June 3 and 4: Santiago to Madrid, and home again
We spent the next day in Santiago, recuperating and exploring. We wandered around the outdoor market, guessing at unfamiliar spices, fishes, produce. We saw whole skinned little animals (guinea pigs? rabbits?) and pigs' feet, legs, even snouts. We soaked in the luxury of having no distance to cover, lingering over coffee, exploring the shops. Occasionally we bumped into other peregrinos we had seen along the way, including the Spaniard with the snore and (miraculously) the young couple with the baby we had seen on our first day out.
The next day we took the train from Santiago to Madrid and the next day I flew home. I'm at a loss for what else to write about it; the rest seems so anticlimax. There is, of course, the spiritual journey too... but that is a whole different blog.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Santiago, being there
I won't bore you with too many details about the cathedral. The cathedral at Santiago de Compostela is world-famous and if you google you will find a tonne of information about it. But I can affirm that it is everything it is cracked up to be. It is old: started in 1123, finished in 1211. It is huge: you feel awestruck by it and have to stand far back in the square to take it all in. People have obviously desired and known how to build impressive structures for a very long time.
We headed off to find the Pilgrims' Office to get our Compostela. It must seem a bit crazy, at this point in the journey when you are tired and sore, to stand in a long lineup just for the sake of paperwork. The Pilgrims' Office is upstairs in a building almost adjoining the cathedral and there seems to be a permanent lineup of peregrinos seeking the Compostela certificate. About a half-dozen staff waited on us in turn. When it was finally my turn, the young woman asked first "Que habla/what do you speak?" She handed me a short form to fill out while she examined my credencial. I filled in information with the usual name, nationality etc. but also "At what point did you start the pilgrimage?" "Did you undertake the pilgrimage on foot, by bicycle, or on horseback?" (I never saw anybody on horseback; really, is that possible?) and finally "For what reason did you complete this pilgrimage: for religious reasons, religious + other, or just 'other reasons'?" Once the information had been supplied to her satisfaction, the woman printed off my Compostela. It was filled out completely in Latin (even my name had been latinized!) and an attractive little document. We left the Pilgrims' Office feeling like new graduates; so ecstatic it makes me smile even to write about it. We rushed into the first shop we saw to purchase a mailing tube to keep the Compostela in a condition suitable for framing.
The final part of our journey was to attend the Pilgrims' Mass at 7:30 that evening. One more time we followed the bronze scallop shells through the tangle of streets in the Old City. We followed the other peregrinos into the cathedral, already filling up fast for the Mass. This was by far the most ornate church we'd seen: most of the others along the way had been very simple and some were downright humble. But the inside front of the cathedral in Santiago is dripping with gold: statues and figurines and general religious filigree. Behind the altar there is a structure of some sort: it looks like a cage or old-fashioned wagon but it is so encrusted with goldwork that it took me quite some time to figure out that it is the structure in which the (apparent) remains of St. James are kept. The steady stream of people shuffling single-file across the back of the church, through the cage, was a clue I suppose.
The Mass itself was the usual Spanish Mass, as far as I could tell. But at the end, when things should have been wrapping up, there was a sudden BLAST from the organ and suddenly everybody rushed up to the front. There was a commotion, some smoke... and suddenly the incense burner was aloft.
Like the cathedral itself, the incense burner in Santiago is very famous and any quick google will show you that. Most church incense burners are about the size of a sugar bowl and the priest holds it by a little handle and swings it as he walks around the church to spread the perfume around. But this incense burner is enormous -- as big and no doubt as heavy as me -- and it is suspended from the cathedral ceiling (a long way up) by ropes that are bigger around than my wrist. It takes 4 or 5 young priests to raise it up with pulleys etc. They start it swinging and then they haul HARD on the ropes to increase the swing and it pendulums wildly, enthusiastically across the massive front of the cathedral. You can understand why people talk about it; it's spellbinding. And it fills the church with the sweet smell and at that point your senses are just about drowning.
We went back to our hotel. We had a bottle of wine, some bread, cheese and olives and we sat on our little patio amid our hung laundry to eat. We drank to each other, to our sisterhood, our Camino adventure, family and friends, to the future and to God.
And then to bed in clean sheets.
We headed off to find the Pilgrims' Office to get our Compostela. It must seem a bit crazy, at this point in the journey when you are tired and sore, to stand in a long lineup just for the sake of paperwork. The Pilgrims' Office is upstairs in a building almost adjoining the cathedral and there seems to be a permanent lineup of peregrinos seeking the Compostela certificate. About a half-dozen staff waited on us in turn. When it was finally my turn, the young woman asked first "Que habla/what do you speak?" She handed me a short form to fill out while she examined my credencial. I filled in information with the usual name, nationality etc. but also "At what point did you start the pilgrimage?" "Did you undertake the pilgrimage on foot, by bicycle, or on horseback?" (I never saw anybody on horseback; really, is that possible?) and finally "For what reason did you complete this pilgrimage: for religious reasons, religious + other, or just 'other reasons'?" Once the information had been supplied to her satisfaction, the woman printed off my Compostela. It was filled out completely in Latin (even my name had been latinized!) and an attractive little document. We left the Pilgrims' Office feeling like new graduates; so ecstatic it makes me smile even to write about it. We rushed into the first shop we saw to purchase a mailing tube to keep the Compostela in a condition suitable for framing.
The final part of our journey was to attend the Pilgrims' Mass at 7:30 that evening. One more time we followed the bronze scallop shells through the tangle of streets in the Old City. We followed the other peregrinos into the cathedral, already filling up fast for the Mass. This was by far the most ornate church we'd seen: most of the others along the way had been very simple and some were downright humble. But the inside front of the cathedral in Santiago is dripping with gold: statues and figurines and general religious filigree. Behind the altar there is a structure of some sort: it looks like a cage or old-fashioned wagon but it is so encrusted with goldwork that it took me quite some time to figure out that it is the structure in which the (apparent) remains of St. James are kept. The steady stream of people shuffling single-file across the back of the church, through the cage, was a clue I suppose.
The Mass itself was the usual Spanish Mass, as far as I could tell. But at the end, when things should have been wrapping up, there was a sudden BLAST from the organ and suddenly everybody rushed up to the front. There was a commotion, some smoke... and suddenly the incense burner was aloft.
Like the cathedral itself, the incense burner in Santiago is very famous and any quick google will show you that. Most church incense burners are about the size of a sugar bowl and the priest holds it by a little handle and swings it as he walks around the church to spread the perfume around. But this incense burner is enormous -- as big and no doubt as heavy as me -- and it is suspended from the cathedral ceiling (a long way up) by ropes that are bigger around than my wrist. It takes 4 or 5 young priests to raise it up with pulleys etc. They start it swinging and then they haul HARD on the ropes to increase the swing and it pendulums wildly, enthusiastically across the massive front of the cathedral. You can understand why people talk about it; it's spellbinding. And it fills the church with the sweet smell and at that point your senses are just about drowning.
We went back to our hotel. We had a bottle of wine, some bread, cheese and olives and we sat on our little patio amid our hung laundry to eat. We drank to each other, to our sisterhood, our Camino adventure, family and friends, to the future and to God.
