there you have it. Without really knowing what that meant it had abruptly turned into a reality… I needed to walk the talk. Quite literally.
Honestly, up until about a few weeks before due date I had zero clues about which Camino to walk (its tentacles literally spread out over entire Europe) or how long it actually was. Where some people plan their trip more than a year in advance, I learned in September I had in fact about an 800km-walk ahead of me in October. Holy mother of Jesus, that’s a long fucking stroll around the block. Like going for a wander from Paris to Rotterdam and back again… or from Belgium all the way up to Denmark, passing the Netherlands and Germany along the way. I mean, I like hiking… it’s in fact my life’s prime passion (as a side-show from traveling), but this seemed just a tad hysterical.
No way back though, when some idea nestles itself in my head, it’s happening.
Not in the mood for reading? Video Diary Week 1:
“The upcoming year I’m gonna walk the Santiago de Compostela.” Bam, there you have it. Without really knowing what that meant it had abruptly turned into a reality… I needed to walk the talk. Quite literally.
Honestly, up until about a few weeks before due date I had zero clues about which Camino to walk (its tentacles literally spread out over entire Europe) or how long it actually was. Where some people plan their trip more than a year in advance, I learned in September I had in fact about an 800km-walk ahead of me in October. Holy mother of Jesus, that’s a long fucking stroll around the block. Like going for a wander from Paris to Rotterdam and back again… or from Belgium all the way up to Denmark, passing the Netherlands and Germany along the way. I mean, I like hiking… it’s in fact my life’s prime passion (as a side-show from traveling), but this seemed just a tad hysterical.
No way back though, when some idea nestles itself in my head, it’s happening.
Not in the mood for reading? Video Diary Week 1:
Preparation
I’d like to give you a blazing report of how I effectively compounded an excellent pack flawlessly balancing lightweight professional gear with optimal performance. Reality-check: I had about 5 days to get ready from the absolute scratch, after a free-birth-control-trip to the UK (another story for another time). 5 days to book transport, fix accommodation (free – if possible), put together a packing list, then go out and buy all that shit (also cheaper-than-cheap) and pack it into an entity not exceeding 10% of my body weight. Oh, and I also needed to last minute pull an entire fundraiser out of my sleeve while I was at it, including a movie, several websites and promotion material - as why wouldn’t I optimize such an excellent opportunity to help the ones that need it more than any of us?
I’d like to give you a blazing report of how I effectively compounded an excellent pack flawlessly balancing lightweight professional gear with optimal performance. Reality-check: I had about 5 days to get ready from the absolute scratch, after a free-birth-control-trip to the UK (another story for another time). 5 days to book transport, fix accommodation (free – if possible), put together a packing list, then go out and buy all that shit (also cheaper-than-cheap) and pack it into an entity not exceeding 10% of my body weight. Oh, and I also needed to last minute pull an entire fundraiser out of my sleeve while I was at it, including a movie, several websites and promotion material - as why wouldn’t I optimize such an excellent opportunity to help the ones that need it more than any of us?
- The fundraiser reached its goal and is now closed -
In short: It was a downright madhouse. I often forgot to eat, sometimes to breathe. I’m infinitely grateful my family loves me no matter what, because I stressed the absolute shit out of them and had to cut coffee breaks short to a beastly 3 minutes, as that was roughly how much time I had left in my schedule of downright insanity. But I pulled it off. Kinda. I packed the basics, which for me is apparently 13kg, as I was “packing fear and what-if’s” according to the wise men and women of the internet (including 2,5kg weight of the bag AND a laptop – I’m a blogger, the laptop is preferred over basic needs such as nutrition and shelter). Then I threw a third of it out. And again. And once again. To eventually leave with the downright impossible: 2 pair of yoga pants, 3 pair of socks, 3 quick-dry shirts, 2 sport bras, 4 pieces of underwear, gloves, a buff, 1 fleece, 1 long sleeve, 1 lightweight wind jacket, 1 thermal legging, 1 pair of shoes, flipflops, hiking sticks, rain gear, a headlamp, a sleeping bag (walking it in autumn-winter), a pillow case, inflatable pillow, bed bug powder, a teeny-tiny toiletry bag with mini-everything (incl. a towel not even big enough to wipe my ass with), a basic first aid kit, a full-on blister kit (used up within about the first 2 weeks of hiking) and yes, my electronics (even this might seem like a ridiculous amount of stuff to the most weathered pelgrims). I even cut my damn toothbrush and hairbrush in half, as I’m apparently one of those people now.
