(Yesterday in) Zamora.
It was a windy walk from El Cubo de la Tierra del Vino, and while I thanked my lucky clouds for not raining down with glee, the wind blew with all its Sunday strength to enthusiastically usher in the new week with 80KM howls and bursts.
I was doing the walking, but the wind was steering the direction all day. My feet were tapping each other to the rhythm of its currents, while my legs fought for stability to walk forward in the right direction.
Something must test a pilgrim. If it's not the weight of the bag, or the distance of the journey, or the temperament of the weather, then it'll probably be other pilgrims - the most likely being that very same pilgrim. It is easier to identify the external forces standing in the way of our destination, but the internal blocks we don't see are more insidious; ebbing our accelerometer each time we try to pick up our speed.
I got to Zamora with muddy shoes and musical feet eager to dance their ways to the shower and into bed. The Albergue was well managed with Giuseppe the caretaker full of jokes, and his partner José football focused and reserved.
That night, I almost dreamt that the wind blew me to Santiago and my pilgrimage was complete. But ironically, my legs insisted on some other fantasy - they hadn't come all this way to let the wind steal their glory.
So I dreamt of sleep instead.
Pictures: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1pGb5NQnWqPJPbpWvL_prYVrehKfYVT_L
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