And then to bed in clean sheets.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Spain, Day 11
June 2: Pedrouzo/ Arca do Pino to Santiago
With only 18 km left, we thought today's walk would be a piece of cake and we had fanciful thoughts of arriving in Santiago before noon. But after Lois had taken only a few steps it was obvious that that wasn't going to happen. The harmless little blister that had appeared yesterday had mushroomed into something huge and angry: a genuine impediment to walking. She limped painfully for a kilometer or so and then, with great reluctance, decided that she had better get a cab for the last leg.
She was, however, game to try one last Plan B; after all, it would be such a disappointment to break up our wonderful threesome ON THE LAST DAY. We rebandaged the foot with as much padding as we could stick to it and she swallowed a heavy-duty painkiller as well. We reminded ourselves that with less than 17 km remaining, we could mince along as slowly as necessary and take breaks every hour. If it was still too painful, we would revert to Plan A.
And after the painkiller took effect it really wasn't so bad. We stopped often, and even limping along we were at the outskirts of Santiago well before noon. Although a lot of our walking was still along forest paths and through tiny villages, the highway noise was becoming louder and harder to ignore. It was surreal to walk right under the gigantic approach matrix for metropolitan Santiago's airport. And then a final bit of climb up to Monte o Gozo where the pilgrims' monument announces victory.
Not so long ago, pilgrims stopped here because the elevation offered a first glimpse of the destination cathedral. There's been so much construction in Santiago that you can't see the cathedral from here any more so they have constructed the monument and the little park to compensate. The pilgrims' park is one endless celebration. All around perigrinos were hugging, high-5-ing, taking pictures with the monument as backdrop. A little group of Germans was singing a round in 2-part harmony. People crowded around the sello desk to get a special red stamp in the credencial. We dipped into the little chapel to enjoy the silence and light a candle.
We headed downhill for the last time. At some point, our environs stopped being rural and became urban: we entered the metropolis of Santiago. City streets and stop lights seemed a bit foreign. Lois was in pain so we found her a shady place to wait while Lj and I scouted out a hotel for the night. It took us a few false starts but eventually we found (relatively) luxurious accommodations just outside the walls of the old city.
After settling in, the usual shower + beer + laundry routine, we decided to finish the last leg of the pilgrimage. It is not hard to find the cathedral: all you need to do is follow the beautiful bronze scallop shells embedded in the streets. We followed the shells for maybe a kilometer through the old city, along laneways, past tiny shops, then down a long staircase. Suddenly the scallop shells stopped and I had a momentary sense of panic: how would I know which way to go from here...?
We found ourselves in front of the cathedral. End of pilgrimage.
With only 18 km left, we thought today's walk would be a piece of cake and we had fanciful thoughts of arriving in Santiago before noon. But after Lois had taken only a few steps it was obvious that that wasn't going to happen. The harmless little blister that had appeared yesterday had mushroomed into something huge and angry: a genuine impediment to walking. She limped painfully for a kilometer or so and then, with great reluctance, decided that she had better get a cab for the last leg.
She was, however, game to try one last Plan B; after all, it would be such a disappointment to break up our wonderful threesome ON THE LAST DAY. We rebandaged the foot with as much padding as we could stick to it and she swallowed a heavy-duty painkiller as well. We reminded ourselves that with less than 17 km remaining, we could mince along as slowly as necessary and take breaks every hour. If it was still too painful, we would revert to Plan A.
And after the painkiller took effect it really wasn't so bad. We stopped often, and even limping along we were at the outskirts of Santiago well before noon. Although a lot of our walking was still along forest paths and through tiny villages, the highway noise was becoming louder and harder to ignore. It was surreal to walk right under the gigantic approach matrix for metropolitan Santiago's airport. And then a final bit of climb up to Monte o Gozo where the pilgrims' monument announces victory.
Not so long ago, pilgrims stopped here because the elevation offered a first glimpse of the destination cathedral. There's been so much construction in Santiago that you can't see the cathedral from here any more so they have constructed the monument and the little park to compensate. The pilgrims' park is one endless celebration. All around perigrinos were hugging, high-5-ing, taking pictures with the monument as backdrop. A little group of Germans was singing a round in 2-part harmony. People crowded around the sello desk to get a special red stamp in the credencial. We dipped into the little chapel to enjoy the silence and light a candle.
We headed downhill for the last time. At some point, our environs stopped being rural and became urban: we entered the metropolis of Santiago. City streets and stop lights seemed a bit foreign. Lois was in pain so we found her a shady place to wait while Lj and I scouted out a hotel for the night. It took us a few false starts but eventually we found (relatively) luxurious accommodations just outside the walls of the old city.
After settling in, the usual shower + beer + laundry routine, we decided to finish the last leg of the pilgrimage. It is not hard to find the cathedral: all you need to do is follow the beautiful bronze scallop shells embedded in the streets. We followed the shells for maybe a kilometer through the old city, along laneways, past tiny shops, then down a long staircase. Suddenly the scallop shells stopped and I had a momentary sense of panic: how would I know which way to go from here...?
We found ourselves in front of the cathedral. End of pilgrimage.
Spain, Day 10
June 1: Arzua to Pedrouzo/Arca do Pino
As of tonight we are now barely 18 km from Santiago with mixed feelings about being so close to our destination. Not quite sure of the name: is Pedrouzo the town and Arca do Pino the region? or the other way around...? The day was easy: overcast, breezy, a little cooler than the unexpected heat spike of yesterday. There were no agonizingly long hills and the distance seemed short. We arrived at our destination just before noon (our earliest yet!) and were practically the first ones in the aubergue.
This aubergue is quite new, with lovely pine bunkbeds, brand-new laundry facilities, a spotless kitchen and FANTASTIC showers. All the aubergues we have visited have been clean and adequate but this one seems luxurious. We dumped our stuff, rinsed our socks, and headed out for refreshment. We have discovered that tuna empanadas can be very tasty and go well with beer.
I wish I could write about the scenery along the route in such a way that it would sound as fresh and as beautiful as it feels. Forest paths, farmyards, tiny villages... we walked through some middle-earth green forest tunnels, past hectares of cultivated forests (in which fairly large pine trees grow in grid-like regularity like apple orchards), and amazing stands of eucalyptus. The eucalyptus trees look dead from a distance because their leaves are so grey and dry but that's just the way they live I guess. The trunks are mottled and the bark hangs down in strips and the mature trees exude an aroma that is hard to describe. The music of the birds as you walk along is storybook. Sometimes you can hear cuckoo birds, the song as close as the tree next to you but the birds remain invisible. We walked past many ponds, too; pools full of frog-song.
There are so many treats for the senses! You could walk the Camino blind or deaf and still be overwhelmed with beauty. A man leading cows, cow bells and hooves on stone pathways, dogs scurrying behind, herding. Another man scolding his goats, shooing them away from where he is trying to mend a rend in the fence. An old woman in a long black skirt, red-check apron, little jacket and wide-brimmed hat, guiding a mother sheep with 2 tiny lambs. The smell of manure and cow pee, everywhere. But also the scent of roses pouring over the sides of ancient stone walls. Broom flowers like waterfalls on cliff-sides. The ubiquitous red plastic chairs labelled 'Estrella Galicia' advertising the house beer for the region. The wonderful, welcome yellow arrows pointing out The Way on walls, sides of buildings, pathways, concrete, spray-painted over other signs, EVERYWHERE.
Now we are showered, with our hand-washing on the clothesline. I am sitting outside in the breeze, keeping one eye on the clouds. If it starts to rain, I must hustle our still-damp clothes inside to keep them from getting wetter. Later we will explore the town, go to the pilgrims' Mass at 7:30, and head for bed.
