2MoreMiles…

Day 28: Ruitelán – Tricatela

The road curves ahead of me, and a yellow arrow points the way. I figure they are just around the corner. Apparently I miss the marker that would have directed me onto a dirt path that parallels the paved road and is hidden behind a tall hedge. I considered asking the coverall clad farmer for directions, but something about him made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, along with a little voice that said to “walk on”. These two “clues” have served me well throughout my life, so I pay them heed and walk on. I quicken my pace, as does the farmer. I look and listen for signs of Paul and Dave. It is as if they have vanished into thin air. Concerned I have missed the trail, I hail a woman who has come out of her house as to where the Camino is. She tells me I am on the bicycle part of the Camino, but the dirt path is just above me and parallels the road. Confident that Paul and Dave are ahead of me, I continue on and stop where the bicycle road and the dirt path meet at a bar/albergue. I look in the bar. It is empty. I sit at the crossroad for 5 minutes, trying to decide what to do. Do I walk back to where I last saw them via the dirt tread? Do I continue on and see if I can reach a vantage point to see if they are still ahead of me? Surely they would figure out I have fallen behind. The bar seemed like the perfect place to wait for me. The farmer is closing in and raises his eyebrows at me. He is on his phone and I hear and understand enough to know he is telling the person on the other end to meet up with him. I don’t know now whether I am experiencing “appropriate paranoia”, or the fact that earlier this year an older (40+) female peregrino was kidnapped and killed while walking the Camino in Galacia, has me spooked. I am pretty sure that if it becomes necessary I can “take care of myself”, but I’d rather not have to as the outcome would not be “pretty”. Better safe than sorry, so I walk on through the sparse and dilapidated village to a spot where I can see the trail way ahead of me and the village behind me. I take a seat and wait. The farmer rounds the corner, then stops and turns back into the village.

The view from my perch is beautiful. My plan now is to wait for more peregrinos, to ask if they’ve seen Paul or Dave, and if not, to walk with them to the next albergue upon which I’ll figure it out from there. I look at my watch. It is 3:15. I decide, I will wait no longer than 4pm and continue on no matter what to at least a place that has WiFi, where I will message Paul. I consider calling him, but I doubt his phone is on, and we did not get the international calling plan for his phone, so I figure his phone won’t work. Finally I spy two hikers. I ask if they have seen two men, and describe Paul and Dave. They then say to me in very broken English, ” you woman missing” (for the record, I am not missing, Paul and Dave are), “dey bak der” and continue on. How far back, I ask and get no response as they walk briskly away. A German woman with her dog (a poodle named Leigha…why I know the dogs name and not hers I’ll never know), she recognizes me and exclaim, “Oh my God, you’re husband is so worried. You must call him. He has been trying to call you. He is so worried!” She hands me her phone. I look at my phone and see that I now have a missed call and it’s from Paul’s phone. Hmm, I guess it works. Not sure how much that is going to cost us, but good to know that it works. I call him. For once, he picks up immediately. Simultaneously we ask, ‘WHERE ARE YOU?!’ Turns out we are, and have been, no further that 50m apart this whole time. ‘Stay where you’re at’, we both say, ‘I’ll come to you’. Soon we are reunited, as we ignored each others command to “stay put” and walk toward each other. Out of all of this, I think Dave was the most frazzled. Apparently he was about to commandeer a farmer’s motorcycle and/or rent a car to begin the “search”. Paul’s rendition of the “disappearance”, has me as the one who ” vanished”, and goes something like this…”we stopped on the dirt path waiting for you, you never showed up, so we back tracked to the paved road. The lady with the dog comes along and said she hadn’t seen you…impossible! We continued on to the albergue and they said you never came by either. Dave was going to buy off the farmer for a vehicle, when I tried my phone.” It all ended well, we were only minutes apart, just out of sight of each other. Whew!! When we got to Filloval Dave’s pack was not there…and thus begins the tale of the second “disappearance”.

It’s getting late, but we have no other choice but to now head to Tricatela which will make this a 31km day for us and about a 35km day for Dave. Once we enter Tricatela, we find that the municiple albergue is “completo” and Dave’s pack is NOT there. We enter the next albergue and his bag isn’t there either and this one is full as well. The old Spanish women who run the albergue do not speak a lick of English and do their best to help Dave, (who is becoming more than a little frustrated/upset), find his pack, after I explained to another peregrino whom Paul and I met earlier how important it is that we find Dave’s pack (he is carrying his son’s ashes…in the pack). Turns out his pack was the next albergue down… and they were full as well. It’s beginning to look like we will be sleeping outside tonight, and its gonna be COLD! As luck would have it, the last (and cheapest) albergue has space for three weary travelers, and we all get bottom bunks and our own room, plus a cyclist from Texas named Scott. We are more than glad this day is over as we are exhausted in soo many ways besides physically.

Buen Camino!
Be Strong! Austin Strong!

