Camino Diary: Walking The Camino Francais Day Nine

DAY NINE: 17 October 2012 from Los Arcos to VianaImageI leave Los Arcos as the pink streaked dawn sky fades and a jumble of jet trails gently expand and dissipate. I walk in silence but there are illusive shadows up ahead and wind tossed babble from behind. Coming out on to the tarred road and distracted by a garrulous surge from the hairdresser of Saint Tropez I am caught off guard. In a second I have turned my ankle and a savage wrench ricochets up my leg through my hip & reverberates into my back. Arghh. Thank goodness for arnica to stop the contusion. I keep walking popping pills every 15 mins. Propped up against a stone cairn, still warm from touch, the flutter of a book Tales From Nowhere, from Now-Here begs to be picked up. I am not going to make Logrono tonight. I catch up with a rag tag bunch of pilgrims trekking the carritiere into Viana; we have lost the yellow arrows of the Camino and we trudge the white line of the road markings weathering the backwash of an occasional car. Viana is old, quaint, graceful; a line of chillies, like knickers hanging out to dry, is a little daring, a little unexpected. Afternoon disintegrates into raging pain and I escape the shock through teary sleep. Dinner is brightened much by Kelsi Lyon, who no surprise is the previous owner of the book I found, Marcus and Jean Michel. I love the rhythm of breaking bread with my fellow pilgrims of an evening and the numbing powers of raunchy Spanish wine

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