Go 'round and 'round...and 'round...and 'round...
If you don't book ahead of time, the cheapest way from Spain to Germany is by bus. Cheap, yes. Fast, NO. We boarded the bus at 9:45AM August 7. We did not expect to be in Dortmund until 7:00PM August 8.
On the upside, the bus follows parts of the Camino. And there is certain pride in having walked a distance which will take the bus 12 hours to cover.
The first leg of the trip takes us past the Camino's approach to Santiago. It is interesting to see all the expressions on the pilgrims' faces as they enter the city...Incredulous, elated, and a good number of just plain exhausted.
As the bus rolls on, we go right through Astorga (the Blister Hospital and Gaudi House), plus several small towns whose names I have forgotten.
We drive through the siesta sun in our air-conditioned coach, and the pilgrims we pass along the way look positively wilted. I want to lean out the window and tell them to take a break, the trail will still be there in the cool evening, but they wouldn't listen even if I could have. Riders in air-conditioning have little credibility with walkers, and walkers are driven with strange zeal towards their goals.
I have that on good authority.
Showing posts with label Spain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Spain. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Monday, August 6, 2007
Day 53 - My mama always told me...
Never ride in cars with strangers. Never take candy from strangers.
I have never been very good at listening to my mama.
One of our trail family is an Irish girl, expert in hitchhiking, and fluent in Spanish. I wanted to try hitching, and before Cz could veto the idea, had sold our return bus tickets to our Hungarian and Slovakian and made a hitching poster.
Irish girl and I stood on the side of the road, thumbs out, and sang " A Santiago Hoy, A Santiago Hoy" (To Santiago today, To santiago today) and waved our sign. Cz cringed and watched our packs.
Our first ride was a young man who was only planning to go 3Km. He said he had some free time, and took us 16Km to a good intersection near a gas station where people fill up before going on long trips.
Our next ride was an older couple going nearly to Santiago. They chatted with Irish Girl, and plied us with cherry candies all the way to their destination. They then decided that Santiago is "only" 20Km out of the way (a whole day on foot!), but they wanted to ensure we got there safely. Remember what I said about Spanish Grandmas?
It was a great adventure altogether, though Cz has made me promise no more hitching. At least not in countries where we don´t speak the language or are not with a pro.
Our last afternoon in Santiago was mostly spent at the bus station seeing family off, and then buying our tickets to Germany. we did go back by the Cathedral to see it lit up at night - very impressive. and, lucky timing, Santiago was beginning their outdoor festival celebrating student musicians, so our final walk through the city was filled with music and light.
I have never been very good at listening to my mama.
One of our trail family is an Irish girl, expert in hitchhiking, and fluent in Spanish. I wanted to try hitching, and before Cz could veto the idea, had sold our return bus tickets to our Hungarian and Slovakian and made a hitching poster.
Irish girl and I stood on the side of the road, thumbs out, and sang " A Santiago Hoy, A Santiago Hoy" (To Santiago today, To santiago today) and waved our sign. Cz cringed and watched our packs.
Our first ride was a young man who was only planning to go 3Km. He said he had some free time, and took us 16Km to a good intersection near a gas station where people fill up before going on long trips.
Our next ride was an older couple going nearly to Santiago. They chatted with Irish Girl, and plied us with cherry candies all the way to their destination. They then decided that Santiago is "only" 20Km out of the way (a whole day on foot!), but they wanted to ensure we got there safely. Remember what I said about Spanish Grandmas?
It was a great adventure altogether, though Cz has made me promise no more hitching. At least not in countries where we don´t speak the language or are not with a pro.Our last afternoon in Santiago was mostly spent at the bus station seeing family off, and then buying our tickets to Germany. we did go back by the Cathedral to see it lit up at night - very impressive. and, lucky timing, Santiago was beginning their outdoor festival celebrating student musicians, so our final walk through the city was filled with music and light.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Day 52 - The End
The Camino has been around for thousands of years. As a result, it has some well-established traditions. We are not one to buck that kind of history.Tradition one: Find a shell at the end of the world. Pilgrims carry scallop shells with them for the length of the Camino. It is tradition that upon reaching Finisterre, one must find one's own shell. Scallop shells are most prized, but so long as it is a shell which makes you happy, it is the right one. We went to the shore with some of our trail family, climbed the rocks, and scouted out shells. For me, scrambling barefoot over rocks is the very definition of summer. The fact that we did find some choice shells was a bonus. Soon after we had filled our pockets, the sea fog and a misty rain rolled in, so we headed back up the beach to find shelter and hope for drier weather for...
Ritual number 2: Burn an article of clothing or something which you have carried the whole Camino. In the early days of the Camino, pilgrims would burn all of their clothes when they reached Finisterre. This had both practical and spiritual roots as a physical and spiritual cleansing. Medieval pilgrims would walk back the way they had come, so I´m not so sure how effective this cleansing was, but the tradition continues nonetheless. We climbed to the
lighthouse at the edge of the world at sunset. At least we think there was a sunset. The weather remained grey and drizzly, which, though we had no spectacular sunset, did ensure that we had the cliffs nearly to ourselves. We burned our leg brace, and our friends each burned something of their own. We topped off the evening with a grand picinic and many bottles of wine.It is not an official tradition to leave walking sticks at Finisterre, but a pilgrim develops a bond with his stick, and it seems wrong to just throw it away or to leave it without some fanfare. Yesterday, I left Irish Boy´s stick in the sand where the tide would take it. Today, Cz´s stick became a new sentinel on the cliffs near the lighthouse.
Before all this ritual, however, we needed more celebration. Most pilgrims who arrive at Santiago continue on to Finisterre, either on foot or by bus. As a result, it becomes another renunion site, with yet more wine to be drunk, and more food to be consumed. We met with many of our family and started with clams, paella, empanada and beer at the street fair. From there, we went on a quest for the perfect pulpo. Turns out the perfect pulpo is somewhere over the rainbow. Literally. We had more bottles of wine and plates of pulpo on the rooftop terrace over the Rainbow Cafe. By now we had been eating, drinking, merrymaking, and collecting more friends for nearly 4 hours. We took a break to find our shells. (see above) After our successful shell hunt, we stopped at the only open shop - it being Sunday - run by a round Spanish Grandma. Spanish Grandmas are a breed apart, and are among my favourite people.
Women over a certain age in Spain are rather like mother hens, and every pilgrim is their little chickie. Particularly if the pilgrim is skinny or in any way looks lost (read: Cz. On both counts.). This Grandma made us take (it didn´t take much persuading) The largest quarter of her apple tart, the largest slice of her cheese tart, her finest empanada, and a whole "tit cheese". If you saw one, the name would be self-explanatory. It is a very mild and creamy cheese which is, indeed, quite breast-shaped, complete with pointy nipple. Then a member of our family asked for an ice cream. Our grandma went into raptures over an ice cream she had eaten just this morning and said that our friend must have exactly the same kind. There was no point in arguing. You learn early on in the Camino that Grandma is ALWAYS right. The ice cream was lovely.So, with Grandma´s picnic-makings in hand, we set out for the Lighthouse. Whereupon we commenced to eat and drink wine for another four or more hours, interspersed with some
light arson. (see above also) In fact, there is a special pit in which pilgrims may do their ritual burning, so it was all quite safe.Then, home again to our albergue. Our room had two beds plus two mattresses pushed together on the floor. We were expecting seven people, so four of us piled onto the floor mattresses in order that the beds would be free. The other three opted to sleep on the beach, so in theory, we each had our own sleeping place. We remained snuggled together on the floor. This what you do with family on the Camino.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Journey to the Edge of the World
We slipped out of the Albergue early enough that most everyone was still sleeping. Rather than wake The Irish Boys for a proper goodbye, we left a note that we would make good on a promise, and off we went to Finisterre.
Finisterre. Finsterre. Finisterra. Finis Terre. Literally The End of the World, no matter how you spell it.
In just under three hours, we covered about four days distance worth of walking. Our Hungarian friend put it very well. Paraphrased here: It´s as if our minds and hearts are go at certain speed. We are so used to being at the speed of walking, it´s almost like our feelings are behind us trying to catch up when we ride the bus.