Day 35…or Day 1 (39km)
Santiago – Vilaserio

I was initially not a fan of this leg, as I am seriously tired of walking day after day after day, for all day.  I have had to tape my knee up…again, as it is beginning to bother me a bit.  My instep (same leg as knee issue) is bothering me as well…but Paul and I are a team, so…I walk.  In some ways though I am looking forward to escaping the crowds and having the trail to ourselves, as not many actually decide to continue walking to Finisterre, and probably even less now with a credible threat of foul weather. We bid Sue, Jerry and Dave goodbye.  They are going to Finisterre as well, but on a bus.  We on the other hand must do things the hard way.  We will take three days to walk the 87km to Finisterre, with a serious rainstorm in the forecast.  Today is supposed to be rain free with scattered showers Saturday and a deluge predicted for Sunday.  We are hoping all this changes in our favor, and we are spared, but understand our optimism will most likely be tempered by reality. Nevertheless, this is not our first rodeo, so we walk and wonder what sights we will encounter today.

We leave as day is breaking and walk out of the city of Santiago, that apparently had a party till 0400 this morning that could be heard from the top floor of our albergue.  We turn back as we reach the suburbs of Santiago and catch the sunrise as it paints the skyline of Santiago, with the spires of the Cathedral outlined in brilliant pinks and reds. 

Our pictures (untouched or enhanced) from our phones can not do it justice.  It was probably one of the most memorable sunrises of our collective lifetimes.  We watch in awe as the colors morph with each passing minute.  Eventually we pry ourselves away from this mezmorising sight and continue our trek.  The goal is to get as far as we can, during this rain free day, before we run out of albergues or my foot gives out…which ever comes first. 

The tread is mostly “natural” with some climbs and rolling hills.  We are mostly by ourselves, to our delight and surprise.  The scenery is stunning.  We both agree that this day is the best day we have had since we began our trek in St. Jean.  Rich green fields, grazing dairy cows and scruffy men in coveralls driving tractors are our company for the day. 

We walk through cooridors of moss and clover covered stone walls and under a canopy of oak and eucalyptus.

Early on we pass and ancient bridge for whose stream has left it.

And walk over yet another whose river still runs through it.

We cross over the río Tambre and through Ponte Maceira

Cafés and bars are few and far between. Traffic is practically non-existant.

Churches and weathered crosses are not, but quietly bracket our path to Finisterre.

Fields of corn sway in a gentle breeze, which makes the bulk of the road walking more palatable. If rain were not forecasted for tomorrow morning we would have cowboy camped in one of the many soft fields of clover. We descend into Vilaserio and check into the town’s private albergue and only bar/café.

Outside the bar, a peregrino who is headed back from Finisterre, has “parked” his donkey. We dine with Joe from NY, and share stories of our travels since Palas de REI, and our plans once we are “done”. There is no mistaking that the threat of rain tomorrow looms over the vibe of the peregeinos dining at the bar. Exchanges are pleasant, but the vibe is somewhat somber. We all agree that this days travel and sights have been epic, yet we are all weary and not looking forward to the thought (or act) of slogging through another downpour. In the end, we will walk, regardless of the weather.

Buen Camino!
Be Strong! Austin Strong!

Day 33 (28km)
Arzúa – Lavacolla

Last night we decided that we will sleep into 8 am and take our time getting on the road in the morning. At 0730 we are catapulted awake by a self elected sleep monitor who decided that 0730 was enough sleep for EVERYONE! He starts shouting, “Levántate! Despertarse! Levántate! Despertarse! ” (Get up, wake up), and flips on all the lights. I cover my head, and he walks to the foot of my bed and yells again, and adds that “they” are going to kick us out at 8am, and that I need to get up, NOW. Paul sits up and says, “Dude, what is your problem?!”. He then proceeds to insist that Paul get up as well. All but this character, and two other people (who have already left) of the 16 in this room, were still lounging in slumberland before this crazy Spainard decided he was the albergue sleep police. I made the mistake of flipping up my eye shade when the crazy Spaniard started yelling and turning on the lights, so there was no use even remotely attempting to fall back to sleep. The grumbling masses arose like the walking dead, and shuffle off to the bathroom or begin stuffing their packs for egress from the albergue…before 8am. By the time we were all packed up, and wandering out the door, not a single employee of the municiple albergue had arrived to “kick us out”…and it was 0815. In fact, we left well before the spandex clad crazy Spaniard. WTF?! As is our custom to walk to coffee, we are disappointed to find our first opportunity for coffee thwarted by a just arrived and unloaded purple bus load of tourigrinos. Arrgh! Thus, the walk to coffee this morning was much longer than expected. The droves of people on the trail today was epic. No one was in a “hurry”, but eyes were firmly set on finishing by days end for most.

Rain is forecasted for later in the afternoon, so thoughts of doing another 30+KM and becoming soaked once more are out of the question, so our sights were on Lavacolla.

Our coffee stop came after nearly 12km, at an eclectic café/bar that served excellent café con leches and actual omelettes reminiscent of home.