Tomorrow... Santiago!
As of tonight we are now barely 18 km from Santiago with mixed feelings about being so close to our destination. Not quite sure of the name: is Pedrouzo the town and Arca do Pino the region? or the other way around...? The day was easy: overcast, breezy, a little cooler than the unexpected heat spike of yesterday. There were no agonizingly long hills and the distance seemed short. We arrived at our destination just before noon (our earliest yet!) and were practically the first ones in the aubergue.
This aubergue is quite new, with lovely pine bunkbeds, brand-new laundry facilities, a spotless kitchen and FANTASTIC showers. All the aubergues we have visited have been clean and adequate but this one seems luxurious. We dumped our stuff, rinsed our socks, and headed out for refreshment. We have discovered that tuna empanadas can be very tasty and go well with beer.
I wish I could write about the scenery along the route in such a way that it would sound as fresh and as beautiful as it feels. Forest paths, farmyards, tiny villages... we walked through some middle-earth green forest tunnels, past hectares of cultivated forests (in which fairly large pine trees grow in grid-like regularity like apple orchards), and amazing stands of eucalyptus. The eucalyptus trees look dead from a distance because their leaves are so grey and dry but that's just the way they live I guess. The trunks are mottled and the bark hangs down in strips and the mature trees exude an aroma that is hard to describe. The music of the birds as you walk along is storybook. Sometimes you can hear cuckoo birds, the song as close as the tree next to you but the birds remain invisible. We walked past many ponds, too; pools full of frog-song.
There are so many treats for the senses! You could walk the Camino blind or deaf and still be overwhelmed with beauty. A man leading cows, cow bells and hooves on stone pathways, dogs scurrying behind, herding. Another man scolding his goats, shooing them away from where he is trying to mend a rend in the fence. An old woman in a long black skirt, red-check apron, little jacket and wide-brimmed hat, guiding a mother sheep with 2 tiny lambs. The smell of manure and cow pee, everywhere. But also the scent of roses pouring over the sides of ancient stone walls. Broom flowers like waterfalls on cliff-sides. The ubiquitous red plastic chairs labelled 'Estrella Galicia' advertising the house beer for the region. The wonderful, welcome yellow arrows pointing out The Way on walls, sides of buildings, pathways, concrete, spray-painted over other signs, EVERYWHERE.
Now we are showered, with our hand-washing on the clothesline. I am sitting outside in the breeze, keeping one eye on the clouds. If it starts to rain, I must hustle our still-damp clothes inside to keep them from getting wetter. Later we will explore the town, go to the pilgrims' Mass at 7:30, and head for bed.
Tomorrow... Santiago!
Spain, Day 9
May 31: Palas de Rei to Arzua
This was a long day, longer than promised. Even though we were in relatively luxurious accommodations we were up by 6:45 and on the trail by 7:15. According to the guidebook, we were in for a walk of 26.5 km but that must have been calculated from the most westerly aubergue in Palas to the most easterly aubergue in Ricibiro. We, however, started east and ended up west and walked almost 29 km. The extra bit makes a huge difference at the end of the day with sore feet.
In between, it was a day of forest paths, country roads, and -- most of all -- HILLS. We have become attentive to the little diagrams, found in all the guidebooks and often posted on the aubergue bulletin boards, showing the changes in elevation along the sections of the Camino. Today's diagram showed a net drop of 300 m over this section but you couldn't prove it by me: my strongest recollection is of the endless hills UP.
My bladder is a nuisance. I think my pack hip-strap is situated right over the top of my bladder so no sooner do a take a drink but I want to pee. No sooner do I pee but I'm thirsty again. People are stopped everywhere, drinking. There are fountains all along the way, so many that you hardly need a water bottle. Some of them are very old. The occasional one warns 'water not safe for drinking' but I have heard pilgrims say that that advice is over-cautious and the water is ok at all the fountains. But I have not put that advice to the test.
There was an aubergue at the 26.5 km mark, an ancient but attractive one in a quiet location right on the river. People sat on rocks at the riverbank, cooling their feet in the water. Very attractive indeed. But we have become fond of staying right in town, when we can, where there's more choice in restaurants, pubs, supermercados, and things to see. So we continued, expecting (as usual) that the next aubergue would appear in a 100 m or so. Not true this time! We were faced with yet another long, hot hill, another 2 km of agony.
We pulled into the first aubergue we came to, not fussy at all at this point. So now it is the usual routine: sign in to the aubergue, go out for a beer (maybe 2), shower, do laundry, attend to our feet. Everybody fusses with their feet. You look around; people are scrunched on their bunks or closer to the window where the light is good or poised over sinks in the washrooms. We are still fairly lucky but some people's feet look terrible: blisters, open blisters, large patches of raw flesh. It gets serious. They sell not only pop and chocolate bars but also bandages and antibiotic cream in the vending machines.
I have developed a little routine before bedding down for the night in an aubergue. I wander around, up and down the rows of bunks, being careful not to look like I'm out to steal anything. I am not looking for seiko wristwatches but for the beefy Spaniard with whom we spent that long night a week ago. He was the absolute loudest snorer I have ever heard and he didn't just snore: he snorted, he farted, and he let his cell phone ring. A real piece of work, aubergue-wise. If I see him I will move my sleeping bag to an empty bunk (if there is one) as far away from him as possible. It's not just the noise: I don't want to be in the line of fire if people start throwing things at him in the dark.
There are about 60 beds in the aubergue at Arzua and by 8:30 they are all taken. The sign on the outside door says 'Completo' - a sad message to late pilgrims that they must keep on looking. More than half of the occupants are already in bed; the other half are fussing with feet or laundry. Damp towels, underwear, socks hang from bunk bed springs and railings. I am looking for a bright orange or a bright green t-shirt, the only 2 shirts that the Spaniard possesses. I know he's in town because we saw him in the sidewalk cafe drinking beer.
I return to my bunk because it's almost time for lights out. The man in the next bed -- he looks to be about 60 -- is singing to himself in French and checking his cell phone for messages. The woman on the bed to my left is coughing heavily and I'm sorry she's sick but I hope she takes something for her cough. No noisy Spaniard tonight. Perhaps he is making friends in another aubergue.
This was a long day, longer than promised. Even though we were in relatively luxurious accommodations we were up by 6:45 and on the trail by 7:15. According to the guidebook, we were in for a walk of 26.5 km but that must have been calculated from the most westerly aubergue in Palas to the most easterly aubergue in Ricibiro. We, however, started east and ended up west and walked almost 29 km. The extra bit makes a huge difference at the end of the day with sore feet.
In between, it was a day of forest paths, country roads, and -- most of all -- HILLS. We have become attentive to the little diagrams, found in all the guidebooks and often posted on the aubergue bulletin boards, showing the changes in elevation along the sections of the Camino. Today's diagram showed a net drop of 300 m over this section but you couldn't prove it by me: my strongest recollection is of the endless hills UP.
My bladder is a nuisance. I think my pack hip-strap is situated right over the top of my bladder so no sooner do a take a drink but I want to pee. No sooner do I pee but I'm thirsty again. People are stopped everywhere, drinking. There are fountains all along the way, so many that you hardly need a water bottle. Some of them are very old. The occasional one warns 'water not safe for drinking' but I have heard pilgrims say that that advice is over-cautious and the water is ok at all the fountains. But I have not put that advice to the test.
