Throughout Galicia, municipal albergues have been purpose built to shelter modern day pilgrims. In some places, old schools have been converted into pilgrim accommodation. At O’Cebreiro there is a large municipal albergue. It is rather stark, but has three large bunkrooms and two sizeable shower rooms. There are sixty bunk beds in the bunkroom we are in and I, unexpectedly, feel overwhelmed and lonely. There are no pilgrims present whom I recognize, apart from the two women we had seen in the carpark. They took their clean tramping boots and clean backpacks from the boot of the car, put this gear on, then walked into the albergue and handed over their pilgrim credentials. They achieved a four euros’ bed for the night. There are many ways to complete the Camino. “The closer we get to Santiago, the more we might see people getting to Santiago any way that makes it possible for them, what do you think?” Bruce nods his agreement.
The separate gender shower rooms are spacious with large shower cubicles and a changing room. There is space to change in the cubicles themselves, but if privacy is the goal, that is not possible. There are no doors on the cubicles. I hate that. I know we are all female, but I do prefer privacy when having a shower. Not that anyone is looking. The water is hot, but the showers here too, are on timers. I understand the reason for the timers. With so many pilgrims, hot water needs to be rationed. Dafydd does not like the timers.
My shower ordeal over, we go to visit Santuario Santa María a Real do Cebreiro. We love its simplicity. Bruce and I sit quietly in the Presence that fills this ancient space. It is calm, quiet and reverent. There is a golden light emanating from the stone walls despite the low level of lighting. A Franciscan brother gives us a new credential: one with St Francis of Assisi on the cover. We take time to admire the bust of Don Elias Valiña Sampedro who initiated the marking of the Camino route with the yellow arrows.
It is now wet and cold. We head off to find the small bar and dinner. The bar is well patronised, with a general fug enveloping pilgrims who are relieved to be warm and dry. We perch on top of stools with an upended wine barrel as our table. There is not a lot of space in here. I enjoy the snugness. There is an Irish pilgrim present whom we have seen once before and we talk briefly with him. The bar has accommodation and the Irish pilgrim has a room here, so soon moves off. I am sad to see him go.
Back at the albergue, a very noisy group of South Americans persuade the custodian to open another bunkroom and they move into that. I am relieved. Unluckily, the two women with the clean gear have chosen bunks head to head with mine and they just keep on talking. I am exceedingly annoyed. They are obviously not tired. Those of us who walked the valley, then climbed the 600 metres are so tired we crawled into bed as soon as it was polite to do so. Perhaps I will ask them to stop talking. I hesitate long enough for them to eventually be quiet of their own accord.
As is my habit I put my iPad, phone and wallet under my ‘pillow’ in lieu of a fire proof safe. I wake at 1 a.m. and feel around under my pillow for my precious things. I can’t find them. Neither can I locate my head torch to look under the bed. I eventually find my phone by touch. I move (in the dark) my raincoat, over-trousers and plastic bags located at the end of the bed and find my wallet. I then put the wallet and phone into my sleeping bag liner so they can’t move again. I locate the iPad in the morning.
O’Cebreiro to Lusio
24 kms (15ml)
155.2 kms (96.4 ml) to Santiago
I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all things through him who gives me strength.
Philippians 4:12-13 (NIV)
April 24, Day 34
THERE IS A THICK FOG as we leave the albergue and we walk along a wide unsealed logging road. The hills and valleys are now cloaked in mystery. I am upset again. There had been another political conversation during breakfast. Bruce knows I loathe this first thing in the morning. We walk apart and I am silent. I consciously try to regain my emotional equilibrium.
Loose the cords of mistakes binding us,
As we release the strands we hold of others’ faults
I focus on the violets, hellebores and other spring flowers. The gorse is also in flower adding patches of gold to this grey day. When we reach a farm, the buildings slowly reveal themselves as the fog lifts briefly, then falls again. We can smell and hear the stock as we pass the barns.
