My Camino De Santiago in Verse

My road to Santiago on the way French verse where looks do not look for gold or silver, copper, tin shines where if anything, tin and copper of the Poetaster, in verses poor, though, will and faith on him to make the verb thin chip that is the last straw for the language by which, come to lie in cold tomb, the underground, the beat, melody, taking his pen by executioner. The prose account of the way, the fly pen, and in describing the details with great tact jealous my steps and my destiny, because spending is taking notes as the boots of many details that I find in the hills and valleys, in its people and in their play. The path, if mason, a quagmire unbearable, impossible slope, or pride of the roadman, the forest, if it's timber, or respect survives, the man who dwells and lives on the edge of her beauty without misusing his head when his future writes. The place, its monuments, each with its value all: fruits of love, or singular events in the rock are the stories by which the past is loved and respected, from those in the present, are living to the beat the past has bequeathed.

More, give the paper the pen poem that I seek the way of Santiago, is so high that despite the issue that burns me to see the barren paper, clumsy yet I must be faithful pen the hand paddle with the memory that fills me here, with that one. Stage 1 of the limited horizon of Roncesvalles left, the day provided I was going through her bush with no other that addresses before I am, so ethereal, and frivolous, that under a sky of stars given to the ground in the footsteps of a snowfall early . My first step suggests that my feet do not call me with their pain, and claim, what my concern hint when heaven and earth together in Erro path, and here is what I sensed, a bump of a bunion that key as a machete their pain and me. Before you go higher and the pain to get some ointment claiming sorry, streamlining the heats of the feet, and in a moment, change of socks I brought for this purpose, and the bunion will relax when the path down between singing streams.

Zubiri valley draws the face of domesticated and here I take a bite calming hunger creep, and without leaving any trace that shows I've been through, let the people even lying that goes stretching, and pursue, walking, the goal that today I I checked. False valleys make me reach Larrasoaña long hidden behind the brane takes care to hide it, and after a short and bitter pains return, I am full of flowers with raised walks, to be buried gas, and my sorrow. First milestone in my path and purpose of this long period, your shelter, relax and cover the pain of the pilgrim, who slowly and wearily, runs a long narrow streets and admire the valley, waving a few people quietly until siesta the decline scratched. Stage 2 After a night to sleep but unable to sleep, I get ready to go lightly and effort, and down the valley plunges my laziness, the desire, to carry out my plan to reach Zizur Minor, before the coming of heat to make me his outrage. Arre and transfer bridge as the sun, raised, with its rays reached the people who left the step, pedestrians, very scarce, being very early hours and walk as lazy people today, being a public holiday, the mattress, has become a friend, who will be unfaithful morning.

Villa ancient emblazoned on the right of the river settles with gentlemen, today is the beautiful Burlada, Pamplona, ​​a neighborhood that enjoy its beauty that was and is strength of the brave Navarre, making the piggy chorizo, and wine, give it nobility. A bridge not win because it is he who conquers you, it is pleasure for the eyes that give away the morning, and gives way to the gallant hidden city in the stone, the walls, made ivy, which the bank rises and takes you through the door to enter, where the myth thrives. Walk along the old tracks and enjoy the living traditions corners of San Fermin, made laugh, for bulls and joys that amazed the world with closure, as a bullfighter, making the paper layer, risking their lives in, the waiter, the bull drover. Keep my feet with his walk and his own, are left behind in his walk, the city has to leave in order to achieve the goal that today I have marked that in a moment, I reached, after winning the cuestecilla I gives access to the villa where the day I rested.

