The walking has been good. And the people too. But after a long day of walking in the sun, all I wanna do is shower, sit and chat, eat dinner and go to bed.

It’s difficult to really describe the vibe of the Camino, I hope to get the chance to share it with some of you.

I might do a photo dump in a while, but the postings may well remain scarce.

Love you all, and thank you so much for the support.

Ignacio is Italian, Sue is Welsh, they live in England and travel more than half the year. They had a very successful Italian restaurant in England that they sold to two long-term employees, and now they walk a lot around the world.

When Francesco and I first spotted them, we saw one tall person and one tall duck, judging from the walk. It was obvious from 300 meters that the duck was wounded. And yet it took us an hour to catch up with them.

Sue told me that she and Ignacio walk 25 kilometers on a typical day in their normal life and never ever gets blisters from that. Her shoes were broken-in but not worn out, and a shoe that she’s used before. But as soon as she started this walk, just like her last two, when immediately got like six vicious blisters in two days. By the time we caught up with them she hadn’t been able to even put her shoes on for three days. She was walking in toe socks and sandals, and now getting new different blisters from the sandals, which she also had hiked in plenty without issue.

We figured that there is something different about the pack, it must make your feet spread more or change your heel-strike or something. Anyway it makes men feel a little better, like I really did prepare my feet and shoes as best I could with the knowledge I had at the time.

I’ve had to take a taxi instead of walking three and a half days now.

Francesco is seventy-something, and this is his third Camino. Italian, but also spoke English. He said his English wasn’t very good and he was out of practice, but as with most Europeans his “not very good” was pretty great. Like he made gasoline rhyme with fine, and he mixed up see with show, but still…

Interesting guy. He knew quite a lot of history about the various Caminos, and about Catholicism, but claimed to be an atheist. He didn’t like the hypocrisy of so-called Christians who went to mass and said “love thy neighbor” and voted for ethno-nationalissts; who prayed for the safety of the migrants in the mediterranean sea but stood by and watched them drown on the shore, year after year.

He had wisdom and patience, I liked him a lot. I may see him in Santiago, but since Porto he continues on the central route and I go along the coast.

Martine and Joaquim. Martine was great, he not only spoke quite fluent English, he was willing to translate, either assisting necessary communication between guests and hosts or just to include the non-French-speaking pilgrims in the conversation.

Joaquim never spoke a word that I heard. He didn’t even introduce himself, or engage in greetings and salutations. Rather forgettable.

They were going to be walking all teh way from Le Puy-en-Velay to Santiago de Compostela, almost 1,600km (1,000 miles). They were doing it with some kind of non-profit, but I never really understood the arrangement. They weren’t fundraising, and the organization didn’t do a lot of support for them. Maybe it helped them plan a bit, but they seemed like they had to figure out quite a bit on their own and on the road.

Another part of the French Camino family, this was a brother and sister in their 70’s. It’s had often been hard to communicate with the French, they are much less often either willing or able to speak a language I understand. But the sister spoke rudimentary English and quite good Spanish, I guess she had lived in Spain for a decade or so some time back. And the brother spoke native French, very rudimentary English, Spanish from living in Spain for a few years, and very good Portuguese as he now lives in Brazil with a Portuguese wife of many decades.

They were very nice. I didn’t get to know them all that well.

I can’t remember who I’ve mentioned before…

In France I met a pack of pilgrims in the first stay that I ended up walking and staying with for two days and three nights.

The retired Australian couple, possible late 60’s, Ian and… I don’t remember the wife’s name. Lovely people. They recently got into backgammon and actually brought a travel set with them. They had already been in France for several weeks, they had a couple of house-sitting gigs with a couple of different friends of theirs, one in Paris and one in a medieval town that claims to be in the exact center of France.

Anyway, they taught somebody backgammon and decided to give their set away, thinking it was just too heavy to carry. (Eeeeevery ounce matters after a few hundred kilometers) But then she decided she wanted to play some more and found a scrap of cloth or handkerchief or something, and two contracting colors of thread and stitched some triangles up. They took a couple of wine corks and cross-sectioned them into little cookies for one team and tore two wine-bottle lead foils into little circles for the other. It turned out very prototypey, but a great idea and very resourceful.

When I decided to quit France, Ian was much more supportive, saying “well if you’re not enjoying it, then…”. Which is just what I thought. I’m sure I wrote about this before.

I like to imagine that someone out there is reading every day.

😂😂😂

I’ve been struggling with blisters.

Since my last post at the abandoned mansion I took a taxi two day in a row. I walked from there to the next place, and it was less long than usual. I actually went for a stroll to a restaurant, enjoying the walk, and got a blister on the outside of each heel. In 45 minutes. Without a pack. With a sock-and-shoe combination I’ve used before with no problem. I had to take a Bolt (European Über) back to the hotel.

I don’t know if the heel cup of my shoe just finally broke down, or if these little things were slow-burn blisters that took four days to develop, or my feet swelled just that much more or what.

Anyway, the blisters were stinging in the morning, and everything else hurt as well. To the point that it hurt to wear my shoes sitting down, munchecked less put ten miles on them. I decided that trying to let them heal for a couple days would make the rest of the trip better.

The next day was no better. I took a taxi a second day, finally getting to Porto where more services start. I managed to walk around without pain, and walked from Porto to the next town.

Because I wanted private rooms all the way, I sometimes just searched google for hotels in the right towns. I didn’t really think about how getting a place just a half-kilometer detour from the official Caminho would mean literally no other pilgrims until the high season when they’re crowded out from the places right on that road.

The place I stayed at kinda markets itself to the more glamping-style pilgrims, those who want not just a bed but nice linens, not just a washer but also a dryer, not just WiFi but a big-screen. I wasn’t asking for any of those things, I just didn’t want a dorm.

But anyway, this place is also kind of a Vrbo home, like a family-reunion party house. But it was entirely empty. There wasn’t even anyone at reception. In fact it made it quite confusing how to even get in. And then, to be all alone in a 20-bedroom mansion with a dinner area big enough for 30-40 people, a front porch with two picnic tables and five four-tops, a gated parking lot and servant’s quarters and a staff break room: super creepy.

So I might want to revisit some of my later reservations. They’re probably fine, I think even in April the caminho gets quite a bit busier starting at Oporto. I guess we’ll see.

It’s pouring rain this morning.

Yesterday was about as long as I could enjoy. I guess I could have gone half a kilometer farther without really starting to whine, but it was long.

It’s kind of a good thing it’s raining hard this morning, because I was thinking seriously about getting rid of my waterproof boots. I kinda think it might be fine to just wear my shoes and let my feet get wet. The shoes dry fast and I have plenty of fresh socks. If that strategy feels ok today, I leave the boots wherever.

They’re really good boots but they’re a size too large. They only fit if I wear thick socks or two pair of medium. And unless there’s rain or snow, that makes my feet too hot. And they’re heavy. I now understand that it’s a little crazy to have two pair of shoes. When you’re doing that first pack leaving home it’s hard to really appreciate how much every ounce affects you walking mile upon mile upon mile.

Next time, if at all possible, I’m wearing shoes that are even lighter. I’m not sure the rock plate in these shoes helps that much, but heavy shoes make me plod, and that makes my feet even more tired.

But in general I feel good again this morning. Today is just as long, but I’m getting better at this.

I think I walked half again as far yesterday as I ever have this trip. But this morning I’m only half as sore. I think my pack weighs half as much as in France, and it’s making all the difference. I can’t wait for one of you to join me in 2026.

Bom Caminho