There is a short, steep grunt ahead of us. It is even steeper than yesterday’s climb. There are pilgrims at various stages of the last bit of the climb trying to regain control of their breathing. This is not the time to appear daunted; Bruce and I look at each other, smile and keep climbing. Rising over the brow onto the road, we find flat ground. The sun breaks through the cloud and just over the road is a bar. We sit outside in the sun and my mood rapidly improves. I order us a second breakfast – a bocadillo with a filling of omelette and ham followed by hot coffee. It is delicious. This region is known for its excellent ham. The energy from our first breakfast of bananas, oranges and yoghurt was soon expended coming up that last grunt. Roosters are crowing beside our table. We talk together and agree that we are both fitter and stronger. It is good to be walking our Camino together.
A bus stops and the driver drops a pack off at the bar. A short while later a taxi arrives and a man alights, collects his pack, then he and pack hop into the taxi and are gone. The elderly mother of the barman directs some words in the direction of this man who accomplishes his Camino with his pack sitting beside him in a taxi.
The mother is taken with Bruce. She pulls his beard as she walks past. On another sortie, she waggles his toes as his sock and sandal clad feet rest on a spare chair. Bruce continues to attract attention wherever we go, with his ever lengthening, nearly all white beard. The Gandalf title continues along The Way. Pilgrims and albergues hosts ask to take his photo.
The clouds overshadow us again as we leave the bar. “I’m going to put on wet weather gear just in case,” I say. “I’ll chance it,” he responds. We stop at the next village, Linares, where there is wi-fi. Once again, I need to transfer money and check the emails. Bruce eats tarta de Santiago while he waits. IPad work complete, we leave this bar which has extended warm hospitality to us.
There is a type of toll gate as we exit the village. We are stopped by an elderly woman who offers us freshly cooked crêpes with sugar shaken over the top. Neither of us need any more food, but we don’t want to be rude. We each take one and eat it. “Delicious,” I say. Her hand is in her pocket and I hear the rattle of coins. I give her one euro thinking that generous, but she says, “dos.” She had cooked two crêpes, we had eaten both, so she wants two coins. Once we are out of earshot Bruce laughs, “She is a good business woman and it was worth the experience. I hope we don’t suffer after eating the crêpes. I didn’t want to eat one. We don’t know what she was doing with her hands in that barn of hers before making them.” Bruce had noticed plates stacked with crêpes on a box in the animal barn. I am horrified. I don’t want a bout of dysentery on top of everything else.
“Bruce, do you remember that poor woman we talked with at Estella, who ended up in hospital because she got such a bad dose of dysentery?” He remembers. Thankfully, neither of us suffers from our goodwill in purchasing the food. (Several days later we are to come across a similar toll gate. This time the elderly woman invites us into her one room home and offers us each a cup of instant coffee for one euro. We each have a cup. (The pilgrims behind us did not stop and pay the toll.)
“It looks like it’s threatening rain.” He doesn’t believe me. “She said, back there in the café, that it won’t rain.” A few drops fall then it starts to rain. Bruce is soon digging into his pack for his raincoat and over-trousers. As we climb to Alto San Roque we enter cloud. The large bronze sculpture, the Monumento de Peregrino, appears dully in the cloud and
driving rain. He is impressive as he stands clutching his pilgrim’s hat, leaning on his staff, body bent into a stiff wind. We too are having to lean into the wind at this altitude of 1,270 metres above sea level. We soon stop again and are both looking in our packs for more gear. The temperature is dropping fast now. “It is cold enough to snow,” comes my muffled voice. Just a few minutes later it does begin to snow. Fortunately, we are now going downhill and moving fast. We climb again almost to Alto de Poio at 1,330 metres above sea level and then begin to descend. The snow is slating at us sideways, then the wind direction changes and the snow drives against our backs. As we hurry downhill, the snow becomes rain. We negotiate around water, roots, trees, rocks, and lots of nettle. We are doubly drenched; from the rain and from water dripping from the moisture laden trees.
