Bruce and I meander close to small farms, enjoying the sound of melodious bells around the cattle’s necks. The bells ting and chime as the bell-wearers eat their early morning feed. I find it restful to be walking in the morning mountain mists listening to these jingling bells. In the mists, I cannot see far ahead or even around me, but the presence of the cattle is soothing. The animal bells are more mellow than the church bells, which ring the quarter hour and usually sound thin and tinny. The larger church bells which ring the hour are usually deeper and more melodic.
We have seen the aerobics couple on and off since we first met them. Today we are saddened to find the woman sitting down at the edge of the road, “I’m finished. I can’t do any more.” She had started strongly, but walked so fast she wore herself out in just three days.
At Morgade we find an attractive home converted into an albergue. It is doing a brisk trade. The outside tables and chairs which overflow onto the road, are a welcome sight for hungry pilgrims. Bruce seats himself and watches over our packs while I order lunch. On my return, I find Bruce has struck up a conversation with a father and son from Australia. They have also walked from St-Jean-Pied-de-Port. It has been a while since we have come across anyone who started in France. The four of us agree that having the luxury to walk the Camino in one journey, makes a very different experience. For myself, the long walk is certainly the endurance event I had looked for, plus so much more. The omelette bocadillo, chocolate pastry, coffee, and hot chocolate when they arrive, are delicious.
Leaving this hamlet, I see a tiny chapel. On the grass beside the chapel is a crate of the grey/black slate roof tiles we see on most houses in this mountainous region. I, of course, am fascinated and stop to look at the shape, colour and texture of each slate and at how they are stacked in the crate. Each tile is heavy and irregularly shaped. No two tiles are the same. I take a photograph. We continue down the woodland path which takes us through the Ferreiros stream. It is dripping wet under the trees and wet underfoot.
At the stone wall encircling the tiny hamlet of Vilchá (population thirty), we stop and laugh. There is a very faded sign nailed to the village wall saying, in Spanish, ‘No public toilets.’ The picture is of a western style toilet with lid and seat up with a line through it. Rather like a ‘no smoking’ sign. We have already walked six hundred and more kilometres and know from painful experience, that public facilities are a rarity. We have only seen two public restrooms since leaving St-Jean-Pied-de-Port. Why this sign now?
Halfway through this typical Galician village we spot a restful seating area, under a shade cloth, with a table of provisions set out for passing pilgrims - all for a donation. I am nervous as I want to sit down, but do not want to buy any provisions. Today we have our own. There is a flag stuck into the stone wall of the little house and neither of us know whether it is the New Zealand or Australian flag, but are leaning towards it being the Australian. (The flags are very similar.) A red headed woman, the first redhead we have seen on the Camino, arrives. It is Sally and this is her home. She is originally from Newcastle, Australia. Sally had loved her Camino experience so much, she purchased a house in this small village and from then on has provided sustenance for pilgrims, including flasks of hot tea and coffee. We talk with her for a while and I put a donation in the box for the use of the restful space. Sally invites us inside to see what a typical village house is like. We walk through the dark, ground floor space where traditionally animals were housed. I am surprised to learn that the kitchen was always next to this area. Despite my questions about hygiene, no doubt there was a very practical reason for such an arrangement. The toilet is also downstairs.
At the top of the narrow internal staircase Bruce and his pack get stuck in the small doorway which leads into one of the two upstairs rooms. The ceiling is very low by modern standards in the western world. Sally had a kitchen installed upstairs which also includes an eating area. The second room is her bedroom and includes a bath and a lounge suite.
On our return downstairs without mishap – Bruce is forewarned - a young female pilgrim walks into the house and asks to use the toilet. “No,” is Sally’s response. The pilgrim looks disappointed and leaves. Sally explains that she used to say, “Yes,” before she learnt how small the septic tank is and that the process of getting it emptied is quite a drama. The local village tractor is brought to the ‘front’ door and a pipe taken through the area where the animals used to be housed, the septic tank sucked empty and then the contents sprayed out onto paddocks. We had noticed the spraying process on a previous day. The smell alerted us, but still didn’t prevent us from being lightly showered with organic fertilizer as the tractor drove alongside the Camino path. Now that I understand the septic tank issue, I realise why there are no public facilities in these small villages.