This was going to be the most unflattering month of my life: Sleeping in hiking clothes, going out in hiking clothes, meeting new people in hiking clothes. Washing 1 pair in the shower, drying it during the day dangling from my backpack. Shoot me now. But alas, it has something deeper. No hiding behind an external facade. You’re a hiker now. A pilgrim, goddamnit.
This was going to be the most unflattering month of my life: Sleeping in hiking clothes, going out in hiking clothes, meeting new people in hiking clothes. Washing 1 pair in the shower, drying it during the day dangling from my backpack. Shoot me now. But alas, it has something deeper. No hiding behind an external facade. You’re a hiker now. A pilgrim, goddamnit.
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Pre-fun in France
The suffering started rather early, as I wanted to arrive in France for no more than 25 bucks. That’ll give you Flixbus. If you don’t know what that is, I urge you to keep it that way. A full day and a night had passed before my temporary prison-on-wheels ultimately puked me out in Bayonne, a picturesque township tucked away in the south of France. Couchsurf-wise* I had done pretty damn well, as the friendly 62-years-old Pierre had driven all the way from Pau (approx. 1,5 hours away) just to pick me up and show me around. Not only in the charming Bayonne, but also in the breezing beach town of Biarritz, filled to the brim with sun-kissed beach boys baring their tight torso’s to swiftly catch a wave - And me, a satisfied spectator.
The suffering started rather early, as I wanted to arrive in France for no more than 25 bucks. That’ll give you Flixbus. If you don’t know what that is, I urge you to keep it that way. A full day and a night had passed before my temporary prison-on-wheels ultimately puked me out in Bayonne, a picturesque township tucked away in the south of France. Couchsurf-wise* I had done pretty damn well, as the friendly 62-years-old Pierre had driven all the way from Pau (approx. 1,5 hours away) just to pick me up and show me around. Not only in the charming Bayonne, but also in the breezing beach town of Biarritz, filled to the brim with sun-kissed beach boys baring their tight torso’s to swiftly catch a wave - And me, a satisfied spectator.
* For those who don’t know what Couchsurfing is: It’s a digital network where travellers from every corner of the world meet and stay at each other’s houses, entirely cost-free. You can take on the roll of host or guest (surfer) and either request to stay or host, selecting a profile of your preference with a healthy amount of positive references. The focus lies on a cultural exchange, and participants are generally encouraged to spend time together, exchange stories, food and experiences.
Pau, once home to the Romans, Kings of Navarra and Henry IV, was now also home to me. For an entire weekend I would have a bed in a private room, a clean shower and hearty meals. Luxuries I would long back to more than once during the voyage that was about to absorb my entire life for an instant. After a not-to-be-missed visit to the Pau Castle (Henry’s former crib), we eventually moved forward to Lourdes – Santiago de Compostela’s French counterpart – to properly get into the mood. After a series of claimed apparitions of the Virgin Mary, an entire holy sanctuary was pumped out of the ground, the local water source apparently curing millions from every disease or defect ever let loose on mankind. To not leave anything to chance I didn’t waste a single second, and royally submerged both my feet under the gush of holy water. No matter the brutal cruelty I was about to subject them to, I’d be sweet. Easy deal! Camino, show me what you’ve got.
Pau, once home to the Romans, Kings of Navarra and Henry IV, was now also home to me. For an entire weekend I would have a bed in a private room, a clean shower and hearty meals. Luxuries I would long back to more than once during the voyage that was about to absorb my entire life for an instant. After a not-to-be-missed visit to the Pau Castle (Henry’s former crib), we eventually moved forward to Lourdes – Santiago de Compostela’s French counterpart – to properly get into the mood. After a series of claimed apparitions of the Virgin Mary, an entire holy sanctuary was pumped out of the ground, the local water source apparently curing millions from every disease or defect ever let loose on mankind. To not leave anything to chance I didn’t waste a single second, and royally submerged both my feet under the gush of holy water. No matter the brutal cruelty I was about to subject them to, I’d be sweet. Easy deal! Camino, show me what you’ve got.