Perhaps they will meet us on the beach at Finisterre.
When the Camino was young, Europeans believed that the world ended at the coast of Spain. They would walk from all corners, prostrate themselves at the Cathedral, and then continue on to the this edge of creation as they knew it. It is powerful enough to feel the wind sweep across the Atlantic knowing that home is across the water. I cannot imagine what it must have been like for those early pilgrims standing where the earth falls into the sea. For them that wind must have seemed the very breath of God.
Finisterre is a rocky cape, very similar to the west coast of Ireland. It is wild and lovely with equal measure of gentle beaches for swimming, sheer cliffs, and hidden coves. The village itself is, at first glance, a resort town, but only a little time reveals that it has the bones of a fishing village gently tumbling into the sea as brightly painted boats bob in the harbour.
We have had remarkable luck with timing. Pamplona just before San Fermin, Santiago during the international clown and street performance festival (sorry that didn´t get more airtime, it was great!), and Finisterre in time for the local seafood festival. We feasted - yet again - on local Galician specialties and watched contraband fireworks shooting up from an alley to reflect on the sea. We even ran into the Englishman who helps pilgrims by scaling the wild peaks in his camper van with tea and cookies. He was there on holiday, but still seemed pleased to see some of "his" pilgrims. We retired to our room accompanied by the music of a rolicking street dance. The music continued until nearly 5 AM, but it didn´t bother us. Spain does everything with passion, be it work, fiesta, or siesta. We felt lucky to be in the middle of it all.
Finisterre. Finsterre. Finisterra. Finis Terre. Literally The End of the World, no matter how you spell it.
In just under three hours, we covered about four days distance worth of walking. Our Hungarian friend put it very well. Paraphrased here: It´s as if our minds and hearts are go at certain speed. We are so used to being at the speed of walking, it´s almost like our feelings are behind us trying to catch up when we ride the bus.
Perhaps they will meet us on the beach at Finisterre.
When the Camino was young, Europeans believed that the world ended at the coast of Spain. They would walk from all corners, prostrate themselves at the Cathedral, and then continue on to the this edge of creation as they knew it. It is powerful enough to feel the wind sweep across the Atlantic knowing that home is across the water. I cannot imagine what it must have been like for those early pilgrims standing where the earth falls into the sea. For them that wind must have seemed the very breath of God.
Finisterre is a rocky cape, very similar to the west coast of Ireland. It is wild and lovely with equal measure of gentle beaches for swimming, sheer cliffs, and hidden coves. The village itself is, at first glance, a resort town, but only a little time reveals that it has the bones of a fishing village gently tumbling into the sea as brightly painted boats bob in the harbour.We have had remarkable luck with timing. Pamplona just before San Fermin, Santiago during the international clown and street performance festival (sorry that didn´t get more airtime, it was great!), and Finisterre in time for the local seafood festival. We feasted - yet again - on local Galician specialties and watched contraband fireworks shooting up from an alley to reflect on the sea. We even ran into the Englishman who helps pilgrims by scaling the wild peaks in his camper van with tea and cookies. He was there on holiday, but still seemed pleased to see some of "his" pilgrims. We retired to our room accompanied by the music of a rolicking street dance. The music continued until nearly 5 AM, but it didn´t bother us. Spain does everything with passion, be it work, fiesta, or siesta. We felt lucky to be in the middle of it all.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Day 50 - 0 Kilometres!!
We are in Santiago. We are relaxing. We are planning our next move. The bus to Germany only leaves on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so we have a few days to kill. The truly hardcore pilgrims continue by foot to Finisterre, but if we do that, we will only have an afternoon at the edge of the world before we have to head back into Santiago to catch the bus to Germany. Not-so-secretly, Cz is relieved. We opt to spend another night in Santiago relaxing with the trail family, and then to continue on to Finisterre by bus tomorrow.Our quest for cheap transport to Germany has took up most of the day, but we managed to queue up for the free pilgrims´dinner at The Parador. The Parador shares the main plaza with the cathedral. At one point, the building was owned by the church, and when it was sold to the hotel chain, part of the agreement of the sale was that it would continue to serve pilgrims. For years now, hungry pilgrims have gathered by the service entrance three times a day. The meals are limited to the first 10 arrivees, and are valued more for the experience than the menu (not the same fare served upstairs), but worthwhile, nonetheless. We loitered nearly two hours for our plates of pumpkin soup and calamaries, and once again the company made the meal - The Irish Boys, us, and an international crew of 2 Germans, 2 Spanish, a Belgian, and a young Hungarian.
After dinner we (finally) updated the blog, before returning to our albergue to join up with The Irish Boys and once again watch the sun set over Santiago.
Sidenote: We could only afford our plushy hotel for one night. Oddly enough, we missed the Albergue life. We are back in a monastary, once again sharing rooms and bathrooms with countless strangers. It feels like home.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Day 49 - 4.5 Kilometres
We made it to Santiago! Within minutes of leaving the albergue, we were officially in Santiago. Granted it was the modern outskirts, but still, SANTIAGO! After just an hour of walking, we were skirting a high, high wall in the old quarter of town. It was so tall that when we looked up, we could not see the top of it. So we looked ahead, and there was an arch into what looked like a wide plaza. We aimed for the plaza. We looked up again. That high wall - It was the West wall of the cathedral! We spilled out onto the square and stood, awed into stillness for a moment. Then we dropped our packs and lay back, still looking up, still awed. We had just 
walked nearly 800 kilometres, and here we were lying on the nearly empty plaza gazing up at the massive cathedral. It was huge, but really no more impressive than the cathedrals of Leon or of London or Paris. What makes this church special is the way one reaches Santiago. The other cathedrals of Europe are reached by plane or auto or underground. They are lovely, but the sites of tourist pilgrimage. This cathedral is reached mostly on foot, with blisters, shin splints, cold nights, rain and bedbugs. Also with memories of warm Spanish locals, trail families, communal cooking and nearly 800 kilometres (approx 500 miles) of slowly unfolding landscapes and stories. The tourist cathedrals have a history of their own. Santiago has a history, but more so, one brings one´s OWN history TO it. It is a cathdral of the interior as much as it is a stunning landmark. For each pilgrim, I´m sure the arrival moment is special and unique, but every pilgrim that we watched coming into the square had the same outside reaction as we did. Stop, stare, drop pack, and drop self onto the plaza.After our ten minutes lying on the plaza, we went through the massive portals and into the church itself. The morning mass was just coming up to communion, and the hymns and incence drifted over us like a benediction for having completed the journey. I stood, still, at the end of the aisle, raised in the belief that one does not partake in communion unless one has attended the whole of the service. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for Cz to walk up to the altar, with pack on back and staff in hand to take communion and receive his blessing with the handful of locals gathered in the church at that early hour. The Irish Boys slowly made circuit of the soaring columns, and The German sat in a back pew, hands folded. Each our own way, we acknowleged that we had arrived and each felt reverence in our own way. This is a Catholic pilgrimage, but it is not necessary to be a Catholic to feel that spirit of something larger, to feel a part of some grand mystery at this point of the journey. That feeling, I believe, is simply a blessing of being human.
After our moment of reverence, it was time for our moment of celebration. Remember that champagne I carried the last 25Km? The time had finally arrived to pop the cork! The Irish Boys bought a Tarte de Santiago - one of the almond cakes marked with Santiago´s cross - and we meandered our way to a lovely green park. Sprawled on the steps above the fountain, with packs lined neatly beside us, we popped champagne, feasted on almond cake, and in general, congratulated ourselves. Nearly 500 Kilometres back, when we were passing through Irache, we stopped at the wine fountain. In case you don´t remember, this is a fountain that has a 
tap for water and a tap for wine. One of the Irish boys had filled a small water bottle with wine from that fountain and carried it all the way to Santiago. We were expecting vinegar. Surprisingly, it was no worse for its long journey and unconventional bottling. It seemed just the thing for another round of toasting. Mind you, we had neither cups nor plates, so we were just passing hunks of cake, a champagne bottle, and a water bottle with a strange purple-black liquid. We probably looked (and smelled) like hobos, but I´m sure the locals of Santiago are used to the strange behaviour of pilgrims.