We make a “lunch” stop for our signature jamon y queso bocadillos (dry) and grande cervesas, just outside of O Pedrouzo, where most people “lay up” with 19.8km left to Santiago.

Notice the van in the background picking up peregrinos

Here we run into people we last saw in Belorado. They are finishing up and plan to walk into Santiago this evening. Once rested and satiated we continue on.

The tread turns soft and the trail travels through thick groves of tall eucalyptus. The air is sweet and reminds me of “health food” stores back home.

Soon signs of “civilization” appear with more frequency. Fast moving cars, tight clusters of homes, jet airplanes overhead and a paved path, accompanied by sounds of the “city”, creep into our once quiet and peaceful journey. It is both exciting and annoying.

Signs announcing the “countdown” to Santiago appear.

With a little less than 12.5 KM to go, we hold up in the town of Lavacolla, at the last possible place to stay. Not wanting to walk down hill (and then back up the next morning to the trail) we check into a private hostel for more Euros than we have paid in a long while. It is actually cheaper than the “downhill” hostel (Paul checked), and we will have our own bathroom, so we take the room. Turns out however that, while the hostel’s bar is functional, its kitchen is “out of order” and we have to walk down hill (and back up) to the hostel we were trying to avoid in the first place, to get dinner. I have to say one thing about Spain and its “trades”. It appears that the electricians, plumbers and tile/framer guys don’t collude when building or furnishing a structure. There is NOTHING ergonomic about their kitchen and especially bathroom designs and installation of appliances. Case in point…our room. There is only one working electrical plug, of which a non functioning space heater is plugged into. The light switch for the room is on the far wall, across from the door. The light switch to the restroom is outside the restroom, near the room’s entrance (which thinking about it now, maybe was a good idea). Inside the bathroom is a good sized shower with the shower wand head at the appropriate height. It however, has a square shower pan, in a triangle space. The “left over” triangle space was tiled over, creating a ridge up from the shower pan. The shower curtain is not wide, nor long enough. As such, the curtain hangs four inches from the top of the shower pan edge and a good two feet from the wall that narrows and has created the triangle space. The hot water valve, that is normally recessed and insulated behind our shower walls, is exposed, but encased beautifully in chrome with a handle. Paul took the first shower. When he exited the shower, (laughing) his only words were “good luck, watch your step”. I enter the bathroom. It is bathed, in entirety, in water. Not a single surface is dry, and that includes the toilet seat. I gingerly wade through a puddle that has formed at the edge of the shower in the triangle “corner”. I note that where the shower wand is perched, it is tall enough for me to stand comfortably underneath without having to employ any contortions, which also means I can use two hands (at the same time) to wash my hair. I turn on the shower and immediately understand how it is that the toilet, four feet away, got completely soaked. The gasket for the shower head is folded or creased allowing pressurized water to spray forcefully over the single glass wall shower enclosure. I watch in amazement as it arches over the glass, bounces off the wall and rains on the toilet(and toilet paper). I grab the shower wand off its perch and try and face the spray towards the glass wall, then realize that the shower curtain does not actually extend all the way to the wall. I turn to face the glass wall and the curtain, and raise the wand. As I do this, I back up in an effort to keep the splashback from escaping from the bottom of the too short curtain. Once I do this, I am immediately “branded” by the exposed hot water valve and simultaneously drop the shower wand. Water now sprays into the triangle corner and the water slides down the tile and onto the floor, rather than being sloped and directed into the shower pan. Awesome. Now I know where the pool of water came from. I turn off the water, to soap up. Before I turn the water back on, I bend over to pick up the wand from the shower pan floor, and am “branded” once again. I turn on the water and while rinsing, do my best to corral the wayward water, escaping from the faulty gasket, from bouncing off the wall or the ceiling, or over the curtain. This may also explain why the electrical outlet in the bathroom does not work. What I had hoped to be a long and glorious shower, became a sailor’s shower. I reach for my once dry towel, and now understand what Paul meant by, “good luck”. After hobbling back from dinner of amazing Galacian “stew”, we retire for one last night on the Camino. Sleep comes quickly, even if the double bed upon which we rest feels no different than if we were sleeping on the floor… just cleaner.

Buen Camino!
Be Strong! Austin Strong!

Day 26 (35 KM)
El Acebo – Cacabelos

We awake after a decent nights sleep, yet the water is still not on. So off we go into the dark brisk morning air and we continue our descent…a steep descent.

We pass through a small town (Riego de Ambrós) that upon entrance looks like something out of Pirates of the Caribbean,

and then work our way through a forest of sorts to another picturesque town where we cross the Rio Maruelo via a medieval bridge into Molinaseca.

Out of Molinaseca, we road walk for quite awhile and eventually reach Ponferrada, home of a Knight Templar Castle (Castillo de los Templarios) which has been refurbished and is a National monument site.

