ROAD TO SEVILLA

With fiesta still resounding, we woke in darkness to the very joyful, yet drunken voices. They were singing and dancing in the street, oblivious to anyone sleeping, but sure, they were full of life.The towns folk of Tarifa had been waiting a whole year for their chance to relax, unwind and share with each other the joys of community and family togetherness. And here they were, giving voice at 6.30 in the morning, as Emma and I arose to begin our marathon trek to Sevilla and soon Santiago de Compostela.
Having already completed the walk from the French Pyrenes mountains into Spain and across the northern terrortories of several spainish regions of the ´camino frances´, I was well accustomed to the early rising of walkers. The routine was a safety measure as much as a pleasant choice then, the days soon get unbearably heated  until siesta time shortly after midday. But today as we rose early to the merryment, very few were the pilgrims leaving Tarifa. Three to be precise. It would appear upon closer scrutiny that very few people had ever considered the walk to Sevilla, ahead of the beginning of the Via de la Plata (the silver route). Exactly why, is to be amoungst my investigations henceforth. It is a beautiful, if slightly dangerous road. The thrill for me, to be able to pioneer a new and seemingly unpopulated route, spurred me on, as I considered starting in Tarifa. Tarifa being the most southerly point of the whole of Europe, seemed like an idyllic beginning to our new Camino Andaluse. Of course there are to be found towns and villages as in other spainish regions, yet this first day and possibly the next few, will be sheer tests of will, covering large areas of land with little real respite and few watering holes. The occasional abandoned rest area the main attractions. This first day, the earth scorched with a hot summer, has been very parched, the morning greener, the afternoon very hard going.
Being one to live life as it arrives, I had made few plans of any kind. I did precious little research as to the route or accomodation that I would encounter, believing , as is my new custom,  that the universe would assit me. As a test of my resolve, the universe has asked in return that I allow Emma, my little sister, to follow the journey and share the joy to be had. This also means the pain too as she now realises, sporting two blisters, one per heel and sore shoulders from the burden of a rucksack. "But to suffer as a Pilgrim, is ultamitely worth each small sacrifice" as one English poet wrote.
The wind crossing the straights of Gibralter were whipping at our heels and the sky unusually still dark, meant we could see little of north Africa, save for the lights of Tangiers away in the distance.  Emma, to be known henceforth as QT, was a little retiscent to finally leave the hostal, I sensed.  Possibly realising the huge challenge was finally beginning after everal days in relaxation and meditation on our journey to this point. Also excited to be leaving was Shai.