The meeting and conversation with Sally is a bonus. We appreciate viewing her village home and hearing of some of the intricacies of everyday village life. Sally is a kind and generous woman to gift us so much of her time and we are grateful to her.
Our first view of Portomarín is across the still, deep reservoir which we cross, via the bridge, then walk uphill to the village. In the centre of the main square, the Praza Conde de Fenosa, is the 12th century Romanesque church of San Nicolás. Prior to the flooding of the valley to create the reservoir, this church had been dismantled brick by brick and then conscientiously rebuilt at the top of the hill where the whole village was also relocated. Bruce and I are impressed with the care taken to retain an important cultural artefact – the church.
We are not impressed, however, to find the first albergue we approach is full. I liked the guidebook description of this albergue. The kind woman phones the next albergue on my list and that too is full. The situation has arisen because of all the pilgrims who began in Sarria. Will I now have to book ahead each evening to ensure a bed the following night? This would mean we cannot be flexible in our walking as is our want. I do not like this thought.
Walking away from the full albergue, we see Peter in the distance. “I was expecting you about now.” He is delighted to see us for, “a woman is pursuing me and now I can tell her the Kiwis have arrived. You will be my excuse for being able to leave her company.” He helps us find the local municipal albergue, which is not full. He is staying with one of the many families he has met when walking the Camino previously. He rarely stays in albergues.
I decide that my Spanish should be up to the task of phoning the next albergue and ensuring our bed for the following night. Tomorrow I will find out when I make that first phone call. In the meantime, after Bruce has slept a while, I go and wake him to tell him Peter is waiting downstairs.
Portomarín to Palas de Rei
24.8 kms (15.4ml)
92.8 kms (57.7 ml) to Santiago
Come forth into the light of things,
Let nature be your teacher.
William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
April 28, Day 38
WE ARE NOW INTO THE big count down and looking forward to completing this part of our journey: The Camino Frances to Santiago. We begin the day’s walk backtracking over the reservoir, then begin to climb a wide logging track through the woodland, before joining the main road which we cross repeatedly. On our climb, we pass groups of pilgrims, all new walkers by the looks of their shoes and packs. Many are younger than us and I can’t help but feel a little smug as we pass them. Such an attitude is of no benefit to me of course. Nonetheless, it is gratifying to have these new pilgrims comment on our fitness. We have been walking for nearly six weeks now and are relieved we are noticing some benefits for all the pain.
Bruce and I enjoy commenting on the variety of fences we pass. I have two favourites. The first is where a smallish tree branch is lopped off then pushed into the ground. The branch, which is post height, eventually takes root and the fence post becomes a living tree with the wire attached. Quite a metaphor for life I think. The
tree adjusts to the presence of the foreign material – an external stressor - and still grows and participates in its rhythm of life. My second favourite is a fence which uses slabs of slate as posts. The slate is placed upstanding into the ground and the wire is strung from slab to slab. Walking past these slate fence posts is a little reminiscent of passing memorial stones. Sometimes these slabs are used to make the entire fence, so they become a wall rather than a fence. When one of the slabs falls over it looks as if there is a gap in a set of very uneven teeth.
We appreciate the way electric fences are sometimes constructed. A lopped branch is pushed into the ground, a piece of black polythene is wrapped around the branch-post and then the white electric fencing wire is wrapped around the polythene. I also enjoy the old ivy covered posts. “They are very rustic and romantic,” I volunteer. “Humph,” he mutters.
