I had a farm in Africa, at the foot of the Yukon hills

And on the seventh day, rest. Tranquilo. Hydration. Soaking in a pristine bathtub somewhere in rural Spain- Los Arcos, to be more specific. Albergue collective living is one thing, a stop in a hotel is entirely another. Yesterday, hopefully the low point of the physical journey, my right knee pain graduated from continuous ache to impressive, poignant stabs with every pulse. There were still 7 K to get to another town, as we had already travelled 13K with just the regular pain. So, I took a rest, cried a bit, it happens, and took time to refocus. Daur went ahead with great speed to try and book a room with a bathtub before the other pilgrims entered town. (There is a certain point in the day where the local availability of more common stops runs out, and one finds it necessary to keep walking to the next town. As that was not possible in this instance, she went ahead to try and secure a place to sleep.) Shay the Canadian joked that my ¨Italian Knight¨ should be by any minute on his bike. In a way that only the Camino has produced in my life, he soon came up over the horizon. The Italian, who happens to be quite beautiful and full of shit- i.e. lines like mi amore, your eyes are of the sea- had shared dinner with us the night before. He is a fun and flirtatious man who is doing el Camino on his bike, and therefore travelling twice the distance each day. He lended me his ipod to help distract me on what was shaping up to be a very uncomfortable walk to town. Another visitor to where I plopped down on the path was a spanish speaking doctor. A medium aged woman who spoke very quickly. She asked permission to ascertain my knee... not unlike Willoughby in Sense and Sensibility... and soon was talking about ligamentos... I didn´t gather much from her description, but I do know I have damaged a ligament in my knee, and that I need to rest. This actually makes me feel great, because I thought my joints were just going crazy but it´s actually a real injury, which is funny to understand, perhaps unless you live in chronic pain. She asked if I wanted a car. As it were, the four miles seemed close enough, so my wonderful and brand new Canadian friends divided the content of my pack, and somehow I got to walking. El Camino has afforded some strangely mystical experiences in this way. Perhaps it was the warmth and support of those around me, but we managed to get me distracted looking at flowers and teaching Shay about the violin, and together we transcended much of the pain and walked the full distance to Los Arcos. After a wonderful departure from hostel life, I took a hot hot bath, soaked and floated as pieces of my feet skin seem to detach and float to the surface-euw, I know, but also kind of great. Daur and I had a filling tortellini dinner and found Ben and Jerry´s, so life is good. Nothing can beat 12 hours of sleep, and I am feeling much restored. The hope is that in taking good care of myself, taking today off entirely, and then doing shorter distances with less weight for a couple of days, the knee will heal. Every other part of my body feels much much better. To our credit, or perhaps stupidity, we have covered the Pyrenes and 90 miles of distance in six days. Ha ha hahahahaa. Yeah. A day of rest is huge.

Life in the Albergues is intriguing. The cacophany of snore sounds and variety of nakedness makes each place unique. Sleeping through the night is fairly unreliable, even with earplugs. One night I even ran into my Canadian friend Alli in the bathroom, as she was also totally awake from the bullfrogs tearing up the silence of our sleeping room. The cultural differences between levels of nudity-either intentional or not so intentional have been at times a bit shocking. One night, I was mid sentence with Daur when I man in his sixties just took his pants off. I was caught a little off guard but trying to be a grown up about it when Daur also caught sight of our freshly naked friend and started to laugh. We then both caught the glare of his wife, who, I´m sure thought we were totally immature, which made it that much more difficult to stop giggling. I also met a woman from Denmark- well, first I met her crack- she had quite a bit of ass clevage, if you will, and I was in the next bunk over. She ended up being very interesting, and she spoke very much like Meryl Streep´s character Karen Blixen in Out of Africa, which of course I found quite enchanting, even though I pretty much disagreed with much of what Iveen was saying. Needless to say, there are amazing people in the hostel setting, but it´s a tricky place to get restorative sleep. The night in a hotel is a welcomed departure.

I feel I have a better handle on the pace of el Camino, and that it is my own pace that matters most. Yes, mom, I am listening to my body- probably because it screamed so loudly yesterday. The pain has lulled to a mere dull ache today, and I am hopeful for no sharp pain. Happy Spain holiday today- I´m not sure what it is, but the post office is closed.

Love to all of you who are sending wonderful e'mails and good vibes through the universe. This pilgrim has had one hell of a learning curve.

I am a spritual being on a human journey...

Today we decided that you can be a person with joint disease and still do whatever you want in life, it just hurts like a bitch. After, well, let´s get real, the most excrusiating hip pain I have ever endured, and slogging with focused, tedious, step by step progress through a trough of thick cake like mud for nine hours, I thought to myself, I do have the will to do this. I sure didn´t anticipate my body rejecting the experience as it has, but I am pleased to say that yesterday was a turning point. I called home, I think to hear a familiar voice and to be assured that this whole thing is a little bit crazy, and I always have the choice for how much of a pilgrim I would like to be. I think the physical experience and how my body adapts will be a huge part of my pilgrimmage. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, culturally and cognitively I am being challenged and exposed to newness that I have never known before.

Let´s just start by saying I am very happy that I have invested in gortex and that I´m not doing this whole pilgrim thing in a terry clothe robe. Today was the first day of the journey without snow, hail or rain. Amazing the difference it makes to be dry for the day. After horses in the mist, paths degraded and washed out that resembled stream beds more than trail, mud, mud, mud like you wouldn´t believe, we have still managed quite well. Pamplona ruptured the myopic calm of el Camino with its traffic hums and bustle, brick buildings and speeding vehicles. Today, after a wonderful evening of tapas and a single beer that soothed my soul, we walked out of town. As subtly intrusive as the busy city had been over night, it´s rush soon dissipated, slowly fading into the peace of the trail. Birds squable audibly, and green lines trace the valley as we slowly and methodically push up the climb ahead. We are about a mile out of Puente de la Reina, and around four hundred and forty something miles to Santiago. Having met the day this morning with fresh legs, much less pain, and a sense of hope. I feel the road to Santiago is really not too far away.

On the lighter side of el Camino, I have loads of time to think. The sunshine accelorates this process as there is less focus necessary to maintain solid footing. I was thinking today there are many similarities between a worn pilgrim and a person who is intoxicated. For instance, getting drunk on pilgrim magic leads to an unsteady gait and a lack of balance, a feeling of euphoria, the ability to giggle uncontrollably over seemingly small occurances that aren´t that funny, slurred speech and occassional profanity, intense hunger, and a desire to drink beer. Oh, as the welts and swelling dissipate and the path continues to wind away, I wonder what other elaborate and profound thoughts I will conjur. More on hostel life, naked German men, and furry bellies to come. I am off to meet friends for a dinner of unidentified delicacies.