On a small point, a church surrounded by beautiful houses raised, assures the believer holy cure their sorrows, to me, gives me the balcony, that my views are heart solace, and rest, move the fatigue at another time. Stage 3 Today, I hit an early start so that, with the freshness of the morning tries, wins the port of Forgiveness by step cool trotter, and see, at dawn, the horizon grow as out of my bundle, a small sandwich, food amuse me. After this little spree that is, eat a snack that the body has recovered to win me under Uterga, supporting the gibberish of a few big-headed horseflies shown despite my Gorraz, to give, with the banks, their first mansions . People with nothing to do, which you can go without you to stop if anything, to drink coffee, which comes into being, the road spur to encourage pilgrims to speed up their walk, to get to meet Obanos, which Today is destiny. The Infanzones Solar, which brought together to bring down criminals lords, under banners proud, today, remember your reasons, a plate, put in place, which commemorates the feat of doing justice in man, which wrongdoer name, and make from the outside bet.

Tragedy of two brothers who admires the human being, on which versa, and tour, the worldly cum boost their hands to heaven, after, repentance, that God makes monument, with the hard sacrifice of giving to the poor service , and faith, strength and encouragement. Walk under his balcony for its arcaded square, admiring the stone on the facade of its crest and here, I faith and reason, with the soul of love, of this town, dedicated to be a mirror and model for those who dream of heaven, and by their example, they have won. Stage 4 Another sleepless night, another day, to dream, another step I have to go and that is why I go, taking a liking to leave a place, which I loved, and my heart has given reasons to overcome grief, come to be, of the way the staff. The Moon in combing the river and sky, water admire the reflection in the beholder, as the pilgrim, exerts its passage in Puente la Reina and after passing, turn, and behold we admire to see, to whom he has saved, wet crossing the river, which stretches to the village.

Passenger in the landscape, I'm immersed in the listening to the rattle of giving his wool suit, and giving a strong turn to face fierce slope to start my sentences make me stop my breath, making my neck close to the air, provides forces. A hidden village becomes, remedy and cure thirst, which stifles and rushes my throat, drainage, in this tough hill, and the font that is available to who, suffering from thirst, hydrates my energies and return to the joys, seeing the plain appears. Without fatigue mood I twist the rules, my walk, goes, down the street from La Force, where man strives his desire, to be remembered, as he lies buried, after measuring, with its measure, its short and short life, never to be forgotten. Cirauqui on a hill with its whitewashed houses, is a magnet to the eyes of those who crossed the plains, being pushpin I try to win and lose and have to smell after a group of demon-possessed, walking all bent on change my mind . Some valleys and swallow me in them, let love, drowned in the bitterness of an offense, others pay, and in my walk, havoc, hanging wishes to give to whom, the bad taste bracelet, and after a short hill , my hunger comes ready to give death in Lorca.

Replacement of body and soul and harassed by the Sun, I planted by the entanglement with its green heat fatigue becalmed splicing, in a bright day that gives me the melody, the song of the partridge, the elusive quail, and the sweet lapwing. I leave behind, Villatuerta, without giving you a song, because your hard concrete, let my feet in the uncertain reason, to win the door, Estella, without pots, where they are born blisters on my feet, that are burned, saving the paved road, when I roll. Others feel beautiful, and a few, which is divine, to me, that's a wreck the old town of Estella, perhaps, when maid, with her beauty aroused the lute and the harp, but today, in my eyes is the time, offal, which declares in its ruin. She arrived a little tired and down, a little swollen by the asphalt mind, and with patience, sitting in front of the shelter closed, put aside the backpack while the foot is vented, and engage him in conversation that gives me time while the row accrues.

The balm of the shower, comes the body to cool and give me new strength to continue my struggle to do, in my mind piggy bank, with the view to see, and I got into the fight around the city, assess their quality, and enjoy what he recreates. Stage 5 Another night, ready fly between sleep and snoring, although very little I slept, and because I'm half awake, my eagerness partly jealous and at night, I road but I'm a little weary but dreamless sleep I I can not endure, and delivery to another destination. Irache, in the dark night, has cut the source that gives wine to the penitent, and a poster, make sure that the eight will cure the suffering pilgrim pass with a thirst for wine, are six, and I hope, and I am entangled in the path frustrated and somewhat peevish. A domino Mojardin him despite the inclement

