Santiago-Madrid-Florence

I look at the wardrobe where a long line of crisp freshly laundered and pressed shirts hang.  In many shades the blue, green, grey and brown stand there waiting for an outing.  There are formal shirts which expect classy cufflinks and their smart but casual cousins.  Striped and lined.  Thick and thin. Button down and stiff collars.  To the left hang more brightly coloured short sleeve linen shirts. They have a long wait for summer.  No wonder I often dither about which to choose.

There are a lot.  Much to the delight of my daughters I have no excuse to complain about their addiction to shoes.

My eyes move from this array to the bed where there is a much more modest assortment.  3 sets each of socks and underwear. A base, mid layer and outer fleece lie beside a rain jacket and trousers.  Gloves,  beanie hat, toiletries, medication, spare lightweight shoes and phone charger complete the gear which when stored in my rucksack weigh a total of 6 kgs. These are the simple clothes of pilgrimage.

No matter how many thousands of miles I've walked I'm excited and slightly afraid of the adventure before me.

The Big Man arrived from Barcelona still glowing from his visit to the Sagrada Familia.  Yesterday we provided the music in the church of San Agustín for the 94th birthday of Fr Calo who still says mass every day.  If he can do that,  I can walk from Florence to Assisi to Rome!

Following a shower with everlasting hot water I dressed in the simple garb of we pilgrims. Walking trousers and fleece.  No freshly laundered shirt.  It will be like this for a while. There will be no complicated choices of what to wear.

As I hoist on my rucksack I my eyes rest fondly on my pillows.  My head will rest on about 30 different ones before it returns to the comfortable and familiar pillows of home.

Several last nervous checks later,  water, heating, lights all off.  Passport, tickets,  guidebook.  The taxi is at the door.  And we're off.