We considered going in, but are semi tired of trying to read interpretive panels in Spanish and figured we could get more info via the internet. In the plaza adjacent the castle and the Basílica de la Encina we find Dave asleep on a bench with his shoes off. Paul being the ever practical joker, sneak over to Dave’s shoes and ties them together. From a café nearby we have lunch and wait for him to wake up. After awhile he rouses slowly and reaches for his shoes. He examines them perplexed and looks around. Paul yells to him and waves. Dave starts to laugh, “It figures it was you guys.” We talk for a bit about our days plans and head over to the Basílica to take a peak. It is a classic Templar design but on steroids. The interior is benign compared to other Basilicas we have visited. We exit Ponferrada and enter wine country. El Bierzo wine country that is. But first we must walk through an ” industrial” area and sparsely populated towns with gigantic gardens. We stop for the day in Cacabelos at the municiple albergue (Las Angustias) where we catch of with Dave once more. He had wondered what had happened to us. We ducked into a winery and did a little wine tasting before finishing our last 2 miles (3.7km). This albergue literally surrounds the outside of the church and has two bes berths with storage and your own light that you get to control yourself (which was a treat). The skies above turned menacing and just prior to heading out to eat opened up with a vengeance, announcing its arrival with a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder near simultaneously.

Sheets of rain came down negating any drying that had occurred from freshly laundered peregrino hiking wear. Feeling the air temperature change and having noticed the darkening sky, I had moved our laundered clothes under the eeves which kept them from becoming soaked, but not completely dry either as the rain was that violent. The deluge continued for 20 minutes and dropped probably 2-3 inches of rain, then stopped as quickly as it started and moved on. Thinking it safe to head out for dinner we wandered out with umbrellas in hand…just in case. We dine with Dave and share a bottle of wine…actually Dave buys the bottle of wine (he says he “owes” me), and I drink it…most of it. The rest I carry back to the albergue… for later.

Buen Camino!
Be Strong! Austin Strong!

Day 31(17km)
Gonzar – Palas de REI

We awake for an early start. Why? I don’t know. It is just what we do. Frankly it’s turned into a bad habit as far as I am concerned. Most people are still in bed as the pattering of rain can be heard against the red tile roof. We don our rain gear. Even Dave has decided to break out the poncho his sister in-law has sent along with him.

It is yellow, like his jacket, so at least we will be able to recognize him. We step out into the darkness. It has started to rain hard and initially we can not find the trail. We wander about in the rain until we find a sure sign we have taken the right route…a yellow arrow and toilet paper nearby. Success! Onward we plod, laughing about what idiots we are, and attempting to figure out who’s idea was it anyways to do this in the first place.

Excess soap from my socks froths out of my shoes with each step, which means laundry will not be necessary. Any attempts to avoid puddles have been abandoned…What’s the point? I am not sure that we can get any wetter. If we were ducks, this would be “balmy”. This rain is not like the other day’s rain.

The air has turned cold, and with it, the rain. Within 2 hours, the rain has not let up and taxis now pass us with regularity, filled to capacity. “Pussies!”, we yell at them in a most unchristian like manner, as they pass. It’s only rain! Ya cowards! We linger at our coffee stop for longer than “normal”, until the rain at least slows to a drizzle. A lone taxi waits patiently at the next bar ½km up the road for its next fare. We pass through small villages, each with their own church. 3-4km before we reach Palas de REI, the top of my left foot and instep start to hurt…again. Our plan was to make it to Melide at 30km. Not sure that is going to work out, I tell Paul. Dave has hurried ahead of us, so once we reach a restaurant/hostel just outside if Palas de REI, Paul ducks inside to see if Dave is in there. By this time, my foot is really aching. Not wanting to walk any further than I have to, I take a seat on a large rock outside of long walkway to the restaurant…in the rain. Several people, I’ve seen regularly on the trail are leaving the establishment and ask why I don’t go in. I tell them I am waiting for Paul to check for Dave. They laugh and tell me that they are both seated inside eating. Seriously?! I have been sitting out here for at least 5 minutes! SHIT!(so much for thinking Paul was using the W.C.). I hobble inside, just in time to miss a torrential downpour. When I find Paul and Dave and they smile and ask ‘where I’ve been’, I am less than pleasant with my response. As there are no beds left at this exorbantly priced hostel, where peregrino rolly suitcases and full backpacks are being delivered, we must hike on…in a minor deluge. We see Joe again. He is wrapped like a 7-Eleven burrito (to go), in his poncho with only his face showing. He is drenched as well. He is stopping in Palas de REI, and has had enough of the rain too. Dave and I overrule Paul, and decide once we reach Palas de REI, and they have room for us, we are STOPPING. Paul is not happy about this, as he thinks we are stopping too soon. It is barely 2pm. I don’t have another 3.4km in me to San Xulián, or the 6km to Mato-Casanova, and certainly not the nearly 15km to Melide, nor does Dave…so we stop in Palas de REI. Not one of our more memorable stays, but we get a chance to rest and dry out. Only 17 KM today.

