For the first time in fifty days I’m not sure what to tell you. My thoughts are turning to life after the Camino.
I’m ready to stop, to do something different.
But right now it’s difficult to imagine a routine other than that which has consumed most of the last fifty days:
Wash self and clothes
But to put all this in perspective, I’m writing today’s post in a noisy bar over a bowl of lentil soup. At centre stage … oops … At the bar is a couple locked in a passionate, oh-will -you-get-a –room, embrace that has continued for the past twenty-five minutes.
Rather than reflect on life after the Camino, much less the meaning of the Camino, John and I have been fully engaged in determining their nationality. John thinks he’s Italian, she’s Nordic. He’s probably right. As for me, I think it’s a “Camino” relationship.
Ribadso is a small hamlet about 40 kilometres from Santiago.
Tomorrow we walk to O Pedrouzo, and on Saturday afternoon we’ll reach Santiago.