We followed our celebration with noon mass at the Cathedral. We arived too late for a seat in the pews, but it seemed almost more appropriate to settle ourlelves on the pile of packs around a rear pillar. Noon is the pilgrim´s mass, when the priest announces who arrived from where into Santiago that day. When the priest intoned "2 Americans from St Jean Pied De Port", there was much squirming and elbowing at the back of the church. In retrospect, we were not sure if he really meant us, as the three American girls had also arrived that morning, and in theory should have been announced also for a total of five. In any case, it was very exciting, though our private moment in the early morning was far more moving.After church, we went to the nearest cafe bar to have drinks with more of our trail family. Actually, that was another really nice aspect of arriving into the city early - we kept running into family that we had met and walked with, or perhaps lost until this moment. In one sense, it was like the best family reunions, where you see some people you hardly know, some you know as well as yourself, but from all feel love and welcome. It was, in another a sense, as if the camino had come full circle. We met each other at the beginning and along the road with optimism, enthusiasm and trepidation for what lay ahead, and here we were again, in the city we had travelled so far to reach, feeling the same optimism, enthusiasm, and trepidation for the future.
By 3:30, we were ready check into our 3-star hotel. We felt we had earned it after 34 nights of sleeping in group dorms with all manner of smells and sounds. It was a treat, and to help defray the cost, we shared it with The Irish Boys - seriously, I´m not sure what we will do when we have to be alone with each other! In addition to our lovely hotel, we (The Irish Boys and us two)decided that we needed to sample some Galician seafood. In a pamphlet I had picked up somewhere, there was a restaurant described as "so hidden away that not even many locals know about it". It took us over an hour to find, but was well worth the search. We feasted on pulpo (octopus), mussels, 3 kinds of bacalao (cod prepared various ways), roasted fish, and whole sardines. The best seasonings were the company and the view, as our table was perched on a patio overlooking the old quarter as the church bells tolled the hours.
We watched the sun set over the city, toasted once more, and headed in for some well-deserved rest.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Day 48 - 40 Kilometres
Ribadiso to Arca Do Pino to Monte De Gozo
The morning´s walk to Arca was 23 Kilometres. That is nothing for these seasoned pilgrims, except that it was raining. It rained nearly all morning. Not a heavy rain, but a good soaking one. Luckily our boots are waterproof, and we had ponchos to protect both our shoulders and packs, but from elbow to fingertip, and wrist to ankle we were soaked. Surprisingly, it was rather pleasant walking in the rain. It seemed to keep the bulk of the tourist pilgrims away, softened the edges of things, and sounded nice as it fell. When we arrived in Arca, the sun came out, and we thought it a good idea to do some laundry. The sun was fooling us, and a new deluge drenched our nice clean clothes. Luckily Cz had prepared a hot lunch - the kitchen at this albergue actually had pots, a rarety in Galicia. The nice meal and the arrival of The Irish Boys helped me get over being pissed about the clothes.
We had only planned on going as far as Arca, but the energy in the Albergue was really bad - Unsettled, tense and competitive. Perhaps I was as much grumpy over that as over the wet laundry. When the Irish Boys and The German showed up and told us their plans to siesta and then continue on to Monte De Gozo (only 5Km from Santiago) it was enough to convince us that this would be a good idea.
After buying a bottle of champagne at the local grocery, we headed out. The rain had stopped, the evening was clear and cool, and we were entering the eucalyptus forests that according to Irish Boys´guidebook hearken the approach to Santiago. We had the trail nearly to ourselves, and in general had a fine time.
The Albergue in Monte De Gozo has 800 beds. We were expecting horrid, huge dorms. Quite to the contrary, it is set up like a little pilgrim village. Not only did we (the Irish Boys, the German, and Cz and I) have our own room, we had a dryer for the clothes, and a bar open for snacks...
And Santiago is only 5 Km away! Tomorrow morning we will roll out of bed and arrive in the city in time to see the sun rise over the cathedral. No rush, no fuss, just us and the road and the end.
The morning´s walk to Arca was 23 Kilometres. That is nothing for these seasoned pilgrims, except that it was raining. It rained nearly all morning. Not a heavy rain, but a good soaking one. Luckily our boots are waterproof, and we had ponchos to protect both our shoulders and packs, but from elbow to fingertip, and wrist to ankle we were soaked. Surprisingly, it was rather pleasant walking in the rain. It seemed to keep the bulk of the tourist pilgrims away, softened the edges of things, and sounded nice as it fell. When we arrived in Arca, the sun came out, and we thought it a good idea to do some laundry. The sun was fooling us, and a new deluge drenched our nice clean clothes. Luckily Cz had prepared a hot lunch - the kitchen at this albergue actually had pots, a rarety in Galicia. The nice meal and the arrival of The Irish Boys helped me get over being pissed about the clothes.
We had only planned on going as far as Arca, but the energy in the Albergue was really bad - Unsettled, tense and competitive. Perhaps I was as much grumpy over that as over the wet laundry. When the Irish Boys and The German showed up and told us their plans to siesta and then continue on to Monte De Gozo (only 5Km from Santiago) it was enough to convince us that this would be a good idea.
After buying a bottle of champagne at the local grocery, we headed out. The rain had stopped, the evening was clear and cool, and we were entering the eucalyptus forests that according to Irish Boys´guidebook hearken the approach to Santiago. We had the trail nearly to ourselves, and in general had a fine time.The Albergue in Monte De Gozo has 800 beds. We were expecting horrid, huge dorms. Quite to the contrary, it is set up like a little pilgrim village. Not only did we (the Irish Boys, the German, and Cz and I) have our own room, we had a dryer for the clothes, and a bar open for snacks...
And Santiago is only 5 Km away! Tomorrow morning we will roll out of bed and arrive in the city in time to see the sun rise over the cathedral. No rush, no fuss, just us and the road and the end.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Day 47 - 27.1 Kilometres (Plus 7 = 35.1)
Palais De Rey to Ribadiso
I am in a much better mood. The walk is pretty with plenty of cows and green grass, and we left REALLY early in the morning to beat the hordes of tourists. (A group of 40 Italian High Schoolers joined just after Sarria. Imagine a group of US teens. Now double the volume, double the incomprehensability, and half the deodorant use. We´re glad we left early.)
When we left it was still dark, and we had to use our headlamps occasionally to find the waymarks in the forest, but the moon was full, the sky was clear, and the world was quiet. All very good things.
We arrived at the Albergue in Ribadiso early in the afternoon. Ribadiso is TINY. Just the albergue, a bar, and a few barns. We opted to stay because it was right on a river where we could go in the water, sunbathe and in general, relax. While we were by the river, a trout fisherman with tradional fly rod and wicker basket tried his luck, herders brought their cows down to drimk, and two cowboys (really!) had to take their horses into the water to convince some particularly stubborn cows to go home. Even sheep seemed
to like the area, as a herd of them grazed on the albergue´s back lawn. All in all, a very idyllic spot, and a welcome change of mood from yesterday.
Ribadiso´s main drawback being that it had no grocery. I decided that rather than pay for dinner at the bar, we should walk to the next town, buy groceries, and then have a picnic. The next town was supposed to be 2.5Km away. The EDGE of town was 2.5 Km away, but the grocery was 1 more Km in. No worries, though. I had unpacked my pack so that we could fill it with groceries and not hurt our hands carrying plastic bags. It worked out well, we had a delicious dinner on the river with the cows, and now have been branded "Extreme Pilgrims" for tacking an extra 7 Kilometres onto an already longish day.
I am in a much better mood. The walk is pretty with plenty of cows and green grass, and we left REALLY early in the morning to beat the hordes of tourists. (A group of 40 Italian High Schoolers joined just after Sarria. Imagine a group of US teens. Now double the volume, double the incomprehensability, and half the deodorant use. We´re glad we left early.)