continence suffering of not having tasted the wine, and praying to the divine, is a good soul to give me a coffee after a hard reset I rise, welcoming me where soon I must leave. After thanking the indoor sky to find a hospitable wing takes care of you with zeal, under the mountain on a flight and caught up in the vineyards, which lasts two faiths came to the plain, without hesitation, I will punish with the lantern from the arena. Under a shadow astounding in this section to be paid by the sun burned, Catherine (so named), dig out your pores bathed in sweat, and no sign of modesty, offers its meat roasting wind with regret that he has given the heat. Catalina is German and, whiter than milk, the Sun has been marinated suckling pig and cousin, greets me with reluctance and talk to her for a while enjoying the cooler shade that lies ahead, and while the skin repairs, resumed my walk contrite. Before we get to Los Arcos, I am lamb cooked in the cauldron that damn sun, and I pray to heaven makes, without clouds, rain and snow, most without regard to my request under the sun, the people came, without water, dehydrated, completely soaked, and salt, the blind eye.

A place with many pasts, their facades overlook the shields emblazoned times, and outmoded, in stone, lie embroidery adorning his mind where the hot blood of young people realize, of inheritance, and income in a brave bet. When in the evening, dark clouds of water fell in heaps, I have come to appreciate that I come to give the sky, my supplication, which has been captive, until he reached the last pilgrim destination, this festive day. Stage 6 As has been happening since I started the journey, sleeping, I have not been fine, and at night, not seeing, I leave these people fleeing not from their many kindnesses lead of other cities, fled from another sleepless night, which empty and useless sentinel solitude. If a wet sweat yesterday passable road was long, unbearable, today, with the muddy ground, the going gets heavier until they come to reach a place inhabited by asphalt cattle, which gets stuck along the mud, my regret. After this place and another behind a trough, is less muddy horse path where I am why I run and gallop, for the cool animated through the green meadow, through valleys, and between small pine, I have relaxed .

After a continuous fall and a consequent rise without efforts or suffering, nothing worth telling, come to my bones with that princely estates of Viana, and gallant, provides a good source that satisfies the most demanding and body thirsty healthy. I find it decked out celebrating the centenary of a fearless warrior here, fine in battle held their journey, and as I'm not fierce, and only want to rest, seeking shelter and inn, people go around with the air of a stranger. After filling well casing and clean my brown skin, I make my sand streets and become Agrippa, and my interest for monuments and facades guts steal my eyes, and carry me to know, what to hear a thousand stories past . Here, a church cracked, there sunk a facade with a lost history, here, another ruined church, a house emblazoned, or a stone, which denotes, that time is always defeat, pride and vanity, who is believed deity and now lies, ignored and broken. Stage 7 Do not leave me Musa, because now it is, singing the land is coming and I want to be inspired by having you by my side, I go where a thousand songs touting of these places the excellence of its wines, and have to be my verse to honor their finest wineries.

Rhymes with cunt, Logroño, but here, I have to avoid being uncouth and be vulgar, because the reader is shoot, or bow look lady, you must see places in my writings well described, without having to stoop, to use word which alarmed the ears of the blessed. I logged out of Viana with fire in the heart, without regard to reason, and abandoning my dream bed calls me to go day dreaming what I'm finding, without waiting to dream, when I go to bed and resting the body goes . The day I was surprised when the city wakes up has given me his open door through which I have got shrunk by emotion but not before admiring, the Ebro in his walk, and soon, I take the road that leads to Cathedral to which I can not enter. Since this temple I am locked and bolted up the street today I am anticipating that walks beside me, and Hustler step, went in search of an ATM to make me money, as this, is waning, and although the I do walking trip is spent, the very bloody.

