29 km (723,5) 5,5 h

Languages are a wonderful thing. If you know them, doors or even people’s hearts open up to you. You can certainly get by without them, but the difference in the experiences you have is enormous

In Spain, there are many dialects and languages that are more or less different. What is called “Spanish” is actually Castellano, something like High German. In Valencia they speak Valenciano and in Barcelona Catalan. At the moment I am in Galicia. Here they speak a mixture of Spanish and Portuguese. No matter where you go, when you start speaking Spanish, people switch from their local “language” to Castellano and you understand each other quite well. It’s like when I go to Altheim and automatically switch to Aaldemeric. Back in Mannheim, I don’t notice it because I switch back linguistically

Just now I was in the hostel together with a pack of boys from Malaga. Old father, they speak a brawn. I could hardly tell it was Spanish. But a few beers and wine still made sure we understood each other – in one way or another

One of the guys is even a speech therapist. I had asked in the round, how he should teach people to speak better, if one understands him hardly. The laughter was great

Tomorrow is the last stage to the mandatory event – Santiago de Compostela. There are about 39 km left. After that, everything is just freestyle. But that’s what I like best, of course.