When we left it was still dark, and we had to use our headlamps occasionally to find the waymarks in the forest, but the moon was full, the sky was clear, and the world was quiet. All very good things.We arrived at the Albergue in Ribadiso early in the afternoon. Ribadiso is TINY. Just the albergue, a bar, and a few barns. We opted to stay because it was right on a river where we could go in the water, sunbathe and in general, relax. While we were by the river, a trout fisherman with tradional fly rod and wicker basket tried his luck, herders brought their cows down to drimk, and two cowboys (really!) had to take their horses into the water to convince some particularly stubborn cows to go home. Even sheep seemed
to like the area, as a herd of them grazed on the albergue´s back lawn. All in all, a very idyllic spot, and a welcome change of mood from yesterday.Ribadiso´s main drawback being that it had no grocery. I decided that rather than pay for dinner at the bar, we should walk to the next town, buy groceries, and then have a picnic. The next town was supposed to be 2.5Km away. The EDGE of town was 2.5 Km away, but the grocery was 1 more Km in. No worries, though. I had unpacked my pack so that we could fill it with groceries and not hurt our hands carrying plastic bags. It worked out well, we had a delicious dinner on the river with the cows, and now have been branded "Extreme Pilgrims" for tacking an extra 7 Kilometres onto an already longish day.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Day 46 - 27.3 Kilometres
Porto Marine - Palais Do Rey
I was in a foul mood all day. The tourist pilgrims were really bothering me, and the bathrooms in the albergue last night were dirty, had no toilette paper (not really a big deal as we have learned to carry our own), and had no water pressure. Grrrrr.
Probably because I was already in a foul mood, the day dragged by at a snail´s pace. The landscape was, in theory, a continuation of Galician prettiness, but all I could think was "Grrrr this looks like North Carolina. I did not cross the Atlantic and walk 750KM to walk in NC. Grrrrr. Grrrr. and GRRR."
Furthermore the Albergue for Palais Do Rey was on the outskirts of town. It´s floors were wet too. Grrr.
The town itself was nice with a charming old church manned by an even more charming old priest who insisted that we come in and have our credencials stamped with the church seal. I liked it and him. I considered cheering up.
Too bad said town was 1.5 Km from the Albergue. Uphill both ways I´m sure. Grrrrr.
Are you sensing a trend here? It was probably a perfectly lovely day with a perfectly lovely landscape and charming little town, but I was too snarly to notice.
So I will end this post here.
Grrrr.
I was in a foul mood all day. The tourist pilgrims were really bothering me, and the bathrooms in the albergue last night were dirty, had no toilette paper (not really a big deal as we have learned to carry our own), and had no water pressure. Grrrrr.
Probably because I was already in a foul mood, the day dragged by at a snail´s pace. The landscape was, in theory, a continuation of Galician prettiness, but all I could think was "Grrrr this looks like North Carolina. I did not cross the Atlantic and walk 750KM to walk in NC. Grrrrr. Grrrr. and GRRR."
Furthermore the Albergue for Palais Do Rey was on the outskirts of town. It´s floors were wet too. Grrr.
The town itself was nice with a charming old church manned by an even more charming old priest who insisted that we come in and have our credencials stamped with the church seal. I liked it and him. I considered cheering up.
Too bad said town was 1.5 Km from the Albergue. Uphill both ways I´m sure. Grrrrr.
Are you sensing a trend here? It was probably a perfectly lovely day with a perfectly lovely landscape and charming little town, but I was too snarly to notice.
So I will end this post here.
Grrrr.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Day 45 - 24.4 Kilometres
Sarria to Portomarin
Another morning in the mist. You have heard of my hobby of taking photos of Cz in large, empty landscapes, affectionately known as "the big fat nothings", or if in flat terrain "the big flat nothings". The mist was so thick this morning that the photos really are of cz dissapearing into a big nothing. Just a road and a fog and a figure floating through it. Mornings like this make it easy to believe that ghosts and dryads and any number of other beings are hovering just out of sight watching us pass. It´s a little spooky and a little magical, and no one talks very much.
No one, that is except the "tourist pilgrims". Tourist Pilgrims are the ones who start in Sarria because it is the last point at which they can begin the Camino and still cover the required 100Km for their Compostela (the certificate certifying that one has completed the pilgrimage). I may be a little elitist, having covered about 700Km by this point, but these tourists are rude and loud and pushy. Up until this point, there has been a pilgrim code of honour. It has been safe to leave all manner of valuables out, ipods and cell phones charging, etc, and know that they would still be there on one´s return. With the influx of tourists, suddenly security becomes a concern, and valuables must be watched at all times. Furthermore, early in the Camino, there was a feeling of cameraderie and joy, the idea that we are going on a grand venture together. Pilgrims always greeted each other, and if there appeared to be a problem, would make a point of stopping to help. The tourists are only thinking about covering the kilometres and pushing on to the next albergue. We have tried to keep out of this competitive spirit by leaving very early in the morning before they wake up, but it is hard not be infected by the negative juju.
Of course, there are still very positive aspects of this leg. The landscape is very green and beautiful, and the native Galicians as warm and friendly as the Spanish have been across the way. We met one gentleman today who was originally from South Africa, had done the Camino four times, and finally bought a house in Spain right on the Camino. He is in the process of restoring it and setting it up as an albergue, but is running into miles of red tape. Basically, the Camino is controlled by the EU, so any decision he makes, from repairing his roof to adding a swimming pool have to be approved both by the EU and Spanish governments.
He is a most interesting man, and we spent a good hour and half chatting with him. We got caught up on news, national and international, discussed the Camino and Santiago, and heard about some of his own travel adventures. His company gave him an allowance for a big, fancy car, but instead he drove a volkwagon, and used his car allowance to take his family all over the globe. He is truely an ispiratation, and I will certainly file away his advice and attitude.
Portomarin is a resort town for Spaniards, and the first stop for many pilgrims. As a result it feels the most "touristy" of our stops so far. We did, however, take the advice of our new friend and sought out the municipal swimming pool. It ws huge and lovely, and not overly chlorinated like US pools. Additionally, it was nearly deserted, but for a few locals and fewer pilgrims. We (the Irish Boys, the American Girl, and I) spent the afternoon lazily floating about and reading poolside. Decidedly un-pilgrimish, but very nice nonetheless.
Another morning in the mist. You have heard of my hobby of taking photos of Cz in large, empty landscapes, affectionately known as "the big fat nothings", or if in flat terrain "the big flat nothings". The mist was so thick this morning that the photos really are of cz dissapearing into a big nothing. Just a road and a fog and a figure floating through it. Mornings like this make it easy to believe that ghosts and dryads and any number of other beings are hovering just out of sight watching us pass. It´s a little spooky and a little magical, and no one talks very much.No one, that is except the "tourist pilgrims". Tourist Pilgrims are the ones who start in Sarria because it is the last point at which they can begin the Camino and still cover the required 100Km for their Compostela (the certificate certifying that one has completed the pilgrimage). I may be a little elitist, having covered about 700Km by this point, but these tourists are rude and loud and pushy. Up until this point, there has been a pilgrim code of honour. It has been safe to leave all manner of valuables out, ipods and cell phones charging, etc, and know that they would still be there on one´s return. With the influx of tourists, suddenly security becomes a concern, and valuables must be watched at all times. Furthermore, early in the Camino, there was a feeling of cameraderie and joy, the idea that we are going on a grand venture together. Pilgrims always greeted each other, and if there appeared to be a problem, would make a point of stopping to help. The tourists are only thinking about covering the kilometres and pushing on to the next albergue. We have tried to keep out of this competitive spirit by leaving very early in the morning before they wake up, but it is hard not be infected by the negative juju.
Of course, there are still very positive aspects of this leg. The landscape is very green and beautiful, and the native Galicians as warm and friendly as the Spanish have been across the way. We met one gentleman today who was originally from South Africa, had done the Camino four times, and finally bought a house in Spain right on the Camino. He is in the process of restoring it and setting it up as an albergue, but is running into miles of red tape. Basically, the Camino is controlled by the EU, so any decision he makes, from repairing his roof to adding a swimming pool have to be approved both by the EU and Spanish governments.
He is a most interesting man, and we spent a good hour and half chatting with him. We got caught up on news, national and international, discussed the Camino and Santiago, and heard about some of his own travel adventures. His company gave him an allowance for a big, fancy car, but instead he drove a volkwagon, and used his car allowance to take his family all over the globe. He is truely an ispiratation, and I will certainly file away his advice and attitude.