At Fonfria the rain ceases, but we face another challenge. There are five large dogs on the loose with a sixth chained; all are barking. The chained one looks exceedingly ferocious. The five dogs run fast towards Bruce. He is standing still holding his tramping pole ready. The farmer watches from the door of his barn. We do not hear him call, but the dogs stop just short of Bruce. We look at them, then slowly start to walk away. Bruce and I are shaken by the encounter. As we have been passing through farm land over the past few days, we have seen and heard many dogs. All of them were barking rather savagely I thought. The dogs look like a cross between Alsatian and wolf. This is possibly a fanciful description, but these dogs are not kept as pets. We pass through a very isolated farm and hear a dog barking in a large shed. The house beside the shed looks deserted. “The owners have probably left the dog on guard while they are away,” Bruce surmises. The dog is frantically scratching at the barn door. I feel very distressed.
A couple pass us. She is dressed in lycra and is walking as if she is in a gym aerobics’ class. Her pack is swinging from side to side. He is trotting along behind her trying to keep up. They pass the other pilgrims up ahead. Bruce and I look at each other and try not to laugh. He says, “That’s the funniest thing I’ve seen on the Camino.”
When we stop at a bar for lunch, we each eat our second omelette bocadillo of the day, followed by two hot chocolate drinks. It begins to rain again, so we sit for one and half hours. When the rain eases, we decide to take a taxi to Samos. A taxi passes as we are getting ourselves sorted and we do not see any more. We have to walk.
We are both very tired of walking in the rain. The woodland is serene, but very wet. When we come to San Cristobo, a small traditional village sitting on the banks of the river Óribio, we stop to admire the ancient weir and mill buildings. An elderly woman walks past in one of those gingham smocks, but this one is enhanced with a cardigan and a light blue umbrella. The umbrella has a cream lace trim. She and the umbrella are walking the cows through the village to pasture. A little further on we see another elderly woman, in an identical smock, and she and her old dog are about to take their sheep through the village street.
Bruce and I are already on a Camino detour in walking to Samos, but I notice there is a detour off this detour, which will take us to the minuscule village of Lusio, where the guidebook states there is a, “new albergue in beautifully restored monastery.” We abandon Samos for the closer Lusio.
Lusio is a very small hamlet of three houses of which only one looks to be inhabited. Across an open space is the restored monastery. We walk in and stand dripping in the entrance as we stare at the lofty ceiling, the wide staircase and the attractive stone work. In this downstairs reception area, the 1,200-year-old stone is set off well by the new wooden ceilings complete with beams. There is a minimalist dining room with the interior wall ancient stonework and the outside wall all glass with an attractive view out to the woodland. There are four small square white tables, each with two black chairs on chrome legs. The kitchen is in the original space and the sunken stone sink remains. Opposite the stone sink is a new white bench with a few gas hobs. The modern sink is countersunk into a white bench top. There are a couple of different sized pots and a few pieces of crockery and cutlery. Upstairs the large bunkroom is white and clean. We love the place and it is just five euros each per night. Bruce and I each select a bottom bunk.
There is a downside to all this isolated beauty. We are very low on food. I had anticipated food being available at Samos and before deciding to detour to Lusio, had read in the guidebook that a shop existed in this hamlet. When walking into Lusio, I saw the occupied house had a coke vending machine outside. Is this the shop? We have between us one can of lentils (one serving), two bananas, two oranges and a few tea bags. Not enough for our dinner and breakfast. I head out into the cold rain to investigate what might lie behind the rusted, broken, coke vending machine.
I ring the doorbell and wait. Dogs bark. Minutes pass and I ring the doorbell again. After a while an elderly woman in a gingham smock and knee high gumboots comes from around the back of the house. She has obviously come from her animal barn and the evidence of this is on her hands. We greet one another then I ask for bread in my best Spanish. There is none. I ask for vegetables. None. I ask for red wine and she has some of that. I cannot remember any more Spanish so leave thinking we have lentils, fruit and red wine for dinner. Paucity indeed. I’ve told her I will come back at 6 p.m. to collect the wine - hopefully that will give her time to finish the barnyard chores.
