Remembering Sud-Coreanas on the Camino

                                          Amsterdam, 22 nov. 2011.

Though my house might not held the endless Vistas of the Spanish Mesetas, the high Sierras I had to cross with my painfull feet and heavy backpack on my back, straps painfully biting into my shoulder blades, none of the rustic looking half devoid Aldeas where local farmers survived by a meagre archiculture excistence and a handfull of Euros coming from Pelegrino sweaty hands...still, it feels good to be back home, give my worn out body rest and relaxation, my feet the necessary rest, my mind the entertainment it was starving for...

So I did this beauty today thinking about all these Sud-Coreanas I met on the Camino these last four weeks, who were so keen on getting their portrait done once they noticed me working on my sketchbook in front of the Albergue's fire, drawing the old churches I saw during the day, other Peregrinos I met on the ancient walking paths and more of the same stuff.

Back home from the Camino.

                                                Amsterdam, 21 Nov. 2011.

The smell of Mary-Jane in its purest form penetrates my Gringo nostrils when I walk out of the Amsterdam railway station - nothing new here I guess, happens every time when I return from one of my trips - the Amsterdam main tourist attraction to be found all along the long strech of walking home, coffee shops on the city's Haarlemmerdijk doing a brisk business while I brave the cold and misty streets of my beloved Mokum, my last couple of km. before the comfort of my personal home engulving me, a last bottle of La Mancha red Spanish wine inside my heavy pack awaiting consumption...

Trying to concentrate on whatever amusement my telly will entertain me with while working on that La Mancha Spanish wine, trying to forget that superfatso in the chair next to me on the bus whose Gordiflon body occupied three quarters of my Asiento as well...luckily the driver alowed me to change seats and end up with a Brasilian beauty as overnight bus neighbor...trying to forget the Mosambique blacks chatting all night in Portuguese and hardly willing to stop despite several complaints of fellow travellers...openly discussing the fun of keeping these darned whitties awake untill the I told them Callete or slash it out with me at the next gasoline stop...

Trying to forget the sweaty bodies of a full long drive bus, farts and bodily smells playing havoc on my poor orafatory capablilties....

Yeah, I guess that one Euro Botella de La Mancha red wine was a great investment!!! 

Back home from the Camino.

Along El Camino, 19 days of walking

Villafranca, 10 nov. 2011.

The fire in the Albergue Municipal is hot and comfortable, my cheap wine from the local Supermercado is dark red and tasty to the palate, making me feel sleepy and pensive at the same time...

Small surprise after the longest day of walking yet, nearly nine long hours along highways and small ancient footpaths where the abundance of small and bigger stones was painfull my poor feet - nothing to complain about after two and a half weeks of daily walking these roll stone Caminos, slippery to the touch of my army issued boots, downhill makes me feel like I am risking my bones and even very life, but as I have said before Defiantly putting one army boot clad foot in front of the other, thinking about all these Peregrinos I have left behind, sitting on the toilet in the morning nursing the countless huge blisters covering heels and soles, toes and upper part of their feet, plasters and bandages drained in blood and yellowish pus...

I think about the seemingly endless vistas of the high Mesetas, the mentally fatiguiing feeling of small stone covered sandy paths, desolation and without a purpose...the enormous toll this takes on my mind and bodily wellfare...

The dormitories where fellow Peregrinos snore loudly, fart without shame and noisily turn on their other side in the bunk bed above mine...

The erotic images of ladyfriends and the sexual encounters I had with them filling my conscious mind while I drag on - defiantly moving forward - seemingly purposeless - my male equipment that normally is so quick to react to these sexually stimulating mental images, can´t be bothered anymore...I guess real fatigue is setting in here!!!

A little bit over two hundert kilometers remain...one more week of defiantly putting one heavy and painfull army issued boot in front of the other equally tired and painfull Gringo foot...

Along El Camino, 17 days of walking

Rabanal El camino, 08 nov. 2011.

I watched with interest how this young and probably illegal immigrant Corean lady is taking care of her landlady, her Jefe, a ninety year old grumpy lady who needed help being transported to the dining table from her habitual place in front of the fire, how Miss Li cuts her meat for her, aiding her spoon to her ancient mouth and putting up with all her whining while patiently preparing her daily medication, sweet talking her Abuelita and meanwhile giving me seductive smiles and her dark eyes shooting hot silent promises at me...

I was the only customer in their little Alberque just before entering Astorga, last night and had been invited to the old lady´s private quarters where she was brooding in front of the fire, warming her brittle bones, listening to her younger niece talking to her with unnecessarily little real inetrest, the niece who upon leaving whispered to me that Esa Chica Coreana that looked after her older relative with so much Carinyo should really have a man in her life...

Needless to say that Miss li came to visit me last night...alas, in my dreams anyway...

Last night´s more interesting social contacts of the more intimiate nature - alas, in my dream world, remember - followed me today while I, as always these past two full weeks, defiantly walked on, painfull feet and cramped up legs notwithstanding  

Along the Camino, 15 days of walking.

Arcabueja, 7 km. from Leon, 06 nov. 2011.

the vineyards and high tabe lands, Las Mesitas En Espanyol and many fellow Peregrinos behind me, getting into the tird week of my hiking trip, feet still hurting every days as well as my shoulders from the straps of my heavy Mochila...but defiantly I walk on, maybe dragging my dead tired body along El Camino would really be a much better way to describe it...

Still...getting up at 06.30 h. early morning, quickly packing my gear together while everybody in the communal dormitories of Los Albergues Municipales is still snoring away, leaving in the still dark Madrugada, my painfull feet clad in my black army issued leather boots, I enjoy the dead calm of the Spanish country site, listening to the world wake up, birds calling out to a brand new day, slowly getting into my rhythm and really having the time of my life...

Reading local newspapers while having my Cafe Con Leche in some obscure bars in one of these small Aldeas where most of the houses are either in serious situations of decay or carry a sign proclaiming De Venta - the crisis is hitting Spain hard I guess - but I drag on and feel really SUPER, painfull freet and semi-paralysed shoulderblaes notwithstanding...

300 plus km. left to Santiago and 12 or 13 days of walking before my Eurolines bus departure...

Along El Camino, 11 days of walking.

New types of technology to cope with in small refugios, never got to use a labtop with no mouse...still trying to get my blogging stories across and on the sacred internet...

Like the little plump swiss lady and her infatuation with me, pushing heR OVERLOADED BICYCLE ALONG WHILE ASKING ME : SIE HABEN TOCH NICHTS DAGEGEN WENN ICH EIN BISSCHEN MIT IHNEN MIT LAUFEN, ICHE HBE  DA IRGENWIE EINE BESITIMMTE BEGEISTERUNG MIT INHEN..LITTLE AND PLUMP, ONLY TWENTY YEARS OF AGE AND REALLY NOT MY TYPE, BUT WHATEVER...

maybe the fat slob in my refugio last night whose pants probably had not been changed for week, I actually suspected he even slleps in them as well as in his wine freckled, sweaty shirt, his toothless mouth sagging to the left because of jur of wine he would pore into his mouth while keeping an eartheware jug of vino high in the air upside down, one litro de vino tinto he could knock down that way he claimed and probably frequently did cada dia.

My feet still hurting but my head getting emptier by the day, running into other peregrino every day and really needing some serious internet access...but I drag on...