Accommodation base metal making in the portfolio, I enjoy the pleasant and beautiful capital that gives me the recital of its streets and its people, in the morning, earrings, to go to work, while I relax, watching their beautiful fountains. The steps are numbered here and I as still being in Logroño, living away, I have my mind wandering around the fields of vines festooned by such hurried my steps go, looking for the border, where fine, the city that oppresses me and deletes , and find the smells of the countryside, the lucid tapestry of colors, and the relaxation that gives the bird when Trina. After a while in the open without a tavern or inn, to bring the fate, I come to give the account that I forgot to take to the road a bit, and what goes runaway colt, quicken my pace, and I feel that empty gut undergoes as thirst, little springs, in the way a drop, while listening to the guts cursing. Navarrete reached between the squabbling that seeks progress in our agriculture and attend the event, tough and lean, asphalt and cars with vines, and wounded by the struggle my girls come to see if the city has respected the stone , the grid, and the roof, finding coarse and simple, built in aluminum and brick, leaving the taste annihilated.

In reaching its pearl center pity seeks fortune, I find in their ancient architecture and its edge where I entered a bar and sitting at the bar once inside, leaving my bag behind the chair, a good breakfast I tortilla skewer glass of wine together, leaving the appetite sated, and at peace with his guts strife. Navarrete dump today in the vineyard, its ancient and fertile stage Islamic pottery workshops are just so they can enjoy eyes and fingers, for they are sadly, withered and still, open your mind to other businesses and the people living in other why leisure, you live another culture, not as modern, it is less hard than that for which they were famous. Stage 8 yesterday, came the sky overcast, and thick rain poured on the dry field, thanked him, warning the living walk and that this morning, go doubting, if out of the pack the waterproofs, provided that struck by rain, or go trusting in fortune, that the heavens will be respected throughout the period of travelers.

Sons of Bacchus hear, that I envy your today I found left and right fields of vines, and your envy, feel, enjoy watching I felt that in the strain erect, the reverdea branch, and becomes rumor and lying tidal land. Know that only promise, this clear spring to autumn what is expected, and shows it to be thick, thickens the vineyard, drinking, what the heavens weep under thick veils of fluffy clouds that pass, tight in slow flight and humid. Meanwhile you're thirsty prisoners on Olympus, I'm enjoying your kisses idling mounted on the winds of the moment, and imagining the liquor that is born of its verdure, I am crossing the tracks of Najera and its surroundings, with good pace, and good humor . Today I have been proactive and before crossing the bridge of this flourishing city, I enjoyed the flavor, aroma, and color, a good spike of tortilla that has been wonderful, and a good glass of wine to my jaws; God which has given me a child. Later, my view has enjoyed the river, its green banks swollen with spring, well-wooded park, its well-kept lawn, its past, carved in stone that the time has hurt, the place where kings were of the steers this story have brought.

And as the sky is showing signs of mourn for my excitement, I just got here my song and I launched into a hill with mind and will to win Azofra put up, because it would be foolish and silly, bear a shower, for lacking a prayer to this story I mount. Returns to embrace the promising vineyard, and here I can not shut up but you come to appointing heavy, dedicate, to relate with feeling and give my song to shoot it with their juice comes with my pain, and heal, the wounds of love I feel . Came when the wind winnows a few drops of sweat with heat sudan storm clouds that I have barely into account, since Azofra welcomed me and picks me up in his lodge leaving the impression of being hotel or mansion, what my stage requires. The fruit of the vineyard, I have noticed a municipal councilor full, thanks to the oak, live in silence is in the cool of the cave, whose background leads me to enjoy the ambrosia that sad, I'm happy , and the dumb to talk to.

Awards and his brother Diego, who, being the rainy afternoon in the cave has been beautiful, and as a civilian I thank you, my hand, and a little stubborn, I retreat to my corner and I lived that dream his art, has allowed to record in my heart. Stage 9 has spoken Bacchus to the gods for his sharp tongue with rage, and fierce grudge, my verses and my joys, my hellos and my farewell to the venerable vineyard, and at the mercy of them I stay, because the drunken cunning of the gods I has faced more, beat them, I want and I can. So, when I left the rain makes me suffer, I'm ready to go on it being that I lost because obviously my game, that the epic is written better, when it receives a two-handed sword of the enemy, therefore, has merit double who, after victory, he describes it. An impossible quagmire requires tenacity, lurks in the dark and unspeakable is who makes it possible to happen to the legend, but know that my menda, beat Olimpo and fury, his arrogance, and negligence, without prudence treating you.