There was an aubergue at the 26.5 km mark, an ancient but attractive one in a quiet location right on the river. People sat on rocks at the riverbank, cooling their feet in the water. Very attractive indeed. But we have become fond of staying right in town, when we can, where there's more choice in restaurants, pubs, supermercados, and things to see. So we continued, expecting (as usual) that the next aubergue would appear in a 100 m or so. Not true this time! We were faced with yet another long, hot hill, another 2 km of agony.
We pulled into the first aubergue we came to, not fussy at all at this point. So now it is the usual routine: sign in to the aubergue, go out for a beer (maybe 2), shower, do laundry, attend to our feet. Everybody fusses with their feet. You look around; people are scrunched on their bunks or closer to the window where the light is good or poised over sinks in the washrooms. We are still fairly lucky but some people's feet look terrible: blisters, open blisters, large patches of raw flesh. It gets serious. They sell not only pop and chocolate bars but also bandages and antibiotic cream in the vending machines.
I have developed a little routine before bedding down for the night in an aubergue. I wander around, up and down the rows of bunks, being careful not to look like I'm out to steal anything. I am not looking for seiko wristwatches but for the beefy Spaniard with whom we spent that long night a week ago. He was the absolute loudest snorer I have ever heard and he didn't just snore: he snorted, he farted, and he let his cell phone ring. A real piece of work, aubergue-wise. If I see him I will move my sleeping bag to an empty bunk (if there is one) as far away from him as possible. It's not just the noise: I don't want to be in the line of fire if people start throwing things at him in the dark.
There are about 60 beds in the aubergue at Arzua and by 8:30 they are all taken. The sign on the outside door says 'Completo' - a sad message to late pilgrims that they must keep on looking. More than half of the occupants are already in bed; the other half are fussing with feet or laundry. Damp towels, underwear, socks hang from bunk bed springs and railings. I am looking for a bright orange or a bright green t-shirt, the only 2 shirts that the Spaniard possesses. I know he's in town because we saw him in the sidewalk cafe drinking beer.
I return to my bunk because it's almost time for lights out. The man in the next bed -- he looks to be about 60 -- is singing to himself in French and checking his cell phone for messages. The woman on the bed to my left is coughing heavily and I'm sorry she's sick but I hope she takes something for her cough. No noisy Spaniard tonight. Perhaps he is making friends in another aubergue.
Spain, Day 8
May 30: Portomarin to Palas de Rei
Our night at Portomarin was uneven. When the lights went out, the snoring started and although I was mostly able to sleep through it (this time) Lois and Lj were not so lucky. So that is why we elected once again to find a habitacione for the night. It took us 5 tries in Palas de Rei to find a vacancy but for only 48 euros we secured a lovely room with 3 beds, our own bathroom, and a tiny but private balcony. It is hot on the balcony and we expect our laundry will dry in no time. We are terribly happy.
The day's walk was fine but we didn't feel like rushing it today. We travelled along farmyards, shady lanes, little villages. Frogs made a surreal, un-amphibian sound in the ponds along the way. In a little church, a choir was practising with the door open. A farmer herded his cows yelling a stream of encouragement or insults (hard to tell) and whacking the heels of the last cow with a stick to hurry her along. We stopped for ice cream in the heat of early afternoon.
And now we have gorged on bread, cheese, wine, and olives out on our tiny patio. And the laundry is dry already. Time for bed.
Our night at Portomarin was uneven. When the lights went out, the snoring started and although I was mostly able to sleep through it (this time) Lois and Lj were not so lucky. So that is why we elected once again to find a habitacione for the night. It took us 5 tries in Palas de Rei to find a vacancy but for only 48 euros we secured a lovely room with 3 beds, our own bathroom, and a tiny but private balcony. It is hot on the balcony and we expect our laundry will dry in no time. We are terribly happy.
The day's walk was fine but we didn't feel like rushing it today. We travelled along farmyards, shady lanes, little villages. Frogs made a surreal, un-amphibian sound in the ponds along the way. In a little church, a choir was practising with the door open. A farmer herded his cows yelling a stream of encouragement or insults (hard to tell) and whacking the heels of the last cow with a stick to hurry her along. We stopped for ice cream in the heat of early afternoon.
And now we have gorged on bread, cheese, wine, and olives out on our tiny patio. And the laundry is dry already. Time for bed.
Spain, Day 7
May 29: Sarria to Portomarin
It should have been an easy day: there are only 23 km between Sarria and Portomarin and that is starting to feel like an unremarkable distance to walk. But I was stiff and sore for no good reason and so the distance seemed plenty long enough. The scenery was gorgeous: fields of flowers, country roads, shady paths through the forests, picturesque pueblos. The use of stone is amazing: they use stone (especially slate) like we use cheap wood. It's used for houses, churches, roads, bridges, fences, monuments, fountains. We even saw a picnic table and bench put together with slabs of slate. But we are coming to expect beautiful scenery and antiquities around every corner.
What was most notable about the day was the increase in perigrinos on the trail. In order to be counted as a pilgrim, you must complete at least the last 100 km of the Camino on foot (the last 200 km if you are biking). And Sarria, as it turns out, is the last big town just outside the 100 km mark so many people take the bus this far so they can do the minimum. Some people cut the distance even shorter: not far out of Sarria we came to a little hole-in-the-wall coffee stop; nothing much there except for a credencial stamp but waiting in the parking lot was a big tour bus full of people from the Czech Republic who were doing only the last 100 km. Precisely. And perhaps some of the increase in traffic was due to 'weekend pilgrims': people who were able to purchase a credencial in Sarria and enjoy a couple of days as a peregrino.
It is understandable. Taking on the role of a pilgrim adds a whole new dimension, a deeper layer to the experience and in my opinion it is the most unique aspect of the trip. A pilgrim is not a tourist. The sign over the doorway of the aubergue in Ponferrada reads “The tourist demands. The pilgrim thanks,” but there is more to the distinction than the level of service expected. I might write another sign, with something like “The tourist is a spectator; the pilgrim is a participant in the journey.” This slice of Spain has been living with perigrinos for 1000 years and they have carved out a cultural niche for them. How often do you get to travel to a foreign country and experience it from within the culture?
We arrived at Portomarin early and had our choice of places to stay. Portomarin is quite tiny but it is FULL of aubergues! We booked ourselves into a new aubergue with at least 100 beds, a kitchen, cafe, nice laundry area, and internet: all the essentials! Portomarin is a town built for perigrinos all right. Besides the aubergues, the church dominates the skyline (can small communities have a skyline?) The church is quite remarkable. You can see it from a long way off and although it is apparently quite a famous Romanesque church it looks more like a big box store; rectangular, grey, and unremarkable except for its size. Of course looks don't matter and we went to the Mass anyway. The church was more crowded than usual, I suppose because it was the Saturday night version of the Sunday Mass. Before long it was standing room only, stuffed with about half perigrinos (you can tell from the way we don't dress) and half locals. The inside of the church was no more remarkable and except for a large 'rose' stained-glass window, I don't think you could accuse it of being pretty.
It wasn't until the congregation started to sing that we realized this church was not designed for architectural beauty. The acoustics were astounding; the sound was beautiful, strong, and deeply moving.
Back at the aubergue, we are cold. Someone said this is the coldest it's been in this area for 150 years. I am wrapped in my fleece jacket but wishing I had something more. No doubt it's better this way because it would be much harder to be walking so much in the heat.
