One of us isn't going to make it

Vic and myself are heading off to do the Camino De Levante, starting in Valencia.

It's 1250 Kms (circa 760 Miles) and we both know one of us isn't going to make it. Of course, we'll pretend we are going to support each other come what may, but we both know that when the chips are down, it's every man for themselves. They say it's not a competition and that it's all about the journey but please, who are they kidding. Maybe that's why's 'They' is anonymous.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Book of the Trip

Image
I (Vic) brought four books on the Camino because long-distance hiking trips are a great opportunity to enjoy a good read.  One really stood out with another a super solid and close runner-up. Book of the Trip:  Star of the Sea by Joseph O’Connor What a fantastic book.  It tells a fictional story within a historical context, which is about a ship in 1847 traveling from England and Ireland to New York.  It introduces a number of characters seemingly unconnected as the ship commences the journey and what happens and what is discovered over the course of that journey including quite a bit of intrigue as well as murder.  It’s a real page-turner.  It also reads as surprisingly relevant to today as the historical context is people fleeing famine, violence and prosecution, desperately seeking a better life in America - and looked down upon and as inferior by some.  You only have to scan today’s headlines to see this same story sadly repeating itself. Extra tri...
Read more

At last, no more pain!

Image
Walking into Santiago there was a kind of silence, and yet the city was humming. When a pilgrim comes in from the Camino de Levante people know. It is the longest, and it is the hardest. But for me, a humble man, it was also so very strange. Vic was fine, and I saw him swiping left a lot on his phone which probably explained his disappearance later that evening.  Pregnant women, they made me touch their bellies, same with the infirm. Priests bowed before me. And when I reached the gates of the Cathedral, I don’t mind saying, I wept openly. And, as I was there, my left foot started to bleed - you remember the problem with my left boot - and people gasped. Like Padre Pio with his stigmata, the bleeding wouldn’t stop. And next thing, 12 swallows hovered far overhead, representing the apostles presumably. And then this young, very attractive french woman,  26 or 27, a cellist, came over and rested her finger on the wound and crossed her forehead with my blood, and said, ‘Vous avez...
Read more