1: Saint Jean Pied de Port – Roncesvalles
The last time I was on a mental intersection I did Ayahuasca. This time I nervously scuffled into Saint Jean Pied de Port… a darling little locality with one obvious theme: "Ze Caminó"… or, fancier, Le Chemin Saint-Jaques de Compostelle. I had vaguely scribbled down some expectations on what I’d like to get out of this adventurous endeavour, ‘goals’ if you will:
But first I had to traverse the Pyrenees, by myself. The hardest day of the Camino, I was told. Hmmm. I hadn’t slept (adrenaline-adrenaline-adrenaline!), I hadn’t trained (I’m hiking the planet fulltime since 5 years – training, my ass), and I was never here before. What could go wrong? Nothing, really. I just rocked up at the foot of the Pyrenees, hugged Pierre goodbye (the good man had also driven me 1,5 hours to the start of the trail), looked up into the sun and crossed the entire mountain range in a couple of hours. Fan-fucking-tastic, what a view. 100 shades of green contrasting with bright blue skies, swirling vultures and picture-perfect panoramas. What a treat.
The last time I was on a mental intersection I did Ayahuasca. This time I nervously scuffled into Saint Jean Pied de Port… a darling little locality with one obvious theme: "Ze Caminó"… or, fancier, Le Chemin Saint-Jaques de Compostelle. I had vaguely scribbled down some expectations on what I’d like to get out of this adventurous endeavour, ‘goals’ if you will:
- Deal with family- and relation-related drama’s that were somehow all crammed in the limited time span of a tiny little year.
- Get my head around some outline of a future plan, obviously within the framework of fulltime travel – where do I stand now, and where do I go from here?
- Test and expand my own mental and physical boundaries (mainly referring to the early alarms here).
- Raise funds for an admirable cause.
- Lose some weight while at it (some anticonception-injection had generously gifted me 12kg, and it loves me so much it refuses to leave no matter how rigorously I show it the door)
- Pause and breathe. Reflect, process and rise.
But first I had to traverse the Pyrenees, by myself. The hardest day of the Camino, I was told. Hmmm. I hadn’t slept (adrenaline-adrenaline-adrenaline!), I hadn’t trained (I’m hiking the planet fulltime since 5 years – training, my ass), and I was never here before. What could go wrong? Nothing, really. I just rocked up at the foot of the Pyrenees, hugged Pierre goodbye (the good man had also driven me 1,5 hours to the start of the trail), looked up into the sun and crossed the entire mountain range in a couple of hours. Fan-fucking-tastic, what a view. 100 shades of green contrasting with bright blue skies, swirling vultures and picture-perfect panoramas. What a treat.
Little did I know this day wasn’t to be topped for at least the first 2 weeks of the expedition (in hindsight), but hey, always eat dessert first. Yeah sure, it was quite an intense incline… but nothing what these cable hiker thighs can’t fix (if I can’t have those Kate Moss legs, at least allow me to race up fast then). It was in fact the descend back into the Spanish valley of Roncesvalles / Roncesvaux that totally knackered me (apparently you need to ignore the yellow arrows and loop down via the right side to spare the knees – 100% ignored advice). I started at about midday and arrived around dinner, finishing it in top speed, but literally limping into the albergue de pelegrinos. I had followed online advice and entirely relied on en-route food provision, which ‘surprisingly’ turned out to be utterly absent in a mountain chain, so I suffered incredible pains in the stomach of simple starvation (I consumed about minus-3000 calories that day… 1-0 for weight loss so it seems). Add to that the scam of Lourdes: My feet were entirely covered in leaking blisters, no thank-you-memorial from my part Mrs. Maria the Unconceived. It was a simple focus on the basics: Food – shower – bed. Soon I was in a deep coma, not even hearing the penetrating snores of my 39 roommates.