It should have been an easy day: there are only 23 km between Sarria and Portomarin and that is starting to feel like an unremarkable distance to walk. But I was stiff and sore for no good reason and so the distance seemed plenty long enough. The scenery was gorgeous: fields of flowers, country roads, shady paths through the forests, picturesque pueblos. The use of stone is amazing: they use stone (especially slate) like we use cheap wood. It's used for houses, churches, roads, bridges, fences, monuments, fountains. We even saw a picnic table and bench put together with slabs of slate. But we are coming to expect beautiful scenery and antiquities around every corner.
What was most notable about the day was the increase in perigrinos on the trail. In order to be counted as a pilgrim, you must complete at least the last 100 km of the Camino on foot (the last 200 km if you are biking). And Sarria, as it turns out, is the last big town just outside the 100 km mark so many people take the bus this far so they can do the minimum. Some people cut the distance even shorter: not far out of Sarria we came to a little hole-in-the-wall coffee stop; nothing much there except for a credencial stamp but waiting in the parking lot was a big tour bus full of people from the Czech Republic who were doing only the last 100 km. Precisely. And perhaps some of the increase in traffic was due to 'weekend pilgrims': people who were able to purchase a credencial in Sarria and enjoy a couple of days as a peregrino.
It is understandable. Taking on the role of a pilgrim adds a whole new dimension, a deeper layer to the experience and in my opinion it is the most unique aspect of the trip. A pilgrim is not a tourist. The sign over the doorway of the aubergue in Ponferrada reads “The tourist demands. The pilgrim thanks,” but there is more to the distinction than the level of service expected. I might write another sign, with something like “The tourist is a spectator; the pilgrim is a participant in the journey.” This slice of Spain has been living with perigrinos for 1000 years and they have carved out a cultural niche for them. How often do you get to travel to a foreign country and experience it from within the culture?
We arrived at Portomarin early and had our choice of places to stay. Portomarin is quite tiny but it is FULL of aubergues! We booked ourselves into a new aubergue with at least 100 beds, a kitchen, cafe, nice laundry area, and internet: all the essentials! Portomarin is a town built for perigrinos all right. Besides the aubergues, the church dominates the skyline (can small communities have a skyline?) The church is quite remarkable. You can see it from a long way off and although it is apparently quite a famous Romanesque church it looks more like a big box store; rectangular, grey, and unremarkable except for its size. Of course looks don't matter and we went to the Mass anyway. The church was more crowded than usual, I suppose because it was the Saturday night version of the Sunday Mass. Before long it was standing room only, stuffed with about half perigrinos (you can tell from the way we don't dress) and half locals. The inside of the church was no more remarkable and except for a large 'rose' stained-glass window, I don't think you could accuse it of being pretty.
It wasn't until the congregation started to sing that we realized this church was not designed for architectural beauty. The acoustics were astounding; the sound was beautiful, strong, and deeply moving.
Back at the aubergue, we are cold. Someone said this is the coldest it's been in this area for 150 years. I am wrapped in my fleece jacket but wishing I had something more. No doubt it's better this way because it would be much harder to be walking so much in the heat.
Spain, Day 6
May 28: Triacastela to Sarria
And we did sleep well! We didn't have the company of perigrinos or the accuracy of an alarm clock to wake us but we were all up by 7 am anyway. Obviously we have adapted to the time zone. We were on the Camino by 7:40 and joined the flow of perigrinos exiting Triacastela.
It was a peaceful and beautiful walk all day. The Camino followed a little river for much of the day so we saw a lot of river-things: old bridges, waterfalls, millponds, old men fishing. And we walked between countless farmyards. The Camino is used as a transportation route for locals, too, and in this area the path is deeply scented with cow urine. At one point we encountered a man leading a herd of dairy cattle wall-to-wall filling the path and coming right towards us. They were languid and dopey until the farmer yelled out something complex and suddenly the cows picked up their feet, doubled their speed, forcing us to press back out of the way against the fence. I was impressed – I didn't know cows could be so responsive to directions! It wasn't until they were almost past that we noticed the two German Shepherds moving nimbly at the back of the herd, nipping heels and keeping things going.
The dogs of the Camino are generally pretty laid-back creatures. I suppose that a thousand years of pilgrimage has shaped the temperments of the breeds here. At some point, the dogs must realize that there is simply no point getting all worked up about strangers walking past. Most times you will walk right by a dog asleep in the middle of the Camino path and unless you see the ears twitch you have no reassurance that the dog is even alive.
We had lunch in Samos, a tiny town grown up around a huge monestary. The monestary hosts an aubergue but we were feeling too good to stop so we carried on until Sarria. Now we are in a nice aubergue, with supper over and food stashed away for breakfast tomorrow.
And we did sleep well! We didn't have the company of perigrinos or the accuracy of an alarm clock to wake us but we were all up by 7 am anyway. Obviously we have adapted to the time zone. We were on the Camino by 7:40 and joined the flow of perigrinos exiting Triacastela.
It was a peaceful and beautiful walk all day. The Camino followed a little river for much of the day so we saw a lot of river-things: old bridges, waterfalls, millponds, old men fishing. And we walked between countless farmyards. The Camino is used as a transportation route for locals, too, and in this area the path is deeply scented with cow urine. At one point we encountered a man leading a herd of dairy cattle wall-to-wall filling the path and coming right towards us. They were languid and dopey until the farmer yelled out something complex and suddenly the cows picked up their feet, doubled their speed, forcing us to press back out of the way against the fence. I was impressed – I didn't know cows could be so responsive to directions! It wasn't until they were almost past that we noticed the two German Shepherds moving nimbly at the back of the herd, nipping heels and keeping things going.
The dogs of the Camino are generally pretty laid-back creatures. I suppose that a thousand years of pilgrimage has shaped the temperments of the breeds here. At some point, the dogs must realize that there is simply no point getting all worked up about strangers walking past. Most times you will walk right by a dog asleep in the middle of the Camino path and unless you see the ears twitch you have no reassurance that the dog is even alive.
We had lunch in Samos, a tiny town grown up around a huge monestary. The monestary hosts an aubergue but we were feeling too good to stop so we carried on until Sarria. Now we are in a nice aubergue, with supper over and food stashed away for breakfast tomorrow.
Spain, Day 5
May 27: Laguna de Castilla to Triacastela
We got off to a bad start. Last night, it turned out that one of the perigrinos in our dormitory was a fierce snorer and his antisocial sleeping habits severely disrupted the sleep of the other 8 in the room. Snoring and blisters are the blackflies of Camino life, it seems.
Regardless, we got up and headed out and in no time we were at the summit, viewing the monument to perigrinos, at 1300 m. This height of land marks the border into Galicia which is a damp, lush, and Celtic-flavoured province in northwest Spain. We had hoped, given the long climb of yesterday, that it would all be an easy downhill from here but that wasn't quite true. Our descent was really steep in places, hard on the knees and shoulders with the pack-weight pushing forward I suppose. And of course we were all tired to begin with.
Probably because we were so tired and because the day was cool and damp we took time out, perhaps more than usual, for refreshment breaks. It gave us a good opportunity to start soaking up the culture of Galicia. Did I mention that Galician culture is rooted in a Celtic past? The language is a bit different, still recognizably latin-derived, but Galician is a distinct dialect within Spain. The cuisine is different too; for example, every little hamlet has a 'pulperia' (a cafe selling octupus). There are Galician flags and cultural slogans and you get the feeling that people here are Galician first, Spanish second.
