Finally at a real computer!!!.

Day 7 & 8 Estella – Los Arcos – Logrono…day 7 nearly killed me!! Everyone is generally up at 5 to start walking before 6am…I know the outrage!! But it’s been 30 degrees by 10 am and the land scape has changed to no shade as we walk through wheat fields and vineyards. There are yummy wild cherries growing everywhere but the rjoca grapes are yet to ripen. Its been 8 days walking now and I have felt every pain imaginable in my legs. Today I can’t feel my legs anymore but feet are screaming. The worst is walking along roads or hard pavement and going down hill is murder on the knees as the backpack suddenly weighs an extra 10 kegs for some reason!! There is a festival in Logrono this evening so wandering brass bands and groups of people dressed up in fancy dress are dancing and getting drunk around town. I’d be with them if I could stand up!!! Most people are in bed by 10 @ the very latest because the days are ling and difficult. Everyone is either nursing sore legs or backs and there are some horrific blisters going around too. Staying in the albergues are quite good eventhough you’d imagine it to be a smelly but as soon as everyone arrives it’s shower time, was the days clothes for the next day and then siesta and food. There is generally meticulous footcare going on and all boots are left in rooms far away from the dorms!! Tomorrow is a 30 km walk but I’ll see how far my feet will take me. So gossip on the jacket and veneer from last post….the jacket apparently left the Camino early and booked flights home as he didn’t tell his wife that he was spending 4 weeks with a leggy American…the guiltgot too much it seems. But don’t despair Veneer is very happy now walking with a Brazilian man…I have spies a day ahead of me keeping me informed!! I’ll post again soon with some stories of the people I’ve met…WiFi is sometimes hard to come by or I’m either walking or asleep…but I hope you’re liking the photos etc s far…love youse all xxx

Hi all sorry it’s been a while. Had a slight change of plan which I’m discovering is a regular occurrence on the Camino. I got a pretty severe dose of tonsilitis in Biarritz which rendered me near unconscious and unable to eat or drink for about 4 days. When I did start my walk two days after my plan I quickly realised that being sick was not an option if I was going to be able to complete this walk. I was so happy to get going but 10 km in and half way up a Pyrenese mountain side I soon became acutely aware of the fragility of the human body. At a tiny cafe on the mountain side were two fellow walkers who happened to be doctors from the US. They kindly looked at me and suggested that they check me out. I truly think they thought I was going to die on account that I get very red in the face even with no exercise. Anyway after checking my heart rate, blow pressure, temp etc the consensus was that I was suffering exhaustion even though I was in good condition. Then one doc checked my tonsils at which point I became a medical marvel. He calls to his wife and says “honey you have to come see this!” She rushes over has a squizz and says to me “my god we haven’t seen an infection this bad ever…and we work with homeless people!” As you can imagine I felt like a champion; a red faced infected tonsil freak!!! They went onto to inform me that under no circumstances was I to climb the rest of the mountain if I didn’t want to end up in hospital and not finish the Camino so after Crying and outrage that I would not walk the whole Camino and I was called a taxi which came and brought me to the next destination about 15km away. Anyway what’s a missed 15km out of 800km. The albergue here in Roncesvalles was clean and comfortable with about 72 people on a floor in cubicles of 4. This is where I started to meet fellow pilgrims. For identity purposes I won’t mention names but my first couple I have ‘the jacket and veneer’. The jacket so called because he pulls out a linen dinner jacket from his backpack and veneer because she has Hollywood teeth…white and impossibly perfect! They met on the Camino last year but veneer hurt her foot and cut short her trip. They kept in contact and decided to do the whole thing together this year. I felt like I was busting in on a romantic rendezvous, but how romantic could it be with 70odd other peeps in a room. Turns out my preconceived idea that these two were leg lost lovers was wrong. She is married with 2 children in the US and he’s married with 2 kids in UK!! A platonic love of the Camino it seems. However this doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface….he is also a catholic priest!!! I know what you’re all thinking and yes I did yell “get the fuck out of here!!!” He was a married Anglican priest… left that church and converted to Catholicism…thus a married catholic priest!!! I was imagining what all Irish mammy’s would be thinking..”ahh sweet Jesus did you ever ” I will keep you updated on these two because I’m convinced there is something going on in the way of smeared scary infatuation type stuff…all very scandalous I hope!! Have met up with an Aussie who has the exact same backpack as me and therefore we bonded…its been great having a walking companion as the days a very long, hot and far more difficult than the guide books suggest. My walking poles (pacer poles) are a godsend as they act as propellers up a mountain and knees coming down. You really become aware of you’re weaknesses very quickly with an 8-9kg backpack on! Boots are great but like anything after 28 km walk my feet are sore at the end of the day. No blisters either….Vaseline on your feet before socks and shoes is the way forward (thanks for the advice Mam and dad). I’ve rearranged my pack about 700 times and I have a system now that makes me happy…for those of you who know my OCD with packing…well you can imagine!!! I have to say that you cannot have any style when walking! My utter outrage at the choice f clothes I was deciding on before leaving has gone out the window now. PRACTICALITY is key. You sweat your arse off during the day (about 2″ off my hips in 3 days) that you want your clothes to wash and dry by bed time as they are your outfit the next day. Keeping your pack light is key so one outfit to walk and one to change into + something warm and rain gear is about all you want to carry. This brings me to the fact that I also jettisoned anything Nonessential when I was sick..laptop etc included. They went ahead with my luggage to the end so thus I’m going to be slow in blogging! I’m glad I didn’t take it now as extra weight is painful!! I’m currently in Pamplona enjoying every minute. I’m also feeling much better but I’m as stiff and sore as everyone else!! This is extremely difficult but I’m loving every minute of it…and I’ll fill you in on a few of the fellow pilgrims next time…including the jacket and veneer if I see them in the next few days. Love you all Cathy xxx

