It was an early start for me getting the Legobus (yes, correct name) into Brax from where I got the SNFC into Toulouse. It’s interesting to return to places with which you have some experience. Familiarity is very comforting. So it was this morning getting the Metro from the Terminus to Capitole where I had breakfast while waiting for the Orange store to open at 9.30am, only to be told they did not have what I wanted. However, I was directed to a nearby store where I sorted out my Internet service in a short time. I then waited until after eleven thirty for a return train. Of course there were no taxis or buses from Brax at that time of the day I got there and so I did what I’ve been doing for more than two months and walked the 2km back to Leguevin.

Vincent was sitting outside the albgue waiting, but surprised to see me back so soon. I later asked him what time he got up. 11.00am. This is unheard of in albergues where pilgrims start shuffling around in the early morning dark and those who run these places have everyone out by eight. The only exceptions are the sick. The woman who ran this albergue didn’t live on the premises and hadn’t arrived by the time we left. We didn’t start walking until just aft 2.00pm by which time it had started to rain. The rain didn’t last, although it was overcast for the rest of the day.

I’ve introduced Vincent to benefits of eating in bus shelters. They’re great places to
take refuge from the elements. They’re free, readily available and seldom used by commuters. On day one together he was introduced to the park bench. These are preferred to bus shelters, but joyously accepting whatever is available is an important part of the journey.

Today’s walk was more in keeping with my previously experiences on the Camino when the path was well marked with the ubiquitous yellow arrow, a lot of which were painted on the road.

Walk your own Camino. How many times have I heard this said. Today I got some
gentle ribbing from Vincent for not walking as fast as him. I plod along at MY pace, not anyone else’s. It gave me an opportunity to speak about ego and how it brings people to grief. Some very painful lessons are learned. There was no better example to point to than the Spanish man back at the albergue whose feet were absolutely trashed. He had the remains of giant blisters, a big toe from which he had lost a nail, blood blistered toe, and swelling around both ankles as a result of infections. He was waiting for his feet to heal before moving on. Earlier he walked with a much younger man who was completing 30 plus kilometres each day. The Spanish man tried to keep up with him and his feet were the result. On this path the
heart is the ruler, not the head. Some expressed term paper writer anger toward the attackers, vitriol for the culture that seemed to spawn them, and jingoistic patriotism in support of good old fashioned american retribution