To Villalcazar De Sirga

As my alarm went off at 5.30 am, I could only empathise with Michael, who for the past 5 months has been woken at this time for our daily catch up chat. Words cant express the gratitude I have for his dedicated friendship, advice and support the whole time- especially at such a disgusting hour of the day.

I gently rolled the kids off thier matresses and pulled each into a semblance of wakefulness. As I stacked the mattresses along the hallway, the first of the 'late risers' came in for breakfast. The more serious ones has already left predawn.. 

It did come as some sense of smugness to be walking out of Fromista as the sun was still rising. Its orange rays set a beautiful glow along the track.

It was pretty cold, so the kids opted to stay in their onsies.

The first four km was along the highway, souless and hard on the feet as the path was concrete and unforgiving.

The wheatfields still roll out beyond the horizon, but vineyards are once agsin popping up.

We made pretty good time , making 15 km before 2. We are booked in to a traditional  Pilgrims Albergue, with squeeky beds( but it has blankets!!) a place to put money to make the showers go and a donation box to pay for your stay. Its clean... And really thats all that counts. It is a shame we havent had wifi much, and its been frustrating that my phone has refused to pick up the spanish network - plus I cant get onto my carrier in the UK to sort it out.. Ahh well.

An abandoned monestry along the way.

Bumps and bruises to Fromista

Such a late start today, but I am learning to just go with the flow, as stressing about it just makes for a horrible morning; and does nothing to move or motivate the kids.

The pathways are wide but treeless, with very little repite from the sun even in the tiny villages we walk through. I cant but help feeling like we are in a zombie movie, not a soul anywhere, shutters flapping in the breeze, a stray dog or cat scurrying away, and not a sound apart from our poles and shoes.

Boadilla was a pretty little village - again with the post apocalypse feeling to it. At least there was a bar open, souless, but open with cold drinks. 

The noteable thing about the place was the awesome way to get water at the fountain in Boadilla. 

Morgan was very excited as we approached the vilkage as he knew what the fountain was like.

You need to spin the wheel to draw the water. So sweet and cold!

Of the bumps and bruises.. Both kids tripped or skidded and fell quite hard along the road today - enough to draw blood and rip pants. A bit of TLC snd bandaids fixed the worst of it and some needlework tonight should pstch things. Our goal of getting further along today was dashed as these incidents both sucked time and inspiration. Ahh well.. Another day.

The last 6 km of our walk was aling the canals. Again no shade, and the desperatly teasing temptation of leaping into the cool waters kept us going.

We arrived pretty late into Fromista and though had intended on going a further three km to the next village, decided to pull up for the day.

This is us going across the lock if the canal.

We visited the two noteable churches here. I couldnt believe how cold it was inside- like a fridge. 

The outside belies what traasures it stores within. Incredible. 

Inglesia de San Martin hosts some invaluable medieval alter paintings. They've been taken down from inside the church and in a more secure place in aside chapel.   One of the perks of being a pilgrim is that you either get in free or at a very small price.

The other noteable church is closeby- gorgeous medieval carvings inside Inglesia de San Martin Church.

We attempted to find an Albergue, but every one we went to was full. Though the next one was foir km away, we were all tired and couldnt face another hour - esp as it was along the highway.

Normally, bars are happy to call a taxi for you - or there is someone who says they are a taxi and will drive you somewhere for cash. However, we walked into four bars to ask, and I had coins to pay for the call - but was told to go and find it myself ( taxi rank was empty) or callone  myself using public phonebox in the square. This was a pretty rude shock as we had only ever found helpfulness toward pilgrims. 

The lesson I think from this is that we don't get the chance to get a taxi when the going gets tough.. We have to suck it up.

We were blessed to run across a spanish lass we'd met a week ago who took us to the church Albergue and spoke to the hostellier. We'd been there and been told it was full- but I have such poor understanding of Spanish its hard sometimes to get the message. She sorted out that we could sleep on the dining room floor on two mattresses as long as we were up by 6 am.. Eekk. Ok for me but its going to kill the kids.....

Honouring passion and love

I look forward to the next few days of flat country. It would seem that the fog I have had surrounding every thought has slowly begun to lift. Storylines are presenting themselves, words which have jumbled and crowded thrmselves inside me are being released. I am feeling balanced and welcoming myself back to me.

I understand that the next few months as I move more into the next phase of our lives are critical in keeping that integrity and freedom of self, of not accepting things which are not outstanding or excellent and not forgetting the sacredness of this quiet, alone time.

I do feel Adrian beside us many times. I see so many stones in perfect heart shapes - in places I randomly stop, place my backpack or place a hand. I realise there is no' random.' These are truely messages of love to me, of farewell from an incredible man who did his utmost in a dreadful situation; and that his love will continue , as mine does, beyond the grave. But in this , the realisation  that it is time for me to let him go and grasp yhe new life ahead of me. To honour him is to continue to live a full life, bursting in love, passion and to live in grace- the way we always lived - never to leave things unsaid, undone.