Only once in all our walking do we see gorse of a size that would make it problematic, very different from the gorse situation in New Zealand. Here the problem gorse we encounter is underneath fir tree plantings. We also walk through plantations of Australian gum trees. Some of these trees are only a metre tall so very newly planted. I am dismayed to see these foreign trees. What indigenous trees lost their life for the sake of these immigrants?
I am comforted further on as I look down across a valley and see acres of chestnut and oak plantations with just a scattering of grass fields in between. We are impressed with the sustainable farming of both chestnut and oak trees in this area. On the few occasions when we have seen a whole tree chopped down, we have also seen a new tree planted to replace the one removed. There seem to be woodlands all around. However, on closer inspection, we notice there are pig farms here and there. These farms have three buildings all near to each other. This area is known for its pork and bacon and we have enjoyed some of the local chorizo in our salads.
Tonight, will be a ‘home cooked’ meal. I choose a Russian potato salad and tomatoes and Bruce a seafood risotto. We had dined out at Portomarín because Bruce needed a large steak. It fortified him to carry my pack today; his went by courier. Perhaps I too should have had steak. Throughout the day, I have felt tired and at times close to tears. My ankle is painful. I cannot keep up with Bruce and am feeling very sorry for myself. All this misery and I am not even carrying my pack.
Palas de Rei to Arzúa
25.8 kms (16.0ml)
68 kms (42.3ml) to Santiago
I am not a human being on a spiritual journey.
I am a spiritual being on a human journey.
Spiritual maxim
April 29, Day 39
ONLY SIXTY-EIGHT KILOMETRES TO SANTIAGO. Piece of cake! Since re-spraining my ankle, I have found the going too hard, but today I am very focused and now know that the goal of Santiago is within reach. It is Bruce’s turn to have a holiday. Once again, his pack has gone by courier and I am carrying mine. How views of what constitutes a holiday change. Now we consider a walk of twenty-six kilometres, without a pack, a holiday.
We have heard from Wendy, Dafydd and Wanda. They are now in Santiago and we are closer to Santiago than anticipated a week or so back. I want to see them and determine we will be in Santiago before they leave. We meet up again with Anna and Garrison. We share a morning tea table with them and learn that they too plan to walk on to Finisterre. That means we might see more of them in the days ahead. We laugh over our enormous calorie consumption this far into the walk. For morning tea, Garrison eats a massive bocadillo while Anna, Bruce and I consume very large napolitanas. I am now eating every two hours and decide I will have two desserts tonight. I wonder how hard it will be to get back to regular sized meals, with no snacks, post Camino?
To our surprise, we pass pilgrims walking on stilts. They have no packs and a backup van will meet them at a place on the road where it becomes impossible to use the stilts. They want a photo of their group with Bruce in the photo. I am not surprised. Another Facebook page will feature the Camino version of Gandalf.
The pilgrims who began in Sarria are now three days into their walk and their feet are beginning to blister. Their knees are beginning to feel the pressure. However, not all are struggling. There is a father and his eleven-year-old daughter who are going very well. There is also the mother with her ten and twelve-year-old sons. We have not seen a solo new walker on this stretch from Sarria. This is different from our beginning at St-Jean-Pied-de-Port where there were many solo walkers.
Some of the new walkers have tramping poles, but are using them as if they are Nordic walking poles with the purpose of exercising their arms rather than helping to stabilize their walking and reduce the shock of impact on knees and hips. A pair of male walkers provide us (unwittingly) with entertainment. They chat the whole way, interspersed with singing and they just drag their poles along beside them as they walk. When we come to a steeper path that is somewhat muddy, they lift their poles and walk totally without their aid. I guess muddy poles can be a nuisance. This is most surprising behaviour to us who rely on our poles to keep us upright and balanced, particularly when traversing muddy streams and paths. The men are a lot younger than us. Perhaps they have better balance.