Portomarin is a resort town for Spaniards, and the first stop for many pilgrims. As a result it feels the most "touristy" of our stops so far. We did, however, take the advice of our new friend and sought out the municipal swimming pool. It ws huge and lovely, and not overly chlorinated like US pools. Additionally, it was nearly deserted, but for a few locals and fewer pilgrims. We (the Irish Boys, the American Girl, and I) spent the afternoon lazily floating about and reading poolside. Decidedly un-pilgrimish, but very nice nonetheless.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Day 44 - 22 Kilometres
Triacastella to Sarria
Today we started the day winding our way up and down through misty hills and gnarled old trees. If I didn´t know I was in Spain, I would believe myself lost in an Irish fairytale. Nearly all morning we are surrounded by slender birches, cloud silver skies, and the sound of running water.
We were the first to arrive at the Albergue, and so not only get our names first in the book (pilgim status symbol), but also our choice of beds (much more practical). The albergues can get pretty stuffy and stinky at night. Imagine 20-50 people who have walked 15-40Km. Now imagine them all taking off their shoes. Now imagine them all unrolling the same sleep sheets and sleeping bags they have been sleeping in for the past month sans washing machine...
Window-side bottom bunks are prime real-estate, and are usually claimed by the first arivees. We have gotten very good at being among of the first in town for this very reason.
The windows of this particular albergue overlooked a private courtyard lorded over by a large and very ferocious-looking black dog. As there was nowhere to hang out our washing, I ran my hair ribbon across the window and proceeded to pin our socks to it. Guess where one of the socks fell? And this wasn´t an ordinary sock either. It was one of the handy travel socks with a zippered pocket and arch support. I waited and debated, holding its mate.
In a little while the owner of the courtyard came outside. I held up my lonely sock and said "Por Favor, la otra de este es en su jardin" and looked pathetic. I have also discovered the power of looking pathetic when language skills fail. Luckily he was very friendly and tossed the wayward sock up.
It turns out that he was in the yard to give the giant dog a bath. The dog clearly adored him. He equally clearly did NOT enjoy his bath, and whimpered the most pathetic little cries the whole time.
This albergue (like several in Galicia) had a lovely kitchen with only ONE pot. Rather than fight over the one pot, we opted for sandwiches and gazpacho for dinner. I make large sandwiches, and even learned a German word for them. Phonetically "Maul Schperrer" meaning, mouth stopper.
Our friends the Hungarian Girl, Slovakian Girl, and Irish Boys all joined us, and fueled up with "Maul Sperrern" continued on their way to the next village.
We opted to stay on and enjoy our window-side bottom bunk.
Today we started the day winding our way up and down through misty hills and gnarled old trees. If I didn´t know I was in Spain, I would believe myself lost in an Irish fairytale. Nearly all morning we are surrounded by slender birches, cloud silver skies, and the sound of running water.
We were the first to arrive at the Albergue, and so not only get our names first in the book (pilgim status symbol), but also our choice of beds (much more practical). The albergues can get pretty stuffy and stinky at night. Imagine 20-50 people who have walked 15-40Km. Now imagine them all taking off their shoes. Now imagine them all unrolling the same sleep sheets and sleeping bags they have been sleeping in for the past month sans washing machine...
Window-side bottom bunks are prime real-estate, and are usually claimed by the first arivees. We have gotten very good at being among of the first in town for this very reason.
The windows of this particular albergue overlooked a private courtyard lorded over by a large and very ferocious-looking black dog. As there was nowhere to hang out our washing, I ran my hair ribbon across the window and proceeded to pin our socks to it. Guess where one of the socks fell? And this wasn´t an ordinary sock either. It was one of the handy travel socks with a zippered pocket and arch support. I waited and debated, holding its mate.
In a little while the owner of the courtyard came outside. I held up my lonely sock and said "Por Favor, la otra de este es en su jardin" and looked pathetic. I have also discovered the power of looking pathetic when language skills fail. Luckily he was very friendly and tossed the wayward sock up.
It turns out that he was in the yard to give the giant dog a bath. The dog clearly adored him. He equally clearly did NOT enjoy his bath, and whimpered the most pathetic little cries the whole time.
This albergue (like several in Galicia) had a lovely kitchen with only ONE pot. Rather than fight over the one pot, we opted for sandwiches and gazpacho for dinner. I make large sandwiches, and even learned a German word for them. Phonetically "Maul Schperrer" meaning, mouth stopper.
Our friends the Hungarian Girl, Slovakian Girl, and Irish Boys all joined us, and fueled up with "Maul Sperrern" continued on their way to the next village.
We opted to stay on and enjoy our window-side bottom bunk.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Day 43 - 21.7 Kilometres
O'Cebreiro to Triacastela
We began the day with a sunrise walk through purple mountains. If you ever wondered about the lyrics "and purple mountains majesty", go to Spain, and do the Camino. I know it´s supposed to be about the US mountains, but these fit the bill far better than any I´ve seen at home. The mountains rose like sentinals out of seas of fog and mist with the sun just peaking through. Not as a distinct ball, but as a molten gold glow. Because of the mist, everything had soft edges until we were nearly on top of it, so every curve, every face, ever foxglove and iris was a surprise. A very good start to the day!
As the day cleared up, we could see the green hills all around. The cows in this region are a bright chestnut (red-brown). A farmer ws driving his herd single-file up a hill across from the Camino. The compostion of red cows winding up the green hill were a Fauvist´s dream.
I have always believed in unicorns. Now I have a photo of one. OK, so it was a one-horned goat, but still... As we were walking we came across a herd of goats. I like goats, so I stopped to admire them. That´s when I noticed - these goats, if they had any horns at all, had only one horn in the center of their forheads! Not just one Unicorn, but a whole herd of them. I asked other pilgrims if they had seen the one-horned goats, and no one else had. Perhaps I imagined it after all...but there is that photo...
Just before reaching Triacastella we passed a village with a HUGE chestnut tree at its edge. The old man under it was selling walking sticks, and called out to us. I started to say, no I don´t need one, but then he assured us that he wasn´t trying to sell us anything. He then let us know that the tree was over 1200 years old and had healing properties. We heard through the pilgrim grapevine that he told stories to everyone who passed through. In addtion to the history of the tree, we learned that he owns most of the village, that his son is a "lazy good-for-nothing who won´t get himself a wife or a girlfriend", and that he scopes out every girl who passes through as a marraige candidate. At 80, he still works his fields with a hand scythe (as do many of the farmers around here). His wife died 11 years ago, and he laments that "Women used to be strong, built like this (insert hand gestures), and he just doesn´t undersatnd what´s happened to the modern woman". Have I mentioned lately how much I like Spain and Spaniards?
In Triacastella, we were greeted with a donativo (free) Albergue with field, and (drumroll please) pilgrims doing part of the Camino on horseback! Not one, but SEVEN ponies were tethered behind the Albergue. Ponies and unicorn goats all in the same day. The only thing that would make it better would be a cold cervesa and some ice cream...
Oh wait...There was a lovely bar and outdoor cafe across the street from the albergue. Yes, it was a good day today.
We began the day with a sunrise walk through purple mountains. If you ever wondered about the lyrics "and purple mountains majesty", go to Spain, and do the Camino. I know it´s supposed to be about the US mountains, but these fit the bill far better than any I´ve seen at home. The mountains rose like sentinals out of seas of fog and mist with the sun just peaking through. Not as a distinct ball, but as a molten gold glow. Because of the mist, everything had soft edges until we were nearly on top of it, so every curve, every face, ever foxglove and iris was a surprise. A very good start to the day!As the day cleared up, we could see the green hills all around. The cows in this region are a bright chestnut (red-brown). A farmer ws driving his herd single-file up a hill across from the Camino. The compostion of red cows winding up the green hill were a Fauvist´s dream.
I have always believed in unicorns. Now I have a photo of one. OK, so it was a one-horned goat, but still... As we were walking we came across a herd of goats. I like goats, so I stopped to admire them. That´s when I noticed - these goats, if they had any horns at all, had only one horn in the center of their forheads! Not just one Unicorn, but a whole herd of them. I asked other pilgrims if they had seen the one-horned goats, and no one else had. Perhaps I imagined it after all...but there is that photo...