Did I mention how tired we were? So by the time we arrived in Triacastela we decided to ensure a snore-free night and we booked a habitacione. We have 4 beds in a room to ourselves and a shared bathroom down the hall. We rigged a clothesline by stringing a bit of rope from the chandelier to the drape pull and we did our laundry and enjoyed long leisurely showers. We went out for supper and tried the local octupus.
Before completely collapsing for the night, we went to Mass. It seems that every town along the Camino hosts a special Mass for pilgrims every night and we have been getting into the habit of attending these when possible. A woman welcomed us at the door on our way in and asked about our language; she had handouts available in 5 or 6 different languages. The priest tonight was a lovely man who obviously enjoyed his audience (all ~20 of us) and liked what he was doing. Before the Mass started, he commissioned members of the audience with different language abilities to act as translators for him. He told us all (through translation) to just relax and sit through the celebration; after all, he knew we were tired and had sore feet and he knew it was confusing for those who were neither Catholic nor Spanish to figure out what was going on with all the sitting and standing and kneeling etc.. He smiled and he laughed and he waited with patient good humour for the translations and he stripped the formal part of the Mass to its absolute leanness. We left feeling blessed and absolutely ready for a good night's sleep.
We got off to a bad start. Last night, it turned out that one of the perigrinos in our dormitory was a fierce snorer and his antisocial sleeping habits severely disrupted the sleep of the other 8 in the room. Snoring and blisters are the blackflies of Camino life, it seems.
Regardless, we got up and headed out and in no time we were at the summit, viewing the monument to perigrinos, at 1300 m. This height of land marks the border into Galicia which is a damp, lush, and Celtic-flavoured province in northwest Spain. We had hoped, given the long climb of yesterday, that it would all be an easy downhill from here but that wasn't quite true. Our descent was really steep in places, hard on the knees and shoulders with the pack-weight pushing forward I suppose. And of course we were all tired to begin with.
Probably because we were so tired and because the day was cool and damp we took time out, perhaps more than usual, for refreshment breaks. It gave us a good opportunity to start soaking up the culture of Galicia. Did I mention that Galician culture is rooted in a Celtic past? The language is a bit different, still recognizably latin-derived, but Galician is a distinct dialect within Spain. The cuisine is different too; for example, every little hamlet has a 'pulperia' (a cafe selling octupus). There are Galician flags and cultural slogans and you get the feeling that people here are Galician first, Spanish second.
Did I mention how tired we were? So by the time we arrived in Triacastela we decided to ensure a snore-free night and we booked a habitacione. We have 4 beds in a room to ourselves and a shared bathroom down the hall. We rigged a clothesline by stringing a bit of rope from the chandelier to the drape pull and we did our laundry and enjoyed long leisurely showers. We went out for supper and tried the local octupus.
Before completely collapsing for the night, we went to Mass. It seems that every town along the Camino hosts a special Mass for pilgrims every night and we have been getting into the habit of attending these when possible. A woman welcomed us at the door on our way in and asked about our language; she had handouts available in 5 or 6 different languages. The priest tonight was a lovely man who obviously enjoyed his audience (all ~20 of us) and liked what he was doing. Before the Mass started, he commissioned members of the audience with different language abilities to act as translators for him. He told us all (through translation) to just relax and sit through the celebration; after all, he knew we were tired and had sore feet and he knew it was confusing for those who were neither Catholic nor Spanish to figure out what was going on with all the sitting and standing and kneeling etc.. He smiled and he laughed and he waited with patient good humour for the translations and he stripped the formal part of the Mass to its absolute leanness. We left feeling blessed and absolutely ready for a good night's sleep.
Spain, Day 4
May 26: Villafranca to Laguna de Castilla
This was a truly tough day but our experience is softened by the understanding that this will probably be the toughest stretch in the entire 202 km of our journey. We walked at least 26 km today, almost all of that uphill, and the last 6 or 7 km were quite steep. And after all, it's only our second day out and our muscles are still tender. We are really, really TIRED. Weather-wise, though, we can't complain: it never rained hard but it spat and sprinkled all day to keep us cool.
This, apparently, is our last day in the province of Castile-Leon. Except for the constant elevation, the Way was like yesterday: varied and beautiful. We walked past many vineyards and fields, through tiny pueblos (communities) with the most fascinating combination of buildings in all stages of antiquity, disrepair, renewal, and modernity. We walked over a roman bridge! It was wonderfully overgrown and unpretentious: obviously strong enough to fend for itself over many hundreds of years.
In spite of all the trails and village streets and country backroads, we didn't get lost once. We are getting the hang of looking for Way-signs. The Camino is signed in at least a dozen different formats: layers and layers of signage added over the years. There are government signs, municipal signs, brass shells embedded in the pavement, EU/UNESCO official signs, tidy directional arrows and much cruder yellow arrows spray-painted on pavement, tree trunks, and the sides of buildings. Once you have the eyes to see them, they are everywhere you need them to be.
We stopped at Laguna de Castilla only because we had to: most perigrinos continue on to O'Cebreiro which is a major pilgrims' hangout only 2 km further along. But we were exhausted, hungry, damp and cold so we pulled out at the first opportunity to this little aubergue-plus-cafe, situated sort of in the middle of a cow pasture. Once we recovered a bit, we did walk on to have a look at O'Cebreiro, a collection of very old stone and even older stone+thatch buildings immersed in mist at the top of the summit. I believe the sign said that this is the oldest continually-in-use aubergue on the entire Camino and it is an entire village of dormitories, cafes, and support shops. We were able to buy postcards and stamps and scallop shells to hang on our packs like so many other pilgrims.
But if I had to pick a highlight of the day it wouldn't be the roman bridge or the stone village at O'Cebreiro: it would be a green plastic laundry basket. After arriving at the aubergue, painfully extracting our muddy boots, and seeing how nice and clean and inviting the little dormitory looked, the aubergue owner appeared in the doorway with a laundry basket. “If you need any laundry done,” he explained in Spanish, “we'll do it for you for 4 euros.” Incredible, welcome, marvellous luxury!
This was a truly tough day but our experience is softened by the understanding that this will probably be the toughest stretch in the entire 202 km of our journey. We walked at least 26 km today, almost all of that uphill, and the last 6 or 7 km were quite steep. And after all, it's only our second day out and our muscles are still tender. We are really, really TIRED. Weather-wise, though, we can't complain: it never rained hard but it spat and sprinkled all day to keep us cool.
This, apparently, is our last day in the province of Castile-Leon. Except for the constant elevation, the Way was like yesterday: varied and beautiful. We walked past many vineyards and fields, through tiny pueblos (communities) with the most fascinating combination of buildings in all stages of antiquity, disrepair, renewal, and modernity. We walked over a roman bridge! It was wonderfully overgrown and unpretentious: obviously strong enough to fend for itself over many hundreds of years.
In spite of all the trails and village streets and country backroads, we didn't get lost once. We are getting the hang of looking for Way-signs. The Camino is signed in at least a dozen different formats: layers and layers of signage added over the years. There are government signs, municipal signs, brass shells embedded in the pavement, EU/UNESCO official signs, tidy directional arrows and much cruder yellow arrows spray-painted on pavement, tree trunks, and the sides of buildings. Once you have the eyes to see them, they are everywhere you need them to be.
