Information travels up and down the Camino. A pilgrim on their way to Santiago is likely to mingle with others and exchange information - "this refugio is better than that one", or "so and so from such and such country was a nice person/is best avoided", and so on.
As a pilgrim rests for a day at one point or another along the Camino, another crop of pilgrims will pass by and further mingling will ensue. In this way, information passes along bands of the Camino as pilgrims progress east to west.
Grattan Lynch calls it Radio Camino. And Grattan is the Joe Duffy of Radio Camino. He's full of information about pilgrims around him, behind him and in front of him.
We leave Rabanal del Camino for Foncebadón, a few kilometres farther along and 1,500m up in the Montes de León. "If you see Emer," says Grattan, "say hello from me." In the small hostel in Foncebadón, a slight young woman with a Dublin accent is asking the barman for something.
"You must be Emer," I say. "Howya!"
"How did you know that? How did you know my name was Emer?" she asks, startled. "That's really freaky."
Emer is a science teacher from Rathmines in Dublin who works at a school in Shanghai. In 18 months, she wants to do South America. She's doing the Camino now simply because she felt it was something she ought to do.
Nearby, there's a young couple from Liverpool. The woman gives me the most precise reason for making her pilgrimage of anyone I've spoken to. "I just wanted to get away from all that technology and have time to reflect on my own," she says.
In refugios dotted about the tiny village and in a few tents, the pilgrims are mostly asleep by 10pm, in preparation for a hard day's walking tomorrow. It is a clear night with the sky ablaze with stars.
Even before the sun has broken the horizon the next day, a stream of pilgrims has begun to flow through the village, past crosses that dot the route.
Where the Camino reaches the peak of the mountains a little further on, there's a tall, telegraph-style pole with a cross on top erected in the centre of a pile of stones. Its base is festooned with items left by passing pilgrims - flags, hats and scarves, a Dublin-Barcelona flight boarding pass, shells, broken sunglasses, a beer bottle and a small Buddha statue.
There are poignant messages too: memorial cards for dead friends or family members, one for a Markus Messner from Germany who died last year aged just 16; and thoughts about an Elton, "my South African friend . . . you'll be missed".
Around the corner, another weird sight. Manjarin is an abandoned hamlet, save for one dwelling - a stone rubble building that might once have housed goats. In front of it is a little terrace that looks like a Greek taverna.
In front of some pilgrims sitting there, two men - one in his late 60s, the other perhaps 45 - are dressed in hooded white cloaks with bright red crosses of Malta emblazoned on them. They each carry crusader-style swords, unsheathed, clasped in both hands, the blades held aloft and touching their faces.
They stand in front of a cross and, in a droning chant, say words like "Christos", "Iago" and "peregrine". The older of the two occasionally makes t'ai chi-like movements with his right leg and drags the tip of his sword across the ground as though drawing a line to keep out some undefined evil.
The spectacle is like a snippet from Monty Python's Life of Brian. But it's harmless and an amusing distraction. And there, perched on the terrace amid this surreal performance, is Grattan. He looks at us and gestures an uncomprehending shrug of his shoulders. It's about as good aexplanation as is possible . . .
The Camino winds its way across the top of the mountains, with spectacular views in all directions. Three pals from Limerick, Maoliosa Quinn (19), Donal Treacy (18) and Paul Murray (19), are making good progress on their pilgrimage, which they began in León.
They were classmates at Crescent College in Limerick, where a teacher, Fr Jim Maher, enthused about the Camino, which he walked regularly.
They had heard of us before we heard of them (Radio Camino was at it again). Their reasons for doing the Camino were similar to those of so many others - the physical challenge, a bit of craic, and meeting people of different backgrounds and cultures.
Maoliosa was doing some of it barefoot. "I don't know why," he says. "I just wanted to do it."
Santiago beckoned. We rode down from the mountains and ate up the kilometres. I had hoped the city would present itself over the brow of a hill, suddenly below us, gleaming in the sunlight and beckoning.
But it was pouring rain and there was a howling wind. It was all we could do to stay upright.
Next: St James's Day and the end of our sort of pilgrimage