2: Roncesvalles – Zubiri
Yes, I said 39. Where I normally pay extra to avoid the outrageous number of 8 hostel beds crammed into 1 room, the Camino has simply no comparison. Nothing holy about being a pilgrim, not even your night rest, so it seems. For 12 euros you get nothing more than a thin mattress, a roof, and a shower shared with over 3 dozen of people. No sheets, no blankets, bed bugs optional… in fact, the mattress and pillow covers are washed TWICE A WEEK, while a different walker lays his sweaty body down on top of it on a daily basis. Let me add to that the fact that the institution called The Church (of which this albergue is a part) doesn’t pay taxes, generally receives utilities such as electricity, light and water free of charge, and in this particular case is run entirely by (Dutch) volunteers. With 183 beds x €12 = €2196, plus 183 pilgrim meals (no supermarkets here) x €10 = €1830, we can just safely conclude that with a rough €4026 a night of income you really must have balls to ask for extra donations, am I correct? But: If you then have to wake up at the painful hour of 6:30AM, at least you will do so by the peaceful chants of singing monks.
The first day I naively concluded I must be basically the only one walking the Camino Frances off-season. Staring at the colourful parade of ticking hiking sticks and fluorescent rainproof jackets being forced out of the albergue at this downright un-Christian hour I had to conclude I was utterly wrong. The Camino Frances is immensely popular year-round, attracting ambitious sportsmen – and women from literally all ends of the earth. BUT, where in summer people have to rush out at sometimes as early as 4AM and even have to end their tiresome day sprinting against other pilgrims to timely snatch away those last available spots in the albergues, this horror is non-existent in the pleasant shoulder-season… neither are the devasting climates (although the entire first week of my October-Camino was still much hotter than I found pleasant).
Yes, I said 39. Where I normally pay extra to avoid the outrageous number of 8 hostel beds crammed into 1 room, the Camino has simply no comparison. Nothing holy about being a pilgrim, not even your night rest, so it seems. For 12 euros you get nothing more than a thin mattress, a roof, and a shower shared with over 3 dozen of people. No sheets, no blankets, bed bugs optional… in fact, the mattress and pillow covers are washed TWICE A WEEK, while a different walker lays his sweaty body down on top of it on a daily basis. Let me add to that the fact that the institution called The Church (of which this albergue is a part) doesn’t pay taxes, generally receives utilities such as electricity, light and water free of charge, and in this particular case is run entirely by (Dutch) volunteers. With 183 beds x €12 = €2196, plus 183 pilgrim meals (no supermarkets here) x €10 = €1830, we can just safely conclude that with a rough €4026 a night of income you really must have balls to ask for extra donations, am I correct? But: If you then have to wake up at the painful hour of 6:30AM, at least you will do so by the peaceful chants of singing monks.
The first day I naively concluded I must be basically the only one walking the Camino Frances off-season. Staring at the colourful parade of ticking hiking sticks and fluorescent rainproof jackets being forced out of the albergue at this downright un-Christian hour I had to conclude I was utterly wrong. The Camino Frances is immensely popular year-round, attracting ambitious sportsmen – and women from literally all ends of the earth. BUT, where in summer people have to rush out at sometimes as early as 4AM and even have to end their tiresome day sprinting against other pilgrims to timely snatch away those last available spots in the albergues, this horror is non-existent in the pleasant shoulder-season… neither are the devasting climates (although the entire first week of my October-Camino was still much hotter than I found pleasant).
As such I could enjoy my walk towards Zubiri in un-rushed peace, regularly stopping to take in the pleasant views. Not as mindboggling as the day before, but enjoyable, nevertheless. Leaving so ridiculously early makes for a timely arrival as well, which was simply spent enjoying drinks and conversation with other ‘pilgrims’, none of them there for religious motives.
Combining the best of both worlds I hugged my new hiking buddies goodbye after the third toast, to be picked up by Couchsurfer Candido who drove me slightly up to the municipality of Eugi… idyllically situated along a crystal-clear lake (be it man-made). Zero roommates this night: I had a clean and comfortable room all to myself, with a bed big enough to stretch in horizontally. On top of that Candido washed my clothes, prepared me healthy and home-made food, opened a bottle of splendid wine and enriched my night with his sparkling personality and engaging conversation, shining a light on the pure essence of Basque country and its colourful variety of underlying layers. The Camino done right.
Combining the best of both worlds I hugged my new hiking buddies goodbye after the third toast, to be picked up by Couchsurfer Candido who drove me slightly up to the municipality of Eugi… idyllically situated along a crystal-clear lake (be it man-made). Zero roommates this night: I had a clean and comfortable room all to myself, with a bed big enough to stretch in horizontally. On top of that Candido washed my clothes, prepared me healthy and home-made food, opened a bottle of splendid wine and enriched my night with his sparkling personality and engaging conversation, shining a light on the pure essence of Basque country and its colourful variety of underlying layers. The Camino done right.
