Alarm rings at 5 a.m. Wash face, stuff backpack, stumble out the door of my hostel by 5:30 am and try to find where I can have café con leche.

Walk three miles in the morning chill— sometimes in the 40s, sometimes in the 50s. Stop for breakfast, usually a Spanish omelet or pan con tomate. 

Walk five more miles and stop for some lunch with my wine. Walk six to ten more miles; temperatures now in the 70s, 80s or even 90s. Try to stop by noon to avoid a heat stroke.

Walk through forests, over mountains, along rivers, in lush valleys, through sun-scorch desolate plains, across fields of grain. Walk through towns with populations of less than a hundred inhabitants and major cities housing some of the most opulent cathedrals in Europe.

Body hurts, lower back aches, calves throb, feet sore.

Stop, shower, write, some tapas with my wine, sleep, drinks with other pilgrims. Wake up the next day and repeat cycle.
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Since June 24th, I have been walking