Just before reaching Triacastella we passed a village with a HUGE chestnut tree at its edge. The old man under it was selling walking sticks, and called out to us. I started to say, no I don´t need one, but then he assured us that he wasn´t trying to sell us anything. He then let us know that the tree was over 1200 years old and had healing properties. We heard through the pilgrim grapevine that he told stories to everyone who passed through. In addtion to the history of the tree, we learned that he owns most of the village, that his son is a "lazy good-for-nothing who won´t get himself a wife or a girlfriend", and that he scopes out every girl who passes through as a marraige candidate. At 80, he still works his fields with a hand scythe (as do many of the farmers around here). His wife died 11 years ago, and he laments that "Women used to be strong, built like this (insert hand gestures), and he just doesn´t undersatnd what´s happened to the modern woman". Have I mentioned lately how much I like Spain and Spaniards?In Triacastella, we were greeted with a donativo (free) Albergue with field, and (drumroll please) pilgrims doing part of the Camino on horseback! Not one, but SEVEN ponies were tethered behind the Albergue. Ponies and unicorn goats all in the same day. The only thing that would make it better would be a cold cervesa and some ice cream...
Oh wait...There was a lovely bar and outdoor cafe across the street from the albergue. Yes, it was a good day today.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Day 42 - 32.8 Kilometres
Villafranca to O Cebeiro
We are back into green country. The mountains are so green that the colour even seems to bounce up and tint the sky faintly greenish. The hills are dotted frequently with little villages and contented cows. The cows are not fenced, and sometimes it seems like they are doing their own Bovine Camino as they walk along with us to greener pastures.
In the little villages, many of the cats and dogs have discovered that perigrinos carry cheese and choice ham. In particular, one small spotted cat in front of the local tienda hopped up into our laps and looked pathetic until he had consumed
most of an egg and a good bit of cheese. He did reward us with thunderous purrs and contentedly curling up for a while on both of our laps after his snack. We enjoyed the "cat therapy".
Hospital de _ the last town before the big climb up O Cebriero mountain is a picturesue village, one that could easily pass as a town in the Swiss Alps. At the foot of the town was a COLD stream with a little park. We took a long break soaking our feet in the icy water and bracing ourselves for the climb. Supposedly OCebriero is the steepest climb of the Camino, but I refuse to believe it. Perhaps it just feels so because it is the last 6Km of a 30plus Km day.
The views from the peak were stunning, and everyone poured out of the Albergue to watch the sunset over the mountains. A German church group sang some hymns as the sun slipped behind the hills.
Views aside, OCebriero is also supposedly one of the sites of the Holy Grail. A German pilgrim was lost in the valley, and followed the sound of a shepherd´s pipes up the mountain. The music lead him to OCebreiro on the Grail. I wonder if he still continued on to Santiago...
We are back into green country. The mountains are so green that the colour even seems to bounce up and tint the sky faintly greenish. The hills are dotted frequently with little villages and contented cows. The cows are not fenced, and sometimes it seems like they are doing their own Bovine Camino as they walk along with us to greener pastures.In the little villages, many of the cats and dogs have discovered that perigrinos carry cheese and choice ham. In particular, one small spotted cat in front of the local tienda hopped up into our laps and looked pathetic until he had consumed
most of an egg and a good bit of cheese. He did reward us with thunderous purrs and contentedly curling up for a while on both of our laps after his snack. We enjoyed the "cat therapy".Hospital de _ the last town before the big climb up O Cebriero mountain is a picturesue village, one that could easily pass as a town in the Swiss Alps. At the foot of the town was a COLD stream with a little park. We took a long break soaking our feet in the icy water and bracing ourselves for the climb. Supposedly OCebriero is the steepest climb of the Camino, but I refuse to believe it. Perhaps it just feels so because it is the last 6Km of a 30plus Km day.
The views from the peak were stunning, and everyone poured out of the Albergue to watch the sunset over the mountains. A German church group sang some hymns as the sun slipped behind the hills.Views aside, OCebriero is also supposedly one of the sites of the Holy Grail. A German pilgrim was lost in the valley, and followed the sound of a shepherd´s pipes up the mountain. The music lead him to OCebreiro on the Grail. I wonder if he still continued on to Santiago...
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Day 41 - 31.7 Kilometres
Molinaseca to Villafranca Del Bierzo
I am running on gauze and willpower. The blisters refuse to die. However, I am now confident, after having lanced, threaded, and been seriously tempted to break out the syringes and inject my blisters with iodine, that I could, in a pinch, give either of us stitches. Not that I hope it will happen, but if we do gash ourselves badly enough to need to be sewn back together again, I could totally do it.
The road itself is very pretty, mostly on gravel track and country roads through rolling farmland. This part of Spain is known for its produce, especially fruit and wine grapes. The air is heady with the scent of fruit, and at at least one fuente, there were trays of huge, sweet figs left out for the pilgrims.
The vinyards roll right up to the edge of the path, and much to Cz´s chagrin, I began collecting large, tender grapeleaves, with the intent of stuffing them for dinner. As we walked, the smell of herbs mixed in with the smell of fruit, and by the end of the day, by following my nose, I had pockets full of grape leaves, rosemary, fennel, and thyme.
Villafranca gets its name because it is one of (many) old French outposts in Spain. In honour of this fact, I decided to cook up a fancy-schmancy meal. Of course, featuring road herbs and grape leaves. (recipe to follow at the bottom of the post) I have become quite the scavenger on this trip!
The Irish Boys got a late start, and rolled into town at around 5, just as we were heading out to the grocery. Still in the mood for a big cookfest, we offered to prepare dinner for them. Really, I had ulterior motives, as one of them makes the most amazing pasta sauce with lentils, and I knew that if I cooked for them tonight, it would up my chances of lentil pasta in the next village. That and we like their company...
Because it is one of the last towns before heading back into the big mountains, Villafranca has the Gate of Forgiveness. Built in the Middle Ages for pilgrims to weak to continue on to Santiago, The Gate of Forgiveness pardons the sins of anyone who passes through it. But, blisters notwithstanding, we are young and tough, and tomorrow will head up, up into the hills.
Stuffed Grape Leaves a la Camino
Ingredients
Grape leaves
White Beans from a can
Onion
Herbs (rosemary, thyme, fennel, garlic, parsley)
Salt
Pepper
Olive oil
Steam grape leaves until tender (you can do this while the other stuff cooks)
set aside
Sautee the onions and garlic in olive oil
Mash in the beans and herbs except the parsley
Add salt and pepper to taste
Remove from heat and add chopped parsley to taste
Brush a little olive oil in the middle of a grape leaf
Add a dollop of bean mush
Put a tiny well in the bean mush and add a tiny bit of olive oil and more chopped parsley
Fold the grape leaf around it like a tortilla
Eat alone of floating in a bowl of gazpacho
I am running on gauze and willpower. The blisters refuse to die. However, I am now confident, after having lanced, threaded, and been seriously tempted to break out the syringes and inject my blisters with iodine, that I could, in a pinch, give either of us stitches. Not that I hope it will happen, but if we do gash ourselves badly enough to need to be sewn back together again, I could totally do it.The road itself is very pretty, mostly on gravel track and country roads through rolling farmland. This part of Spain is known for its produce, especially fruit and wine grapes. The air is heady with the scent of fruit, and at at least one fuente, there were trays of huge, sweet figs left out for the pilgrims.
The vinyards roll right up to the edge of the path, and much to Cz´s chagrin, I began collecting large, tender grapeleaves, with the intent of stuffing them for dinner. As we walked, the smell of herbs mixed in with the smell of fruit, and by the end of the day, by following my nose, I had pockets full of grape leaves, rosemary, fennel, and thyme.
Villafranca gets its name because it is one of (many) old French outposts in Spain. In honour of this fact, I decided to cook up a fancy-schmancy meal. Of course, featuring road herbs and grape leaves. (recipe to follow at the bottom of the post) I have become quite the scavenger on this trip!The Irish Boys got a late start, and rolled into town at around 5, just as we were heading out to the grocery. Still in the mood for a big cookfest, we offered to prepare dinner for them. Really, I had ulterior motives, as one of them makes the most amazing pasta sauce with lentils, and I knew that if I cooked for them tonight, it would up my chances of lentil pasta in the next village. That and we like their company...