Back at the albergue, I report my disappointing hunting and gathering trip, then have a shower. I do not want to go out into that weather again for the wine, but one can of lentils, one banana and one orange between the two of us is somewhat inadequate after a long, cold, wet day. We will have to leave two pieces of fruit for breakfast.
When I go down to the reception area the custodian calls to me. The woman has delivered the bottle of wine and half of a small loaf of bread, all for two euros. She must have given us some of her own bread. What generosity and kindness from one who looks to have so little. Not only has she shared her precious bread, she spared me the necessity of going out into the rain again. I ask the warden to please pass on my thanks to our generous benefactor.
The custodian shows me how to use the switchboard to turn on the lights in the morning. She won’t be arriving until mid-morning. We have come across this situation at some other non-private albergues. The pilgrims still must leave by 8 a.m., but the staff will arrive later to clean and prepare for new arrivals.
While the lentils are warming in the pot, I put the bottle of wine, the broken bread and four pieces of fruit on one of the tables. I am very excited for the wine is a 2004 Rioja. It is not until I go to pour the wine, that I notice the extended old cork. How naïve I am. A local brew has been decanted into the old bottle. Bruce has a taste and declares, “It’s rocket fuel.” We consume the lentils, bread, one banana – Bruce eats the bruised half – and half the bottle of wine. The rest of the wine we leave in the kitchen. The remaining banana and two oranges we leave for breakfast. Providentially, we now carry oranges each day for our afternoon tea stop. They are providing a much-needed energy boost as we near our day’s destination. Each afternoon we look forward to our orange time.
Two more pilgrims arrive and are also elated to find such great accommodation. They are not short of food.
Lusio to Samos
9 kms (5.6 ml)
130.9 kms (81.2 ml) to Santiago
The ability to simplify means to eliminate
the unnecessary so that the necessary may speak.
Hans Hofmann (1880 – 1966)
April 25, Day 35
AT O’CEBREIRO I REALISED THAT one of the things I was missing the most was the opportunity to make myself a cup of tea whenever I wanted; to sit down and drink it in a leisurely fashion. At Lusio, I have this opportunity. We have the monastery to ourselves. The other two pilgrims rose early and departed just after first light. The staff member is not due to arrive until 11 a.m. We have a peaceful, uninterrupted breakfast where we share one banana, two oran
ges and we each have a cup of black tea.
Samos is only eight kilometres away and we hope that a bar will be open when we arrive. There is no reason to hurry. It is sunny, but cold. Again, we will walk in luxurious splendour. There are two options: the path beside the road or the path through the woods. I want to take the woods option and have my wet weather gear on so I can manage the mud. Bruce wants to walk the road route. We start out on the road and I am silent. Bruce offers, “If you want, we can go the woodland way, but it’s been raining and will be a mess.” “Too late now, just keep walking.” I notice my petulance and pray.
Loose the cords of mistakes binding us
As we walk I look around me. Tall, deciduous trees flourish closely together and grow to the edge of the path upon which we are walking. There is a safety barrier between the path and the quiet road. I can see the sky as the road creates a break among the trees. I would have seen the same trees had I been walking through the woodland, but possibly the sky would have been hidden because of the luxuriant growth. I gradually let my disappointment slip away as nature soothes me with her Presence. “I think you made the right choice to walk beside the road,” I offer. At last, I am getting over myself. There is a hill coming up and it would not have been much fun in the muddy conditions of the woodland. We see two pilgrims leave the woods and both have a deal of mud about them. One has a very tender left knee and is struggling. They join the road ahead of us and we begin to climb. The one with the sore knee labours when they begin the steep descent. Bruce and I cross the road and are about to overtake them when I need to stop, have a drink, and remove my woollen hat and gloves.
Kiwi on the Camino Page 24