Buen Camino!
Be Strong! Austin Strong!

Day 32 (30+K)
Palas de REI – Arzúa

Dave left before us…in the dark (without his hat and a headlamp). We followed 30 min later…in the dark as well, with a headlamp. Today had an ominous feel. There is no escape from the rain and becoming completely wet. Miserable is the soup de jour, or in this case, sopa del día. It is one of those mind over matter perspective days that you just need to get through. As with everything in life, it could be “worse”, but it isn’t, so we walk. Many less hearty peregrinos hesitate, worry or frett about walking in the rain. They ” sleep in”, or “fold” and take a taxi to their next “scheduled” destination. We, on the other hand are like horses to the barn. We can see the end and figure there is no other way to get this over with, than to “walk it out”. We laugh at the ridiculousness of our reasoning as we slog through the pitch black morning, timidly lit by our now only working headlamp. Within the ½hour we wonder aloud how Dave ever made it this far, without a headlamp. Night vision, at least a human’s, is nearly useless for the current conditions. When we catch up with Dave, he is examining what appears to be a Camino “marker” in the darkness of this stormy morning…he’s been there 10 minutes. We reunite and continue down a dark tree lined corridor of running water over rocks…beautiful! Again, the “practice” of dodging puddles has been abandoned in favor of the most direct route. We are soaked through and through, it’s only 9am, and we have planned a 30km day. I feel like I’m being slowly pickled. It doesn’t get any better than this! We can’t help but notice, for the most part, that we are alone, as very few other peregrinos have decided to brave this fair weather.

We pass a Templar church and former pilgrim hostel from the 12th century.    Legend has it, that nearby the church, water began to flow like a “fountain”.  At night the water would “glow”, and by day it would have a “pleasant smell”.  The town’s people got curious and dug into the ground at the ” fountain” and “found” an “image” of the Virgin Mary and brought it back to the church.  Each night the “image” would return to where it had been removed from.  The town’s people decided to “sculpt an image of the Virgin on “stone” and place it above the entrance (thympanus), where it still sits today.  The people think that because of this, the Virgin has “remained” inside the church.  To think that for over 800 years people have been walking this Way to Santiago and Finisterre, is amazing and eerie…and they didn’t have rain gear. Back then, they were probably smart enough to wait for the weather to clear before they set out each day… If at all. Turns out that our decision to not continue heading to Casanova yesterday was a good one, as all the albergues there were closed (on vacation). As usual God works in mysterious ways and will provide…if you heed the promptings. At long last there is a break in the weather and we duck into a “bar” for sustenance and to “dry out”. Dave changes to drier clothing, while Paul and I “stew” in ours. I’m sticky wet, and I smell like a gym bag, (and not a woman’s gym bag), so there’s no point in “sprucing” up till we get to a albergue in Arzúa. We pass through Melide. It is famed for its preparation of Pulpo (octopus), but it is too early to find it remotely appetizing, having already sampled the Galacian “treat” twice before.

We continue through the sparsely populated countryside once we exit Melide.  The trail rolls and weaves through ancient wall lined hamlets, whose homes are older than our oldest buildings in the United States, by hundreds of years.  

Ancient oak and chestnut trees stand guard as we pass. The spikey pods of chestnuts line our path. Soon groves of eucalyptus and pine begin to appear.

Medieval bridge over the rio Iso. Across the bridge is the Albergue Xunta

After crossing a still intact and magnificnently functioning medieval bridge over the rio Iso, we pass by one of the oldest pilgrim hostels still in use and existence. We check it out, and consider stopping and staying here just because of its historical significance, but don’t, as we have one more “climb” out of Ribadiso to enter the outskirts of Arzúa.  We check our guide for the town’s albergues and hostels, hoping that they are not filled as it is relatively late in the day. We see refreshed peregrinos seated outside private albergues sipping café con leches and large beers. They look at us like, ‘what took you so long?’. One, we did NOT take a cab, and Two, we have walked 30+KM today!…that’s what took us sooo long. We strike up conversation with a Hungarian gal who says she’s on her way to the municiple albergue. We walk and talk all the way there. We are in luck. They have room, and in fact our own room (with 12 other beds).

View from our albergue's upstairs window

Currently we are the sole occupants. We quickly get to work washing and then drying our uniquely smelling wardrobe, and nap in the warmth and comfort of our lower bunks. Soon more peregrinos trickle in and we do passive aggressive battle with one peregrino that insists on opening the windows and releasing the warmth of our room (which we promptly close…to the delight of the others in the room). He has even unplugged the working heater adjacent to our beds to charge his phone. I am still recovering from mild hypothermic symptoms with some residual shivering (even after a “hot” shower) and his behavior is annoying me so much, I consider stabbing him (just kidding) or bitching him out (not kidding), but then realize that neither would be very Christian like.