We stopped at Laguna de Castilla only because we had to: most perigrinos continue on to O'Cebreiro which is a major pilgrims' hangout only 2 km further along. But we were exhausted, hungry, damp and cold so we pulled out at the first opportunity to this little aubergue-plus-cafe, situated sort of in the middle of a cow pasture. Once we recovered a bit, we did walk on to have a look at O'Cebreiro, a collection of very old stone and even older stone+thatch buildings immersed in mist at the top of the summit. I believe the sign said that this is the oldest continually-in-use aubergue on the entire Camino and it is an entire village of dormitories, cafes, and support shops. We were able to buy postcards and stamps and scallop shells to hang on our packs like so many other pilgrims.
But if I had to pick a highlight of the day it wouldn't be the roman bridge or the stone village at O'Cebreiro: it would be a green plastic laundry basket. After arriving at the aubergue, painfully extracting our muddy boots, and seeing how nice and clean and inviting the little dormitory looked, the aubergue owner appeared in the doorway with a laundry basket. “If you need any laundry done,” he explained in Spanish, “we'll do it for you for 4 euros.” Incredible, welcome, marvellous luxury!
Spain, Day 3
May 25: Ponferrada to Villafranca de Bierzo
We had been just a bit alarmed by the signs in the dormitory advising that not only only did quiet time start at 9:30 but that check-out time was 7:30 am. 7:30 for heaven's sake!!! But as it turned out, that was an easy deadline to meet. We woke up when everybody else did, at around 6 am, when the keeners began packing up. The room was pitch black so their flashlight beams crisscrossed the room; it is like trying to sleep while your partner watches a TV action movie. Anyway, it was no problem to convince ourselves that we might as well get up too. We packed up and headed out.
Our first real day of Camino! We struggled a bit to find our way out of town. Ponferrada is large enough to have MANY streets and they are not laid out on a grid. We looked for the yellow arrows or scallop shells pointing the way but they didn't seem obvious. We headed off over a bridge and had gone almost a kilometer before it occurred to us that there were no other pilgrims ahead or behind so we turned around and found where we'd missed our turn.
Once on the right path out of town, we started to appreciate the richness of Camino life. There are so many different kinds of people travelling! I could identify conversations in Spanish, French, German, and English but there were other languages I couldn't recognize. Most people are between the ages of 25 and 75 (a wide enough range) but there are a few outside both ends of that spectrum. We saw a young couple pushing a baby in a dinky stroller and we met a woman carrying a little dog in a shoulder bag. Some people were limping even at the start of the day.
The Camino passes through all kinds of environs. We walked along small country roads, gravelly shortcuts, muddy forest paths, and even along the highway for a while. The Way threaded us through forests and little villages, past bakeries, coffee shops, through fields of wild red poppies and indigenous yellow broom, between vineyards and pastures. It was about as lovely as a walk could be, in spite of the rain that irritated us (raincoat on, raincoat off).
After 25 km (the last 5 were HARD) we arrived at Villafranca, a small town with a river running through it and hills all around. The aubergue is old and rough but interesting: it is right next to the ancient hospital in which sick pilgrims were treated. If they were deemed too unwell to continue, they could receive the redemption of pilgrimage at this point and bow out (one way or another) gracefully.
But after refreshing with a shower and enjoying some cold beer, we did not feel unwell at all. We found the supermercado and bought bread and cheese and wine and some fruit for the next day.
We had been just a bit alarmed by the signs in the dormitory advising that not only only did quiet time start at 9:30 but that check-out time was 7:30 am. 7:30 for heaven's sake!!! But as it turned out, that was an easy deadline to meet. We woke up when everybody else did, at around 6 am, when the keeners began packing up. The room was pitch black so their flashlight beams crisscrossed the room; it is like trying to sleep while your partner watches a TV action movie. Anyway, it was no problem to convince ourselves that we might as well get up too. We packed up and headed out.
Our first real day of Camino! We struggled a bit to find our way out of town. Ponferrada is large enough to have MANY streets and they are not laid out on a grid. We looked for the yellow arrows or scallop shells pointing the way but they didn't seem obvious. We headed off over a bridge and had gone almost a kilometer before it occurred to us that there were no other pilgrims ahead or behind so we turned around and found where we'd missed our turn.
Once on the right path out of town, we started to appreciate the richness of Camino life. There are so many different kinds of people travelling! I could identify conversations in Spanish, French, German, and English but there were other languages I couldn't recognize. Most people are between the ages of 25 and 75 (a wide enough range) but there are a few outside both ends of that spectrum. We saw a young couple pushing a baby in a dinky stroller and we met a woman carrying a little dog in a shoulder bag. Some people were limping even at the start of the day.
The Camino passes through all kinds of environs. We walked along small country roads, gravelly shortcuts, muddy forest paths, and even along the highway for a while. The Way threaded us through forests and little villages, past bakeries, coffee shops, through fields of wild red poppies and indigenous yellow broom, between vineyards and pastures. It was about as lovely as a walk could be, in spite of the rain that irritated us (raincoat on, raincoat off).
After 25 km (the last 5 were HARD) we arrived at Villafranca, a small town with a river running through it and hills all around. The aubergue is old and rough but interesting: it is right next to the ancient hospital in which sick pilgrims were treated. If they were deemed too unwell to continue, they could receive the redemption of pilgrimage at this point and bow out (one way or another) gracefully.
But after refreshing with a shower and enjoying some cold beer, we did not feel unwell at all. We found the supermercado and bought bread and cheese and wine and some fruit for the next day.
Spain, Day 2
May 24: Madrid to Ponferrada
There's not a lot to say about the bus trip. The bus leaves from the airport which is very handy if you are staying at a hotel with an airport shuttle (which we were). We had to be up early to get the bus and given my jet lag and overall excitement, I didn't sleep much at all last night. But it was an easy trip anyway. I sat next to a woman named Lucha whose father had just died; she was on her way to Ponferrada to connect with the rest of her family. She had worked as a travel agent and spoke some English so we were able to struggle together with Spanglish for much of the 6 hour trip. A gentle way to start using Spanish again.
We arrived in Ponferrada just before 4 pm and started asking directions for the aubergue. With each request, we were given a very fast stream of orders to go “a la derecha, a la izquierda, derecho” etc. Eventually, in spite of it, we wandered into the aubergue. It was a wonderful welcome: we opened the gate into a little courtyard where people of all ages sat at little tables, resting, enjoying cold drinks, eating bread and cheese. Laundry hung on lines all around the edges of the yard. Someone greeted us in Spanish and handed us each a little glass; someone else came around to fill it with sweet, orange-flavoured water. We signed the registration form and got our very first sello (pilgrims' stamp) in our credencials. We were shown to our bunks in a large room full of bunk beds (20? more?). We dumped our packs and went out to explore the city.
There is a lot to see in Ponferrada even if you are in near-zombie condition. The most outstanding landmark is the castle, built by the Templars in the 15th century. It is like a castle in a children's book, on the high point of town beside the river. Getting to it is half the fun: the town is full of narrow winding streets, old bridges, churches, and endless sidewalk cafes. It's just all so different from urban environments in North America.
Back at the aubergue, we cleaned up and got ready for bed. I have been in lots of hostels before, even co-ed hostels in Quebec, but this was my first time in a hostel with co-ed washrooms. It is not something we are accustomed to, to be brushing our teeth in a sink, facing a man using the urinal. We were warned us that Quiet Time would begin at 9:30 and they were right: the lights simply went out and we were all in the dark. The room was instantly quiet.