3: Zubiri – Pamplona
After a hearty breakfast and 3 perfectly prepared coffees (no Nescafe – god is finally with me on this Camino), Candido dropped me off on the exact spot where I stopped hiking the day before. No cheating! The journey was leading me to the city of Pamplona, famous for its rather unethical bull(y?) runs around town. Thankfully this event wasn’t on upon my arrival, which allowed me to discover this otherwise highly interesting cultural highlight in all desired tranquillity. Although, tranquil? I slept smack-bam among the laughter, chants and cigarette smoke in the house of 3 Spanish-Brazilian musicians… Someone told me that the Santiago de Compostela is the world’s longest pub crawl, and I start to believe this is true – not a day passed by without wine so far, and the exception definitely wasn’t going to be made the days to come.
Even though it was quite early in my journey, I decided to stay 2 nights… not so much because I was craving for a well-deserved rest (although it felt quite comfy to put a hold on the ongoing blister-development), but more so because I’m a traveller in the first place that coincidentally also really likes to hike… not the other way around. As such, 2 days flew by way too fast and I felt a deep sadness fall upon me leaving this delightful township tucked away along the oh-so-famous route passed - but not always seen- by all.
After a hearty breakfast and 3 perfectly prepared coffees (no Nescafe – god is finally with me on this Camino), Candido dropped me off on the exact spot where I stopped hiking the day before. No cheating! The journey was leading me to the city of Pamplona, famous for its rather unethical bull(y?) runs around town. Thankfully this event wasn’t on upon my arrival, which allowed me to discover this otherwise highly interesting cultural highlight in all desired tranquillity. Although, tranquil? I slept smack-bam among the laughter, chants and cigarette smoke in the house of 3 Spanish-Brazilian musicians… Someone told me that the Santiago de Compostela is the world’s longest pub crawl, and I start to believe this is true – not a day passed by without wine so far, and the exception definitely wasn’t going to be made the days to come.
Even though it was quite early in my journey, I decided to stay 2 nights… not so much because I was craving for a well-deserved rest (although it felt quite comfy to put a hold on the ongoing blister-development), but more so because I’m a traveller in the first place that coincidentally also really likes to hike… not the other way around. As such, 2 days flew by way too fast and I felt a deep sadness fall upon me leaving this delightful township tucked away along the oh-so-famous route passed - but not always seen- by all.
4: Pamplona – Puente La Reina
However, the startling countryside views that quite soon met my eyes soothed the pain and turned my thoughts from past to future encounters. Hobbling over the stony trails I felt the skin of my cheeks burning, summer freckles popping up eager to make a temporary comeback. Climate change most certainly made the packing of everything thermal highly ridiculous, or so it seemed. As I turned out to be about the only one that took a break in Pamplona, I now walked among a fresh ensemble of hikers, all stopping to look at me and ask where I’ve been hiding. I’ve read a lot about the so-called ‘Camino Families’, groups of solo hikers sticking together and forming a strong bond, continuing their pilgrimage as a unity. Yeah blabla, good for them, but that’s not me. I’m a lone ranger. I like people, I like being right in the middle of the action, but always by choice. I rather voluntarily walk straight off a cliff than ever having the feeling to need anyone. I refuse to follow a herd because I suddenly form a little component of their clockwork. I’m wholesome all alone, all people in my life are there because I want them to be there.
Lennart is one of those people. I expected very little of Puente La Reina’s run-down community hostel (especially after needing to sprinkle the bed with anti-bed-bug-powder and planting my face right next to where a previous pilgrim stuck his chewing gum on the bedside), let alone meet a potential soul mate.
However, the startling countryside views that quite soon met my eyes soothed the pain and turned my thoughts from past to future encounters. Hobbling over the stony trails I felt the skin of my cheeks burning, summer freckles popping up eager to make a temporary comeback. Climate change most certainly made the packing of everything thermal highly ridiculous, or so it seemed. As I turned out to be about the only one that took a break in Pamplona, I now walked among a fresh ensemble of hikers, all stopping to look at me and ask where I’ve been hiding. I’ve read a lot about the so-called ‘Camino Families’, groups of solo hikers sticking together and forming a strong bond, continuing their pilgrimage as a unity. Yeah blabla, good for them, but that’s not me. I’m a lone ranger. I like people, I like being right in the middle of the action, but always by choice. I rather voluntarily walk straight off a cliff than ever having the feeling to need anyone. I refuse to follow a herd because I suddenly form a little component of their clockwork. I’m wholesome all alone, all people in my life are there because I want them to be there.