Sue and Jerry at the Cathedral in Santiago

Tonight I get a message from Sue, they have just made it to Santiago and are wondering when we will arrive. We tell her congratulations, and that we expect to be in Santiago in two days. She makes reservations for us where they are staying, at The Last Stamp albergue near the Cathedral. Excellent! I can’t believe we are almost there. I am ready to be done. I am over being wet and smelly, and my foot is still hurting. I’ve either got a case of planar fasciitis or a stress fracture. Neither of which is a good thing. Only one thing to do. Get a good nights sleep and walk as far as I can tomorrow.

Buen Camino!
Be Strong! Austin Strong!

Day 30 (33km)
Sarria – Gonzar

We awake to wet streets and a light rain. It appears that the rain gear and pack covers we have been carrying since St. Jean will be put to good use (like that’s a good thing). Upon reflection, I can’t help but notice a pattern to our adventures. Our later days always appear to be marked by rain. Our last two days on the PCT…rain. The last two days of our fishing trip in Ontario…rain. My Alaskan fishing trip… rain. The last week of the Camino…RAIN! Definitely a pattern.

For the last two days we have been traveling exclusively with Dave from New Brunswick. We’ve hit it off rather well with him and we’ve become, dare I say, close friends. He is a remarkable character. He thinks of us as being “quite adventurous” and a little “crazy”, I’d say that’s a case of the pot calling the kettle just more than a little black. He set off on the Camino at the behest of his wife. Got dropped off somewhere between Roncesvalles and Pamplona and was directed by the cabbie who dropped him, ” walk that way”, and you’ll run into the Camino. Of course he was told this in Spanish, and Dave doesn’t speak a lick of it. He also did not know there were maps of the Camino, nor did he know he should have a “credential”. He has experienced a significant amount of sorrow and trauma in his life, but you wouldn’t know it unless he told you. He is an eternal optimist. He is equipped with his daughters pack and sleeping bag that she used on the PCT this last season. He hikes in jeans, a button down shirt and wears a “signature” yellow breeze breaker that he got from a hardware store for $2. As stated before, he does NOT have a stitch of rain gear, save, a floppy hat and the poncho his sister provided, that he refuses to wear. This man’s faith is strong. I hope it is strong enough to stave off the rain. As luck would have it, and to add an additional degree of difficulty, my back decides to seize as I apply my rain cover to my pack. Well this should be fun, with a capital “F”. A little “hee” breathing (playing sports and childbirth have served me well in painful situations such as this), help with the pack, cinch it down tight, and we are off.

Once on trail we are taken over by a lumbering herd of obvious “newbies” with their shiny new shoes, poles and flowing ponchos. They race by us like the obstacles we are and charge up the rain slick and muddied cobbled hill.

While it’s not really raining, the wind is wicking the cloud mist and water off the tree’s leaves upon us. It is not cold at all, which is a relief. The air is soft on our exposed skin and the terrain is fairly easy on the feet and knees, switching between pavement and fine crushed rock. Our first opportunity for coffee is a “bust” as the “herd”, and a bus have beaten us to it, and the joint is filled to capacity. Our hope now is that if we continue on another 2-3km we will leave the herd behind. Success! As it goes the rest of the day, we stay just ahead of the herd, and leave each respite stop just as they arrive. The rain is incessant and comes at us from our left with a vengeance.

Even the cow knows enough to stay out of the rain

There is no escape…unless you are a cow. We are wet, even through our rain gear. We laugh. No point fighting it. Just embrace it. Again, it could be worse…we could be cold. I take a good fall and slide for a couple of feet on my butt. With about 5 more feet to go down a slick rock surface, I don’t even try and stand up. I just continue sliding (purposely) on my butt… why stop now. 16km later, the rain abates enough to begin drying out. The scenery is epic. This Spanish countryside reminds me of large horse ranches in Kentucky.

By the time we reach Portomarín, we are dry (except for our feet) thanks to a stiff wind blowing down Rio Miño.
(Insert VIDEO)
I lean into the wind like a ski jumper hoping not to be blown off this ridiculously high bridge.

Bridge over the rio Miño that runs to the Atlantic

Below are remnants of lower/former bridges no longer standing or in use.

For most peregrinos, Portomarín will be their stop. We, on the other hand, have decided to continue onto Gonzar, on recommendation of one of Dave’s “buddies”. So far his recommendations have been spot on, so we push on. What one guide says is 5km, another says is 7km to Gonzar.

It is more like 10km by the time we are done. Inevitably our plan has worked. We have separated ourselves from the main body of the “herd”.

From Portomarín, we walk all by ourselves. It is a pleasant (dry) walk, and we make it to a sparsely populated Gonzar and Casa Garcia. We have a pleasant evening and dinner with, Ronnie (who is doing research on the effect of technology and long distance hiking… specifically the Camino), an animated Irish gal who could cuss any Long Shoreman off a dock, and her Scottish boyfriend whose thick melodic accent required deft attention and polite nodding to acknowledge or understand what he (or in fact, both) were saying.
A check to see if Dave’s clothing had dried yet (almost), and we set off to bed, praying that tomorrow’s predicted rainfall would be sparse, if any. We should be so lucky…Not!