Hello from Biarritz on the south west coast of France! All I can say is stunning! You can imagine that Agatha Christie would have written some Poirot’s here, as the architecture lends itself to the Art Deco period. This is the Basque region and on a clear day you see down the coast line to the Pyrenese in the distance. The weather is is about 23 degrees at the moment but I am led to believe that at this time of year it can vary a lot. I must have brought the Brisbane weather with me!!

At first I wasn’t super impressed by the beach, but I believe us Australians to be spoiled in that regard, and me particularly in the last 5 months as I have been living at the beach. But the one thing the French have got right is the multitude of beach cafes on the promenade of the Le Grande Plage. All you have to do is pick a seat and you will soon be waited on. Furthermore, you will not be made to feel like you have to move on when you have finished your drink. Even better, is that next to no=one is face down on their smartphones. In fact I feel a little idiotic being on my laptop, but the wifi in the hotel wasn’t working so I thought I’d write beachside.

My first night in Biarritz was quite unexpected. Having taken a turn around the promenade and had a requisite glass of champagne, I found a pub with a view of the ocean and wandered on in. Sam Stosur was playing in the French Open, there was a pool table, and 20 beers on tap with countless more by the bottle! Given I had frequented my European beer café in some time, I found a barman who spoke great English and proceeded to serve me his recommendations. Prices were anything between 5 and 15 Euro for a pint, but considering I had just hopped of a plane I thought I wouldn’t jump straight into 12% beer. Hearing that I spoke English, there was a trio – two brothers and the son of one of them – of men from County Armagh, who had just come back from doing the first week of the Camino. They gave me some info on the walk and said that it was better that I was doing the walk on my own, as I was bound to meet more people. By all accounts everyone is lovely on the walk but there are some seriously crazy people too…..ya never know I may just be one of them.

Anyway, there was a couple from Holland sitting next to me at the bar who were in Biarritz for the surfing. I was surprised by this because I was yet to see a wave…anywhere….They were lovely and as I was getting a little more chatty, I decided that I should have a game of pool against the locals…French beer was giving me some courage I believe!  Of course the locals were more than happy to let the Aussie tourist pay for a game of pool, and even though my French is non-existent I’ve been around fellas at pool table to know when they think ‘there is no way this chick can play’, and with a few beers under my belt I wasn’t sure either. With the help of one of the locals who spoke perfect English thanks to his time in London being a chef, the rules were discussed and it was agreed that I should break. All I could think was “Please Jesus, let me not look like an idiot and have their thoughts confirmed.’ I chalk up the cue, I try to look professional and I break…..Well the baby Jesus was smiling down on me because I potted two reds off the break and suddenly the entire bar hanging shit on my opponent – again you can tell even if it is in French and I thought my Dad would be so proud of me right now, as he did spend years honing my skills. I went on to win several games  and did not have to pay for a drink after that, thanks to the French chef who was also the local drug dealer I think was buying Magnums of Duvel Beer…..I made the wise move of drinking a tonne of water too, so I didn’t end up so bad the next day…or so I thought.

