I write this late at night in a hostel in Santiago de Compostela. The pilgrims' final rest after walking from various points in Europe. I'm sleeping in a dorm, trying to. There is one big guy having a good night's sleep. Snoring like thunder as everybody else tosses and turns.

Heart

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Waking up in the tent this morning I got the impression it was wet out from drumming rain on the fly. It was dull and grey enough when I unzipped. Looking east the low sun glowed red beneath a thick mantle, but it was clear off to the north the way I was going and the rain I thought I heard was a light breeze blowing falling leaves and drops of condensation from trees overhead.

The decision to push on to Santiago instead of turn east towards ferry-port Santander was made at the weekend. I couldn't come so close and not.

My campsite fifty metres in a unused track into a small corner of deciduous woodland. The comfort of sleeping on leaf mulch and the first night in a few to be exactly level, such has been the hilly nature of the terrain. The slight slope at all in the site, something which is barely noticeable when pitching, soon is when you try to sleep. You roll against the side of the tent or slip down into the tent.

The road today like yesterday, N-525 is a rollercoaster starting with six-seven kilometres downhill. My brakes pads are fast wearing down. I don't like going faster than about forty kilometres per hour. The momentum builds and builds. I don't think its safe with a load. I won't go into what could happen if there's an unexpected bad wobble. The front hits a bad bump or deviation in the road surface. Then the downhill is followed by a ten kay snake uphill. All along the old road is still there winding off to the right and curving back where it is broken by the new and continues to curve out on the left. So narrow and bendy in comparison, its hard to see how it would take the speed and weight of modern traffic.

The town of Lanin was forty kilometres from where I started and I was anxiously counting down the kilometres there, looking forward to a second breakfast-lunch as I forgot to buy muesli and therefore only had a pot of yogurt for breakfast. When I get there, preceded by a long steep descent followed by a climb into the town centre, it was looking like the rain would soon be on as dark cloud descended and it became cold and wintery. A sharp breeze cut through me. I had a look around for a place to stop. Its hard judging a café whether food will be good and be value for money.

I settle for a bar which looks extremely neat inside. Bright trendily decorated. I enter and take a seat. The only other customers are a man reading the paper over a coffee at a window seat and two young women at the window seat on the opposite side of the door chatting. I order a sandwich mixta and a café con leche. The TV has a lunchtime dating program on, which was a distraction from writing my diary. Young women and men dressed to kill meeting for the first time in a TV studio and laughing as the date doesn't meet expectation. I ate the small cake with the coffee. I thought maybe this is a good sign. That the sandwich when it comes will be a wholesome meal. Instead when the bartender brings it out, it is two slices of toast with cheap ham and cheese between. Nothing else and with a second coffee the bill comes to five ten.

The sun was out when I left but there was still that chill wind. I put on my rain jacket gloves and warm hat underneath the helmet.

Once back on N-525, the road goes down down and I quickly eat up kilometres. Then there's one last incredible steep drop to a bridge, coming off the other side a big sign shows entering the province of A Coruña. From here on is a monster uphill seemingly all the way to Santiago.

I look a ridiculously long time for the tourist office. When I eventually find it, the woman behind the counter looked at me when I ask is there a backpackers and scolds we have hostels for pilgrims. Are you a pilgrim? No. I'm cycling. It was as if she was saying: how dare you. You. How dare you think you can cycle here and get somewhere cheap to sleep.

Although she gave me a list of hospedajes and pensions, I felt I was wasting my time and done what I should've done first, find a café with wifi and look online. I did and there are quite a few.

I'll be here a few days to fill in this journal.