Because it is one of the last towns before heading back into the big mountains, Villafranca has the Gate of Forgiveness. Built in the Middle Ages for pilgrims to weak to continue on to Santiago, The Gate of Forgiveness pardons the sins of anyone who passes through it. But, blisters notwithstanding, we are young and tough, and tomorrow will head up, up into the hills.
Stuffed Grape Leaves a la Camino
Ingredients
Grape leaves
White Beans from a can
Onion
Herbs (rosemary, thyme, fennel, garlic, parsley)
Salt
Pepper
Olive oil
Steam grape leaves until tender (you can do this while the other stuff cooks)
set aside
Sautee the onions and garlic in olive oil
Mash in the beans and herbs except the parsley
Add salt and pepper to taste
Remove from heat and add chopped parsley to taste
Brush a little olive oil in the middle of a grape leaf
Add a dollop of bean mush
Put a tiny well in the bean mush and add a tiny bit of olive oil and more chopped parsley
Fold the grape leaf around it like a tortilla
Eat alone of floating in a bowl of gazpacho
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Day 40 - 26.5 Kilometres
Rabanal to Molinaseca
Today started very well with a climb up one of the prettiest mountains we have crossed so far. It was a cloudy dawn, and the sunrise was bouncing a strange mauve light across the clouds and faces of the surrounding hills. The hills near us were thick with purple flowers - heather, wild iris, foxglove, and a low-growing one that looked like lavender cotton candy - and dun grasses, all set agains black cedars, made darker by the wetness in the air.
At the top of the mountain was the Iron Cross. It is a very small cross on a very tall pole stuck in a pile of rock at the summit. Tradition dictates that pilgrims leave a rock from some where else (either home or found on the Camino) or that they leave a personal item. The base of the cross is a totem to all the pilgrims who have passed through before us. There were love notes, photos of children, candles, charms, pictures of saints, pieces of clothing, cigarettes - you name it, it was probably at the Iron Cross.
One of theings I love best about Spain is its people. As we walked through one sleepy village we noticed a huge cherry tree loaded with fruit. Near the tree was a fence with several plastic bags wrapped around one of the posts. As the cherries were very high up, a few brave souls climbed the tree, while I swatted at the branches (not the ones they were on) with Cz´s walking stick. It was like a giant cherry piñata.
Then, around the corner, appears an old man walking on two canes. He starts talking to us very fast in Spanish, and we have no idea what he is trying to tell us, and fear we might be in trouble. (The group were Cz and me, a German, a Brazilian, and the Irish Boys - not one Spanish speaker in the lot!) Eventually we figure out that he is cheering us on, calling out "More, More. Fill your bags. Take them all!" He then passes us his cane to us to send up to the Brazilian and German girl in the tree so they can hook branches closer and swat more fruit down to the Irish and Americans. All told we came away with 1-3 kilo of cherries each.
We spend the rest of the day plotting our cherry fest.
We have cherry mashed potatoes, red wine cherry compote, and fresh cherries with yoghurt.
Only time for one recipe.
Cherry Compote with red wine. I don´t actually know what a compote is, but I imagine it goes something like this...
ingredients
Lots of pitted sweet cherries
red wine
sugar
flour or tapioca or cornstarch (the directions are for flour)
directions
Put the cherries in a pot big enough to hold them with room to stir
Add wine so in comes half as high in the pot as the cherries (ie half pot cherries = quarter pot wine)
Add sugar to taste (these cherries were very sweet so we only added a few tablespoons)
Heat over medium until boiling gently
Sift in about a quarter cup of flour, stirring constantly
Cook until thickened, stirring occasionally
Serve with tasty things.
We made trifle with cookies, yoghurt, fresh cherries and the compote.
I imagine you could do a cherry sundae, cherry short cake, or cherries with rice pudding or...the variations are endless.
Today started very well with a climb up one of the prettiest mountains we have crossed so far. It was a cloudy dawn, and the sunrise was bouncing a strange mauve light across the clouds and faces of the surrounding hills. The hills near us were thick with purple flowers - heather, wild iris, foxglove, and a low-growing one that looked like lavender cotton candy - and dun grasses, all set agains black cedars, made darker by the wetness in the air.At the top of the mountain was the Iron Cross. It is a very small cross on a very tall pole stuck in a pile of rock at the summit. Tradition dictates that pilgrims leave a rock from some where else (either home or found on the Camino) or that they leave a personal item. The base of the cross is a totem to all the pilgrims who have passed through before us. There were love notes, photos of children, candles, charms, pictures of saints, pieces of clothing, cigarettes - you name it, it was probably at the Iron Cross.
One of theings I love best about Spain is its people. As we walked through one sleepy village we noticed a huge cherry tree loaded with fruit. Near the tree was a fence with several plastic bags wrapped around one of the posts. As the cherries were very high up, a few brave souls climbed the tree, while I swatted at the branches (not the ones they were on) with Cz´s walking stick. It was like a giant cherry piñata.
Then, around the corner, appears an old man walking on two canes. He starts talking to us very fast in Spanish, and we have no idea what he is trying to tell us, and fear we might be in trouble. (The group were Cz and me, a German, a Brazilian, and the Irish Boys - not one Spanish speaker in the lot!) Eventually we figure out that he is cheering us on, calling out "More, More. Fill your bags. Take them all!" He then passes us his cane to us to send up to the Brazilian and German girl in the tree so they can hook branches closer and swat more fruit down to the Irish and Americans. All told we came away with 1-3 kilo of cherries each.We spend the rest of the day plotting our cherry fest.
We have cherry mashed potatoes, red wine cherry compote, and fresh cherries with yoghurt.
Only time for one recipe.
Cherry Compote with red wine. I don´t actually know what a compote is, but I imagine it goes something like this...
ingredients
Lots of pitted sweet cherries
red wine
sugar
flour or tapioca or cornstarch (the directions are for flour)
directions
Put the cherries in a pot big enough to hold them with room to stir
Add wine so in comes half as high in the pot as the cherries (ie half pot cherries = quarter pot wine)
Add sugar to taste (these cherries were very sweet so we only added a few tablespoons)
Heat over medium until boiling gently
Sift in about a quarter cup of flour, stirring constantly
Cook until thickened, stirring occasionally
Serve with tasty things.
We made trifle with cookies, yoghurt, fresh cherries and the compote.
I imagine you could do a cherry sundae, cherry short cake, or cherries with rice pudding or...the variations are endless.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Day 39 - 20 Kilometres
Astorga to Rabanal de Camino
Thankfully and easy day. Some blisters required re-lancing, but basically everything´s OK.
Rabanal is one of my favourite towns so far. A monastary and Vespers with the Monks. Roses from a garden on the altar. Eggs from the local hens with rich yellow-orange yolks like the ones I had from my hens at home as a child. Friendly poeple both in town and in the Albergue.
The weather has turned unseasonably cold. So much so that the albergue put a fire in the fireplace. We spent a very pleasant afternoon curled up in front of the fire, wrapped in in blankets, and reading. It was wonderful, if very odd for July.
The monks allow people to stay with them and meditate, or be still, or just get themselves in order. One does not need to be Catholic or even religious to do this. The next time I do the camino, I will allow for a week in Rabanal.
There is more to write for today, but time is short. I may come back to this post.
Thankfully and easy day. Some blisters required re-lancing, but basically everything´s OK.Rabanal is one of my favourite towns so far. A monastary and Vespers with the Monks. Roses from a garden on the altar. Eggs from the local hens with rich yellow-orange yolks like the ones I had from my hens at home as a child. Friendly poeple both in town and in the Albergue.
The weather has turned unseasonably cold. So much so that the albergue put a fire in the fireplace. We spent a very pleasant afternoon curled up in front of the fire, wrapped in in blankets, and reading. It was wonderful, if very odd for July.