Buen Camino!
Be Strong! Austin Strong!

Day 29 (28km?)
Tricatela – Sarria

Today’s trek was wholly unremarkable, save for one fact. Today we walk into Sarria, and reach the 100km mark. That was is we have 100km to Santiago. We also enter the most crowded section of the whole trip. Sarria is where those with only a week or so available and/or they want their compestella and don’t want to or (can’t ) take the time to walk the other 700km, start their trek to Santiago.

We begin this morning, and it is cold…snot producing cold. As usual we walk (uphill) in the lingering dark of the morning, of which this morning includes a heavily wooded area.

Rain is in the forecast, and the fact that the sky is grey and air has turned bitter cold (beyond the normal morning chill) is a sure sign that our dry walks may be a thing of the past.

Practically in the middle of nowhere...and it works

We arrive in Sarria and check into the Don Alvaro albergue on a recommendation from “this guy” Dave knows…’his name is not important’, we are told, but all the same his recommendations continue to ring true. (This is a first time in a long time that we have stopped this “early” in the day, and it feels good.) We practically get our own room, and do some much needed laundry, as we (especially me) are tired of smelling like a gym bag. We prepare for the pending rain. Dave on the other hand refuses to buy a rain jacket or break out the rain poncho his sister gave him. He says he has nearly 20 jackets at home and he doesn’t need another one. And as far as the rain, he’s from New Brunswick, so he’s “not bothered by a little rain”.

While in Sarria, we attend mass with all the “newly” starting peregrinos.

We know this by their new shoes and crisp new credentials they present to get their first stamp after mass.

Here they let you write on the walls. "2moremiles" was here.

After mass, we dine on Italian food, doing our best to avoid another “pilgrim meal”, and return to our albergue for the pending evening festivities. One thing special about staying at the Don Alvaro, is that they have a separate gathering room, with a fire place and benches. Each evening, around 2030 they light the fire and leave a guitar, two bottles of Galician “spirits” (one of clear liquid “augardente” also known as “fire water”, and the other a yellowish green liquor called Orujo de Herbas), and shot glasses for everyone to imbibe with…and they leave. Soon liquor and “singing” was being slung about like we were in an Irish pub after football (soccer) match…well maybe not that ruckus. Now some, to include an Irish gal, a Kiwi gal, and Joe, could really sing. More importantly is that they knew all the words to the songs they sang (well maybe not Joe, unless it was “Thank you for Being a Friend”…but he could sing) The rest of us on the other hand, well, we could sing a chorus (sort of), but not a whole song…without being given the lyrics, and even then it was far from American Idol, but it was fun, and one of the most memorable evenings of our whole trek.

Buen Camino!
Be Strong! Austin Strong!

Galacia!

Day 28 (31 KM)
Ruitelán – Tricatela

Fall has definitely arrived. The air is cool and crisp, our breath visible as we exhale. Today is the fabled “big climb” up to O’CEBREIRO. A Spanish peregrino, Fernando told us that today’s climb will be the most memorable of the entire Camino. Funny thing was he was not wrong, but it had nothing to do with the climb or the views. That story however, will come in a little bit.

Fully bundled for the morning’s chill, we begin our day’s trek. We walk upon a small country road through several small hamlets that remind us of scenes from  Robin Hood, Men in Tights or Princess Bride.  Today is supposed to our last “big” climb of the Camino with our day’s halfway point being O’Cebriero.  Today we will also enter Galicia, which is supposed to be the most picturesque of the entire Camino, as far a scenery. 

The Camino is crowded today, and we pass (and are passed by) many a peregrino. (and goats)

Steep rolling hillsides of farms and ranches fill the landscape.  The greenery is amazing, but fall colors are starting to show, and a change in weather is sure to come sooner than we would like. Soon our “assault” on the fabled hill begins.

The trail first wandered up a densely wooded area of soft dirt, then steepens to hard cobble and then a mix of the two. Leaves have fallen into the trail, softening our footfall as we march onward and upward. Body heat is reaching maximum capacity requiring a shedding of a layer or two. Upon reaching the “top” at O’Cebreiro, we must bundle up again. There we are greeted by Orange tour buses and touragrinos dressed to the “nines” and smelling of fresh soap.  They peruse the shops hawking peregrino paraphernalia. They smile and scrunch their noses as our stench obviously precedes the clack of our hiking poles.

The views are Remarkable with a patchwork of lush green pastures, dotted with grazing cattle, farms and forest. Giant power lines and black ribbon roads wind their way to the next valley and over the next mountain.

We continue down the rough cobblestoned road to the edge of town and spy a small church whose small Bell tower is accessible from the outside.  No one is around so we decide to scramble up the steep rough hewn “stairs” to check it out. As it is not very tall, the view is not what we had hoped for, but we do see a long stiff wire attached to one of the bells.

