I was walking with an Aussie,
And we talked of many things:
Of wowsers, wankers, whingers,
Galahs and googs and gings,
Hard yakka at the Wacca,
And why the magpie sings.
Of pongers in their dongas
And bludgers on the jobs,
Of drongos from out woop woop,
Of larrikins and yobs,
Of people who are up themselves,
Like pollies and the nobs.
Of Sonny on the dunny
And Mabel up the spout,
Of bogans on the amber stuff
With chunder all about,
And finally whose turn it was
To buy another shout.
(Composed on the Via de la Plata after walking with a fellow Australian from Alcuescar to Aldea del Cano)
We were locked in this morning, and couldn't leave until eight o'clock. Monastery rules. After a quick breakfast at the bar across the highway, it was off on a 15 kilometre stretch to the next town.
I walked with Peter from Melbourne and the time passed quickly. We talked about everything from footy and cricket to white-anting in Australian politics and the resurgence of Pauline Hanson. I was sorry to leave him at Aldea del Cano. He was good company.
On the second stretch it started to rain, a short, sharp shower, and I managed to get my poncho on just in time to trap the rain beneath it. And then, head down, the wind threatening to tear the poncho from my shoulders, I walked along a Roman road for a while, over two or three Roman bridges, one with the flags worn right down and polished smooth by centurions and centuries, and across the marshy fields, right through the middle of a herd of cows, and up to the edge of town where I found the albergue.
It is bitterly cold here, especially in the wind, and as Winnipeggers will never say, it's a damp cold. It's a very nice albergue, clean and bright, with a combination washer-dryer at no cost. And two electric heaters just manage to take the edge off the cold, although I'm sitting here in my down jacket with a blanket wrapped around me. What a difference from the sweltering heat of the first days!
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