Lennart is one of those people. I expected very little of Puente La Reina’s run-down community hostel (especially after needing to sprinkle the bed with anti-bed-bug-powder and planting my face right next to where a previous pilgrim stuck his chewing gum on the bedside), let alone meet a potential soul mate.
5: Puente La Reina – Villamayor de Monjardin
Little did I know there was a competition scheduled in my dormitory to sort out the highly sought-after title of the World’s Loudest Snorer (tough call – they all tried so hard!). If there’s one strong notion of reality being underlined during my trip over and over again is that 6:30AM alarms are 100% not my cup of tea and they never will be. Add up the fact that I had entirely ripped open the side of my foot during an adventurous pursue of Geoaching (then again, it’s an extreme sport) and 30KM needed to be walked… this day wasn’t going into history as prime Camino time. But that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it, you fuck it all and do it anyway. It’s not a race, but it’s all about endurance and determination, rising above the suffering.
Little did I know there was a competition scheduled in my dormitory to sort out the highly sought-after title of the World’s Loudest Snorer (tough call – they all tried so hard!). If there’s one strong notion of reality being underlined during my trip over and over again is that 6:30AM alarms are 100% not my cup of tea and they never will be. Add up the fact that I had entirely ripped open the side of my foot during an adventurous pursue of Geoaching (then again, it’s an extreme sport) and 30KM needed to be walked… this day wasn’t going into history as prime Camino time. But that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it, you fuck it all and do it anyway. It’s not a race, but it’s all about endurance and determination, rising above the suffering.
I was pretty solid the existence of a ‘wine fountain’ would ease the pain, though. And it certainly would have, if prior pilgrims wouldn’t have sucked it dry until the last drop (that said, I would’ve done exactly the same if given the chance). Fear not, thirsty ones, in the Wine Museum around the corner cheap yet splendid wine is there for grabs. Two bottles later Lennart and I decided to add another stretch of hiking to the ‘official’ end destination of that day, Estella, and staggered to the (way more beautiful and picturesque) municipality of Villamayor de Monjardin… where yet another bottle was served as part of the Pilgrim Menu. Let’s just conclude that after that much booze, it really doesn’t matter where you plunge down to rest… even if that’s outside in the church garden.
6: Villamayor de Monjardin – Torres del Rio
Them religious albergues might have their brutal morning alarms… but at least their gardens don’t! The wind kept me up all night, but then again, so does snoring. As long as the rain clouds keep sliding past, I highly prefer going free-range opposed to the narrow-composed environments satiated with fumes of feet-cheese and dried-up sweat. Tired but content we continued our voyage, passing both landscapes and villages scattered out among them, all choosing the famous pilgrimage as their overall theme (money money money). We passed Los Arcos and continued towards Torres del Rio, where Couchsurfer Josu was awaiting my arrival. He’s one of those people you think you’ll never meet, until you rather unexpectedly do. While Lennart spent another night in another church garden, I took a long hot bath, washed my clothes and gladly finished the abundant meal Josu put in front of me.
Yup, we certainly all have our own Way. In life and on the trails, which is kind of the same after all.
Them religious albergues might have their brutal morning alarms… but at least their gardens don’t! The wind kept me up all night, but then again, so does snoring. As long as the rain clouds keep sliding past, I highly prefer going free-range opposed to the narrow-composed environments satiated with fumes of feet-cheese and dried-up sweat. Tired but content we continued our voyage, passing both landscapes and villages scattered out among them, all choosing the famous pilgrimage as their overall theme (money money money). We passed Los Arcos and continued towards Torres del Rio, where Couchsurfer Josu was awaiting my arrival. He’s one of those people you think you’ll never meet, until you rather unexpectedly do. While Lennart spent another night in another church garden, I took a long hot bath, washed my clothes and gladly finished the abundant meal Josu put in front of me.
Yup, we certainly all have our own Way. In life and on the trails, which is kind of the same after all.
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