Here Hercules and detracted from his works, sludge shortcuts were my strength and my shame to save, with honor, the traps placed the sky with bad art, and much zeal, at the beginning of this stage that this chronicle, uncover, those who live in the soil. The rest was a chubby drunk llantina that reigns today tipple and has sipped the machine, his arrogance and malice, while I drink Rioja of this land, red blood, which comes with the sacrifice of good art and good craft, from which the work is thrown. After the mud, Cirueña, with a residential, live in speculation of bad taste, slave and queen, and my eyes is that loads the rock, and suffers Sisyphus, for the easy tap taste of progress wrong, its landscape, ravaged, cement, asphalt, and floor. I leave behind this madness sick who crosses it, immersing myself in the thick planting, cure my view, as I shall not rush, the way I make my path straight to their destination, under dark clouds that pour the tears of the sky, sad and peevishly.

After a hill overlooking a plain, which is adorned by the tower and the roof of the church, which is vial to the faith of the holy duty taken by hospital to serve the weary pilgrim, who stiff and weary, wavering in his swoon. As is my understanding that the holy city names, I'm just a shadow passing through it once, and I make it my departure for the bridge is thrown over the river Oja, now comes something grown by rain, that has been poured, the roof of La Rioja. Grañon, calm my appetite for the hands of Daniel, who has served a barrel to please the fyke wheel while chewing a mouthful irritated by the wine that has left my body so satisfied, that he could not be right and has been sitting a while. In the distance Grañon to Redecilla not noticed, and with three blows of boot I make my entrance into the town, first town of Castile in my route to Santiago which, I do my home today and in the shelter seekers me, my Backpack, Hustler, and I lie has done the vagus.

As the people are two roads and one road, I spend the entire evening scoring a thousand details to explode with joy when reading my writing, well described the places where I spend, and if the case goes to make you beautiful. Stage 10 Today I was lazy, and in bed I stayed until they left in yarn platoon who live my song the shelter has provided bed your body tired, and with a willing mind, are gone soon, and presto, Belorado way. Cause of delayed decision to stay is because I have thought, any emotion live today provides me the occasion to make the pilgrimage route, say hello and see, my dear friends today, they have witnessed, the friendship that creates. Since today is another story outside of what leads me to drink avoid the role of the pen's memory as I lived in Viloria, and deprived of comment came the day to spend with friendship flag day so pleasant, that I shall not forget.

11 Stage I go in water and wind enveloped by darkness covered, in search of Belorado very willing and very loose, with an eye to the ground again, fearing the storm would notice me, and make note of my efforts and my sleeplessness, and my bones to the ground, the mud feeding. More than rain falls, the clouds that cascade, that the land has drowned from the plain to the hill, and my decision will defeat looms, stage becomes waterlogged paths through the mud and cattle, a "power is love?. Wind, rain, mud, potholes, the road blurred by clouds squeezed overflowing streams, are incentive and support in which I hold, as in the harshness, I come to reaffirm its commitment, that makes me lord and master I keep the fight. If Hell is mounted with stones and mud, mud, now that I've tasted all, hell I've tried, and as a last mouthful if I have appetite for dessert, I put the milestone, with which I eat today, giving me overflow with whom I stayed, satiated.