But not for long. Soon the snoring began. And then people got up to use the toilets and stumbled back to bed with flashlights making random lasers around the room. I don't remember sleeping (AGAIN) but I must have dozed off for a few hours at least.
There's not a lot to say about the bus trip. The bus leaves from the airport which is very handy if you are staying at a hotel with an airport shuttle (which we were). We had to be up early to get the bus and given my jet lag and overall excitement, I didn't sleep much at all last night. But it was an easy trip anyway. I sat next to a woman named Lucha whose father had just died; she was on her way to Ponferrada to connect with the rest of her family. She had worked as a travel agent and spoke some English so we were able to struggle together with Spanglish for much of the 6 hour trip. A gentle way to start using Spanish again.
We arrived in Ponferrada just before 4 pm and started asking directions for the aubergue. With each request, we were given a very fast stream of orders to go “a la derecha, a la izquierda, derecho” etc. Eventually, in spite of it, we wandered into the aubergue. It was a wonderful welcome: we opened the gate into a little courtyard where people of all ages sat at little tables, resting, enjoying cold drinks, eating bread and cheese. Laundry hung on lines all around the edges of the yard. Someone greeted us in Spanish and handed us each a little glass; someone else came around to fill it with sweet, orange-flavoured water. We signed the registration form and got our very first sello (pilgrims' stamp) in our credencials. We were shown to our bunks in a large room full of bunk beds (20? more?). We dumped our packs and went out to explore the city.
There is a lot to see in Ponferrada even if you are in near-zombie condition. The most outstanding landmark is the castle, built by the Templars in the 15th century. It is like a castle in a children's book, on the high point of town beside the river. Getting to it is half the fun: the town is full of narrow winding streets, old bridges, churches, and endless sidewalk cafes. It's just all so different from urban environments in North America.
Back at the aubergue, we cleaned up and got ready for bed. I have been in lots of hostels before, even co-ed hostels in Quebec, but this was my first time in a hostel with co-ed washrooms. It is not something we are accustomed to, to be brushing our teeth in a sink, facing a man using the urinal. We were warned us that Quiet Time would begin at 9:30 and they were right: the lights simply went out and we were all in the dark. The room was instantly quiet.
But not for long. Soon the snoring began. And then people got up to use the toilets and stumbled back to bed with flashlights making random lasers around the room. I don't remember sleeping (AGAIN) but I must have dozed off for a few hours at least.
Spain, Day 1+
May 22 - 23: Canada to Madrid
What constitutes a day when you are travelling across multiple time zones? I left home at 10:30 am local time and I arrived in Madrid at 4:15 pm the next day and I had barely an hour's sleep in between. That's not nearly enough to effect punctuation between 2 days. My flights were uneventful, with minor delays and resultant stresses that no longer blip the radar, not really. Lois and Lj were at the hotel when I arrived and we all went for a glass of beer to celebrate. How remarkable, really, to be together so easily when you consider how far apart were our starting points! Lois and I live 600+ km apart in BC and Lj lives several thousand km away, just outside of Washington DC. The camarero brought a dish of olives and a bowl of potato chips and we sat in the warm and dry of Madrid toasting each other, toasting the beginning. Later, we went for a walk and still later we returned to the sidewalk cafe for something to eat. Somehow we got talking to the couple at the next table who understood enough English to help us place an order. We were able to get some pizza (the only thing available for some reason) and a bottle of wine. As it turns out, our table neighbour has walked the Camino more than ten times! He wished us all a 'buen camino' and surely with such a blessing there is no better way to start.
What constitutes a day when you are travelling across multiple time zones? I left home at 10:30 am local time and I arrived in Madrid at 4:15 pm the next day and I had barely an hour's sleep in between. That's not nearly enough to effect punctuation between 2 days. My flights were uneventful, with minor delays and resultant stresses that no longer blip the radar, not really. Lois and Lj were at the hotel when I arrived and we all went for a glass of beer to celebrate. How remarkable, really, to be together so easily when you consider how far apart were our starting points! Lois and I live 600+ km apart in BC and Lj lives several thousand km away, just outside of Washington DC. The camarero brought a dish of olives and a bowl of potato chips and we sat in the warm and dry of Madrid toasting each other, toasting the beginning. Later, we went for a walk and still later we returned to the sidewalk cafe for something to eat. Somehow we got talking to the couple at the next table who understood enough English to help us place an order. We were able to get some pizza (the only thing available for some reason) and a bottle of wine. As it turns out, our table neighbour has walked the Camino more than ten times! He wished us all a 'buen camino' and surely with such a blessing there is no better way to start.
Spain, Getting there
I made an almost instantaneous decision to go to Spain on a dismal day in March when things were not going well at work. Work is normally good and often even very good so a bad week or two is an unusual event and I suppose I can thank that irregularity for the motivation to go. I certainly hadn't been planning on going to Spain on holidays. I had heard about the Camino less than a year before and found the idea attractive: you walk. You travel to Spain, you carry only the necessities, you walk, you eat and find accommodation along the way, you meet people, see the scenery... but most of all you walk.
So I was sitting at my desk, feeling miserable, when an Air Canada advertisement pinged my email and I thought, “What am I waiting for?” Really, it was that simple. Beyond the impulse, I had enough presence of mind to consider that I could afford 2 weeks off in late spring, that would give me about 10 days outside of travel-time, and I could easily walk 20 km a day. So a total of 200 km... I googled a map of the Camino and measured, roughly, 200 km east of Santiago de Compostela which suggested a starting point at Ponferrada. Done! Within 15 minutes I had booked my flights.
I returned to my day-job buoyant and got more done in the next hour or two than I had accomplished all day. That night I made one more strategic move: I emailed my sister and sister-in-law to inform them of what I had done. The three of us have done some hiking in the past and I had mentioned the attraction of the Camino and they had loosely agreed that it sounded nice. But all of that talk had been almost a year before. Nevertheless, within 48 hours they had both also booked flights to Madrid.
(I had almost no access to the internet while I was away so these posts are added after the fact. I'm writing from my paper-based notes & adding a bit from memory. This explains -- I hope! -- why the verb tenses seem to jump around a little in this account. Photos for this blog are here.)
So I was sitting at my desk, feeling miserable, when an Air Canada advertisement pinged my email and I thought, “What am I waiting for?” Really, it was that simple. Beyond the impulse, I had enough presence of mind to consider that I could afford 2 weeks off in late spring, that would give me about 10 days outside of travel-time, and I could easily walk 20 km a day. So a total of 200 km... I googled a map of the Camino and measured, roughly, 200 km east of Santiago de Compostela which suggested a starting point at Ponferrada. Done! Within 15 minutes I had booked my flights.
I returned to my day-job buoyant and got more done in the next hour or two than I had accomplished all day. That night I made one more strategic move: I emailed my sister and sister-in-law to inform them of what I had done. The three of us have done some hiking in the past and I had mentioned the attraction of the Camino and they had loosely agreed that it sounded nice. But all of that talk had been almost a year before. Nevertheless, within 48 hours they had both also booked flights to Madrid.
(I had almost no access to the internet while I was away so these posts are added after the fact. I'm writing from my paper-based notes & adding a bit from memory. This explains -- I hope! -- why the verb tenses seem to jump around a little in this account. Photos for this blog are here.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)