Let me begin by saying that today was, without a doubt, the kind of day that takes your soul out behind the woodshed and gives it a good talking to.

First off, breakfast. That mythical thing. The café in Boñar was supposed to open at 0630. I arrived at 0630, full of hope and hunger. It opened at 0800. I set off hungry, mentally promising myself that 10km on an empty stomach is not so bad. A bit of walking meditation. A bit of quiet reflection. A bit of cow slurry.

Yes, cow slurry. The trail was generously carpeted with overgrown weeds, which in pilgrim terms means you are definitely about to step in something soft and squishy. Which I almost did. Thankfully my reflexes were still sharp, or at least sharper than the smell.

Then came the flies. The kind of flies that do not just buzz — no, these suckers commit war crimes. I waved my trekking poles like a kung fu master whose only disciples are bloodthirsty insects. When that failed, I resorted to beating my own shoulders with my hat in a desperate effort to convince the flies that I was either already dead or completely insane. Neither worked.

Just before reaching the café (sweet, beautiful caffeine within sight), I stepped into the road without looking both ways — a rookie mistake. A cyclist barreling down the hill took this personally and unleashed a full-throated, multi-lingual curse storm upon me. I would have responded, but my blood sugar was too low to form words. I just shrugged and moved on.

The next 20 kilometers were not so much walked as endured. The trail turned into fresh asphalt — the shiny, soul-sizzling kind that radiates heat like the floor of a pizza oven. My feet began to bake. At some point I was sure I could smell bacon. Turns out it was just my own misery sizzling in my socks.

Oh, and let us not forget the BMW incident. While dutifully walking on the left side of the road (as pilgrims are taught), I was nearly vaporized by a black BMW doing warp speed. Not only did he pass me by inches, but he managed to do it while also dodging a pedestrian 100 meters ahead. I think we both achieved spiritual enlightenment at the same moment — the kind that only near-death experiences can offer. The pedestrian ahead jumped three feet in the air and unleashed a poetic explosion of swearing so colorful it would make Shakespeare drop his quill.

By the time I limped into La Robla, I had completely lost the will to think pleasant thoughts. The flies, the asphalt, the anger-yelling athletes — all of it had stripped me down to my mental boxer shorts. I hit the shower and attempted a nap. My body refused. Instead, I booked a ride share to Oviedo and a hotel for two nights. I also booked a guided tour of some special sites, but I will leave that surprise for later.

The Camino Olvidado is behind me now. The Primitivo awaits. I do not remember much of the scenery from today, but I will remember the heat, the grit, and the sheer willpower it took to get here. And that, somehow, is enough.