Ages is where I grab the handle distressed dirty and wet body of a weary traveler, and meek, after being fierce, looking forward to a shower, a bed to lie down, you hot wine, a dish that will feed, and without thinking ; relax. As interest covers fatigue and pain upon regaining the color without the dirt that covers, my curiosity discover the people, their privacy, I see in its entirety until the last corner, enjoying the soaking that the sky is without mercy. Stage 12 I come quickly under a sky that after the spree yesterday looks set to put annoy less zeal, and in a brief, short flight, Atapuerca I get when the night dies, and between two lights is spent thinking about that another day, perhaps, again, if occasion offers. A stage without problems except for a small incident that lying to a penitent, let my muse without themes and my lungs without phlegm then, without stopping to cough, pour the sorrows of yesterday because of a cold that left me touched body more, not myself.

A fit of meltwater from the fog is clear and fixed layers and turns giving the landscape and identified the sense that it rains, but when the sun rises above the cloud, does for her and for them scraps, balconies, moist soil that wrinkle. Under the Sun and its body heat and dirt fields grateful finally dies, and the scent of the flower as its greenness, yield to the city that gave Cid quality, history, its legend, and the believer, which treats, for your faith and charity. Burgos, a city in Spain where the cloister is filigree and stone, is adorned by the art and the skill of the artist who manages the way, and why, to be witness to God's people, as religious, which has the world by grave and in heaven, looking coat. I have sought asylum in a church near the cathedral that has hospital and anesthesia tiredness my body does not despise it, bring your feet hurt in the sections on asphalt and concrete paths, and have suffered a heater, which is slumping.

The cool shower replenishes the body with its freshness, and with renewed zeal the writer is ready to eat where you serve is a good food, and the little bit of searching, found an inn of your choice, with good wine and good barbecue, where goes to lunch. After eating, he goes to seek the peace of God and in his one, two, those who sing this Jarcha one, is wrapped in the frost of doubt remains over, what comes after death, another , in his philosophy, peace in wisdom, both, to fight and find convenient. From the Cathedral I get out when the rain has stopped and the sun on the ground has aired, and I know I'm worth, to run like a greyhound for walks and avenues that are known by me to take advantage of the light before that dark hood, let the sleeping streets. Stage 13 Today opens for me from Burgos to Leon, a new feeling that has brought me here so I promised myself, that if my forces arrived Burgos reached, these steps would put where they belonged, and behind me stop.

And to this end threw me in the light of lanterns that are mock suns until the seed reached, and as step forward and sweeps dawn darkness, muse inspire me, people, my soul, with new songs, and cast a couple of ... I immerse myself in the mists. Why do you avoid fortune to enjoy the scenery is new in my long journey ¿, which is the cradle of history which unites past my right to legend, in my reading the article where I come to know with yesterday's data that my mind is understood. But the climate, ungrateful veil of fog has given me, that deprived me of seeing the earth and sky free of jealous zeal with which I sing what is hidden by educated people, and slowed my walk to see if you want to clarify, my eagerness fine mist. And because I am of La Mancha, I do not want to remember where I went to breakfast, after, my memory one that hooks up with the soul expands, and with renewed vigor in Rabé of Roads, entered with the devotion that seeks the thrill of seeing , its stone carvings.

Here I find that the German lying on a bench looking at me sprawled open and reluctantly, to sign, calling me, so I approached her and upon arrival, I see the mark of pain in his eyes, leaving me stuck in their English as a maid. Near where modesty is expressed at its highest, I see the red imprint that causes her pain to me, makes me tingle, the panties have lacerated the flesh, where it has sprouted, the blood in terrible wound, for the most part senses and the body is more delicate. Stagnation and heal his wound and giving it a good dressing, asking her to get rest on their journey away, but she is determined despite his injury, follow decision, I go with her legs spread, on the desert plains, to give more excitement. I skeptical, I say goodbye, after giving us two kisses and leave his bones and his face crestfallen, as determined march on my ankles strong coffee at Hob, where he arrived in a breeze, and a bar looking for me shot, surrounded by kids.

Not my taste seen in a crowded bar where some, looking sluggish, and others face ready, watch as I attend to happen