We meet Peter as we enter Arzúa. He has booked into an albergue and is sleeping in the bunkroom. Peter tells us he has been talking with a woman who is also staying in the albergue. She told Peter that she would not share a bunkroom with Bruce because of his snoring. I decide I do not have the energy to deal with grumpy people and after looking at the bunkrooms, we dispense with the demands of our budget and book into the three-star hotel next door. We have a room to ourselves with a double bed and clean sheets. The private ensuite bathroom has large bath towels. I touch the towels, just to enjoy their texture and breathe in their cleanliness. There is a hot water tap in the hand basin and soap. Beside the basin there are hand towels as well. I am grateful.
Bruce and I dine in the hotel lounge on the food in our packs to lighten our load for tomorrow. At a pre-arranged time, we meet Peter and walk to the Church of Santiago to attend the evening service. A few other pilgrims are also present and we are all warmly welcomed by the town residents. Bruce and I enjoy the congregation’s participation with their sung responses.
The end is truly in sight now. Most of the other pilgrims we talked with throughout the day intend to reach Santiago the following day. We, on the other hand, will book into a hotel twenty-six kilometres away at Lavacolla, which will leave just twelve kilometres to walk into Santiago. (There are few albergues between Arzúa and Santiago.) With such a short distance remaining, we hope to arrive in Santiago early in the morning and miss the expected long queues of pilgrims waiting for their compostelas. We then hope to arrive at the cathedral by 11 a.m. to ensure a seat on a pew for the midday Pilgrims’ Mass.
When I phone the hotel to book our room, the receptionist cannot understand either my Spanish or my English. There is a guest of the hotel in the foyer and she can speak some Spanish and some English. My booking is completed. Such is the Camino.
We have arranged to meet Peter in the morning. He must look in at the local police station to report for bail. We gather he is not looking forward to the experience. Is his Camino potentially at an end?
Arzúa to Lavacolla
28 kms (17.4ml)
12 kms (7.5ml) to Santiago
If you follow your bliss, you put yourself on a track,
that has been there all the while, waiting for you,
and the life you ought to be living is the one you are living.
Joseph Campbell (1904 – 1987)
April 30, Day 40
PETER IS WAITING FOR US and together we walk slowly through the town. Bruce and I wait outside for Peter as he goes in to report. I am feeling tense. I guess I have picked up Peter’s anxiety. However, he soon appears and has a smile on his face. He has permission to continue with his pilgrimage. We travel together, but Peter walks fast. He is walking
at five kilometres per hour, which is slow for him but fast for us. He plans to walk into Santiago today. I struggle at times with the pace.
Bruce falls. He hadn’t seen the large pothole. I am walking behind and see his ankle turn. He is up again straight away. Bruce must have turned his ankle, fallen, and then rolled with the fall. He has a dirty patch on his knee, but doesn’t mention either ankle or knee again after Peter and I enquire. This is very scary so close to our goal.
Bruce and I are tired, but not exhausted given our improved fitness levels. We are only carrying one pack between us. This is the fourth day in a row we have sent Bruce’s pack ahead of us, so we can manage longer walks to reach Santiago on Thursday. Wanda, Wendy and Dafydd fly out of Santiago on Friday. I am quietly aware that I have a further reason for arriving in Santiago on Thursday. Prior to leaving home we had talked of taking six weeks to reach Santiago and Thursday is the final day of the six weeks. Despite nearly six weeks of walking and self-reflection, I am still anxious to meet a self-imposed target, even though it may prove to be problematic. Thursday is a festival – we do not know what festival – and we have been warned that supermarkets and other businesses in the city will be closed for the day. The festival may also mean that Santiago and the cathedral could be crowded. I push on regardless.
After Peter moves on ahead, Bruce and I walk together and reflect on our journey thus far. The days and weeks have been very full, challenging, lots of fun, difficult, worrying and exciting. “Bruce, what are you thinking about our pilgrimage as we get closer to Santiago?” He replies, “It might become an anti-climax when we get there.” He doesn’t ask what I am thinking, but if he had I would have said, “One of the things I have really appreciated has been our care for and of one another, through the many challenges.”
Kiwi on the Camino Page 26