The monks allow people to stay with them and meditate, or be still, or just get themselves in order. One does not need to be Catholic or even religious to do this. The next time I do the camino, I will allow for a week in Rabanal.There is more to write for today, but time is short. I may come back to this post.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Day 38 - 23 Kilometres
San Martin Del Camino to Astorga
Remember all those nice things I said about Compeed? Yeah, I take them back. Compeed is evil. Compeed may work to PREVENT blisters. Compeed may make blisters feel better for a while. But then, THEN, Compeed binds to your blisters, so when they come back with reinforcements you can do nothing. Nothing, that is, until you check into a pilgrim hostel which happens to have blister hospital set up.
Astorga is a pretty nice city with a lovely cathedral and a castle (well bishop´s house) designed by Gaudi that looks like a giant sand castle. For me, however, it will always remain "the city with a blister hospital."
We stayed at the Parochial Albergue, which we have learned are usually donativo (run by donation), and usaully among the nicest in town. This one had a book at the registry where pilgrims could sign up for an appointment with the resident nurses to have their various ailments tended to.
The appointments were supposed to be 15 minutes. I had some seriously impressive blisters. One and half hours, half a bottle of solvent (to remove the evil Compeed), half dozen lancets, two syringes of iodine, an loads of gauze later my feet were patched together again enough to walk almost normally.
I have a very high pain tolerance. I nearly fainted when they were doctering me. Cz who hates blisters and needles almost as much as he hates walking stuck by my side...and held me down. Literally. I pity what would have happend to the blister doctor had Cz not been pinning my legs.
The blister drs thought i was nuts to keep going, but loaded me up with gauze and antibiotic ointments. So long as nothing gets infected, I should be fine.
Remember all those nice things I said about Compeed? Yeah, I take them back. Compeed is evil. Compeed may work to PREVENT blisters. Compeed may make blisters feel better for a while. But then, THEN, Compeed binds to your blisters, so when they come back with reinforcements you can do nothing. Nothing, that is, until you check into a pilgrim hostel which happens to have blister hospital set up.Astorga is a pretty nice city with a lovely cathedral and a castle (well bishop´s house) designed by Gaudi that looks like a giant sand castle. For me, however, it will always remain "the city with a blister hospital."
We stayed at the Parochial Albergue, which we have learned are usually donativo (run by donation), and usaully among the nicest in town. This one had a book at the registry where pilgrims could sign up for an appointment with the resident nurses to have their various ailments tended to.
The appointments were supposed to be 15 minutes. I had some seriously impressive blisters. One and half hours, half a bottle of solvent (to remove the evil Compeed), half dozen lancets, two syringes of iodine, an loads of gauze later my feet were patched together again enough to walk almost normally.I have a very high pain tolerance. I nearly fainted when they were doctering me. Cz who hates blisters and needles almost as much as he hates walking stuck by my side...and held me down. Literally. I pity what would have happend to the blister doctor had Cz not been pinning my legs.
The blister drs thought i was nuts to keep going, but loaded me up with gauze and antibiotic ointments. So long as nothing gets infected, I should be fine.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Day 37 - 24.4 Kilometres
Leon to San Martino del Camino
Today is our legal anniversary. 3 years married and no papers filed yet! We´ll see how the rest of trip goes...
We don´t really celebrate this one, favouring instead the August anniversary which also coincides with when we started dating, so you have a month-long reprieve before the mushy post.
Another day along the highway. It started out well, though, with a sunrise over the Leon cathedral, a great white gothic affair to rival anything in France or England. It has astounding stained glass too, which we saw yesterday with the evening light streaming in.
Arrived in San Martino, where luxury of luxuries, the Albergue also offers private rooms. Privacy is at a premium on the Camino, and I find that perhaps the most difficult part of the whole affair. I´m OK with sleeping with 50 people in a room. I am not OK with waking up with 50 people. It is always loud and chaotic, with butts bumping and packs being shuffled. And while I am occasionally a fan of chaos, I am NOT a fan of chaos at 5:30AM. So, we have our own room for tonight, and I am thrilled.
Today is our legal anniversary. 3 years married and no papers filed yet! We´ll see how the rest of trip goes...
We don´t really celebrate this one, favouring instead the August anniversary which also coincides with when we started dating, so you have a month-long reprieve before the mushy post.
Another day along the highway. It started out well, though, with a sunrise over the Leon cathedral, a great white gothic affair to rival anything in France or England. It has astounding stained glass too, which we saw yesterday with the evening light streaming in.Arrived in San Martino, where luxury of luxuries, the Albergue also offers private rooms. Privacy is at a premium on the Camino, and I find that perhaps the most difficult part of the whole affair. I´m OK with sleeping with 50 people in a room. I am not OK with waking up with 50 people. It is always loud and chaotic, with butts bumping and packs being shuffled. And while I am occasionally a fan of chaos, I am NOT a fan of chaos at 5:30AM. So, we have our own room for tonight, and I am thrilled.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Day 36 - 20.4 Kilometres
Mansilla de las Mulas - Leon
A long 20Km. One does not become fully aware of urban sprawl, office parks, and industrial wastelands until one has entered cities on foot. The bulk of the walk was spent parallel to the highway creeping our way through what felt like eons of low-slung building and roaring traffic. People do the Camino with donkeys and horses, and I can´t imagine how they handle all the pavement and noise.
Leon itself is very lovely city. It is also the starting point for many pilgrims, so there is a palpable excitiement in the air.
We spent a good portion of our time in lovely Leon shoe-shopping. Our shoes might have been able to handle several hundred kilometres of city walking, but the trail had fairly well killed them. Cz is now discovering the joys of heavy hiking boots with serious ankle support, and I am becoming more and more expert at lancing blisters as I break in my own new boots. I think when we get back to the States I will buy stock in Compeed. (best blister cure EVER)
A long 20Km. One does not become fully aware of urban sprawl, office parks, and industrial wastelands until one has entered cities on foot. The bulk of the walk was spent parallel to the highway creeping our way through what felt like eons of low-slung building and roaring traffic. People do the Camino with donkeys and horses, and I can´t imagine how they handle all the pavement and noise.
Leon itself is very lovely city. It is also the starting point for many pilgrims, so there is a palpable excitiement in the air.
We spent a good portion of our time in lovely Leon shoe-shopping. Our shoes might have been able to handle several hundred kilometres of city walking, but the trail had fairly well killed them. Cz is now discovering the joys of heavy hiking boots with serious ankle support, and I am becoming more and more expert at lancing blisters as I break in my own new boots. I think when we get back to the States I will buy stock in Compeed. (best blister cure EVER)
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Day 35 - 26.3 Kilometres
Bercianos to Mansilla de las Mulas
The flat nothing continues. Same road, same fields, same tractors as yesterday. Plenty of time to think and to daydream, but that´s private.
The Albergue in Mansilla was very nice and clean with a sunny courtyard filled with geraniums. We met up again with the Irish Boys, and pooled out resources to cook an obscene amount of food. We have learned on the Camino that it costs only pennies more to cook for a group than it does to cook for two or four. Those few pennies are well worth being able to have an open invitation for anyone to join your table. This Albergue had the largest group of english-speakers of any we stayed in, and by the end of the evening, our table sported 5 Americans, 3 Irish, and 1 Welshman.
Everyone chipped in with wine, so in addition to having a very full table, we also had a rather tipsy table. The card games and carousing went on well into the night. (OK 11PM, but that is LATE in pilgrim time - most Albergues shut down the lights at 10 or 10:30) A far cry from the convent, but fun nonetheless.
The flat nothing continues. Same road, same fields, same tractors as yesterday. Plenty of time to think and to daydream, but that´s private.
The Albergue in Mansilla was very nice and clean with a sunny courtyard filled with geraniums. We met up again with the Irish Boys, and pooled out resources to cook an obscene amount of food. We have learned on the Camino that it costs only pennies more to cook for a group than it does to cook for two or four. Those few pennies are well worth being able to have an open invitation for anyone to join your table. This Albergue had the largest group of english-speakers of any we stayed in, and by the end of the evening, our table sported 5 Americans, 3 Irish, and 1 Welshman.
Everyone chipped in with wine, so in addition to having a very full table, we also had a rather tipsy table. The card games and carousing went on well into the night. (OK 11PM, but that is LATE in pilgrim time - most Albergues shut down the lights at 10 or 10:30) A far cry from the convent, but fun nonetheless.
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