There is nothing better than waking up remembering that you made a name for yourself on the pool table, and waking up without a hangover. So off I trot to walk the coast line of Biarritz and take a few snaps, when the dreaded feeling of the flu overwhelms you. By late afternoon I was in bed with the tell-tale signs and slept through the night. I woke feeling ok and took myself out again, but by lunch it was all over. I am currently outside by the beach getting some sun and loaded up on some drugs from the chemist – all of which were prescribed via charades as there was not a common word between us.

This is making me a little worried as I am due to start my walk in 2 days time, and have to travel tomorrow to my starting point. Hopefully whatever the word following paracetamol on the packet isn’t something that the French Chef would like to be cooking up!

There are waves now and people are surfing…but I must be off and dose up on cold and flu medicine and maybe a fromage baguette.

There is nothing better than a smooth Jazz band to listen to while enjoying a pint of ice cold beer after an 8 hour flight. This three piece is rocking the sounds and I only hope for a jazz flute solo to really make my day. For those not in the know I am on my way to Europe for a little sojourn after finishing my Doctorate….that’s right kids, it’s finally over and you may now address me as Dr Moloney!! The main part of my trip is a stroll across Spain…an 800km stroll to be precise. If you think I am crazy then you wouldn’t be far off the mark, but it’s a pilgrim walk called the Camino de Santiago, of which I will fill you in through this blog along the way.

My initial reason for this blog was to keep my Family informed of my travels, and since my Mam and Dad have done parts of this walk already and kept a fantastic walking diary, I wanted to do the same. I hope to make it more about my observations on the trip rather than a how to guide, but I will for those who have already asked, give as much information on the gear I use for the walk and the pros and cons of doing this on my own, carrying a backpack with only two sets of clothes, and staying in the traditional hostels or alburges (al-bur-gays) along the way….My bestie Katie told me before I left not to talk to strangers, but I fear I may have to if only for the purpose of giving my (non)judgmental opinions for your enjoyment. Already I could fill a moleskin hardbound book on the people who travel from Brisbane International Airport….but rather than sound like a twat (like I just did with the moleskin comment) I’ll leave you with this observation of travelling attire for those on long haul flights.

My brother John dropped me at the airport for my flight. It was relatively early – 7.30 ish in the a.m. On approach to the drop off areas we both spy a family doing the kiss and drop (and roll)….because god forbid if you stay any longer than the 30 secs the airport gestapo allow to stay at the departures. Anyway, what drew our attention was a neon pair of trackies (track suit pants for those unfamiliar). John casually passed the comment that surely she was not travelling, but rolled of bed in her Pjs to say good bye to family member. I countered with “not a chance…that’s her travelling outfit”…”Nah” says John as the indignation was slowly rising, “you can’t travel like that…unless you’re a bogan off to Bali for the 500th time”….”Damn straight” I say….”Off to replenish their collection of Bintang singlets and hair braids”. That was the extent of our sartorial exchange as I said my goodbyes, and went to queue like a cow ready for milking at check-in and then customs. No-one is happy, ever, at this point of travel. You see a line that wraps around the entire departures terminal and think, if I’m stuck in the middle of a middle row in a packed plane with no escape, I’m going to shoot myself. You receive your boarding pass, with the sly smirk off the ground crew that says ‘no matter how polite you are, or that your title is Dr (yes I booked it that way) you will never get upgraded’…you head to customs where you see how people pack…little plastic bags full of liquids, face creams, drinks etc, and think ‘are these people travelling to space where there are no shops?’…you smile at the customs official who has been trained in the art of ‘don’t f*%k with me’ and head to your boarding gate. You get on your flight, settle yourself in, unload your book which you will never be read because there is on demand television, and think ‘Garcon, bring the drinks cart’…until you look across your row and see neon pink trackies blinding you and your now fragile patience thinks…”do you get Bintag singlets and braids in Hong Kong…fux sake, glad John isn’t on the flight, he’d be outraged’.

My Jazz band has taken a break, but I have hours to kill so I’m still holding out for a flute solo…or maybe if I’m lucky a saxophone….and I’ll leave you with this thought from one of the greatest movies of all time…Top Gun…..

Stinger: And if you screw up just this much, you’ll be flying a cargo plane full of rubber dog shit out of Hong Kong!