Paul wonders aloud what it would be like to ring the bell. I caution him NOT to, and soon we discover the origin of the phrase, ‘A Bell that has been rung, can not be unrung’. Paul turns to look out the tower and his pack brushes up against the dangling wire and the bell begins to ring…softly. He tries to quiet it, but it only makes it worse. A quick scramble down the steeple and we are back on the trail with no one the wiser, except for the German who had stopped for lunch just outside the church. Crap! We continue our trek and that quickly descends and climbs once more to Alto San Roque.

This statue is over 30' tall

We reach the top and are blasted by a head wind and greeted by a giant iron peregrino (Monumento do Peregrino) also bracing against the wind. It is well past lunch and I have been carrying a 1/2 bottle of wine for two days now from Cacabelos. We walk a little further and are about to stop and finish it off with a stash of cookies, before we begin another steep climb, of which we have no recollection of mention in our “guide book”, when we spy a signature yellow coat ahead and above us. Change of plans. We will first finish the climb, and see if that yellow coat belongs to Dave.

A short wander later and we are at a café, atop Alto do Poio. Whom should we find inside the café sipping a beer through a straw, but none other than Dave. We order our “signature” jamon y queso bocadillos, and a beer for Paul. I will finally drink my wine. We laugh and talk with Dave. A van pulls up and unloads two cyclists and their expensive tricked out mountain bikes. Peregrino scallop shells dangle from their handlebars. What? Before one of the young cyclist remounts his bike to “coast” downhill, he lights up a cigar and sips a beer. Seriously? I think we have seen everything now. In talking with Dave, we find out that he has ” shipped” his pack ahead via an Irishman of whose name he can’t recall. Neither can he recall specifically which albergue or town they were to reconnect. He thinks it is Triacastela, but hopes it is Filloval. So do we. We walk and talk together.

Paul and Dave walk ahead of me talking of baseball and other things of no real interest to me.

I trail behind admiring the countryside. Soon they are way ahead, but turn back occasionally to “check” on me as my instep has begun to hurt again. Just before we cross a road, I stop and watch as a farmer instructs his large German shepherds to stay and watch his cattle as they graze on the hillside with no fencing. I get to the road and Paul and Dave have disappeared!

…to be continued

Buen Camino!
Be Strong! Austin Strong!

Day 27 (30km)
Cacabelos – Ruitelán

We awake to alarms going off, then stopping, then going off again, then off, then on, and so on. Get up already or don’t set am alarm… Geez! So much for “sleeping in” which is equal to waking up “naturally”. The sky is clear with stars still twinkling in the dark morning sky. It is 0700. Thanks to Franco who sided with Hitler in WWII, Spain is still two hours behind the rest of the EU.

Steam from the nuclear power plant silhouetted by the sunrise

As such the sun does not begin to rise till nearly 0830. Even if the sun came up at the “normal” time, I think Spain would still not stir till 10am anyways. We road walk till a sign directing us to San Clemente appears. Well I guess we could have walked to Santiago from “home” and back, we joke.

From here we walk through rolling vineyards and tiny villages crawling with cats.

We now understand the movie “Fivell goes to America”…” there are no cats in America…” the mice sing. It is bitter cold this morning as we reach Villafranca del Bierzo tucked into an alpine setting with a river running through it. Of course we climb up into the city and promptly walk down into it and then back up.

We pass no less than three “ancient” churches with a grand castle (Castillo Palacio de los Marqueses) perched above the majority of the town. Our plan was to take the “high” road, but somehow we missed it and ended up taking the “grey” route as opposed to the recommended “yellow” route. The grey route parallels the major highway, so we miss the high alpine views, but then we miss all that climbing and descending and the hot sun as there is no cover for the 15km of the “high” route. Paul is not happy about this, but I on the other hand am as pleased as punch. Besides, I do not picture St. James nor the trade route purposely climbing over a mountain when there’s a perfectly good narrow valley that follows a river that will get you to the same place, so I say we are still on the “actual” path of St. James. So far every “wrong turn” we have made has been fortuitous for us, even our “short cuts”, which in fact turns out to NEVER be shorter. About midway on the “grey” route (about the time we would be descending on the “yellow” route), sharp pains attack the instep of my left foot. I fear that this is the beginning of a stress fracture. I try several ways to walk to reduce or alleviate the pain. Some work some don’t. It is time to break out the KT tape, to hopefully hold things together long enough to get to an albergue and get off my feet. I am thankful the tread is flat and smooth, otherwise the pain would be more than excruciating. Paul, as I, am definitely concerned, as this may be a trail ender. The tape provides some relief. I slam two ibuprofen and walk on. I “will” the pain away and focus on the scenery.

We leave the “highway” and walk through narrow valleys and several villages, once frequented by many a traveler until the cement highways were built overhead. It is a beautiful peaceful walk, with no one else around (because it’s after 2pm), on a narrow country road with small farms, grazing cattle, sheep and goats. Quaint homes with large gardens and a stream filled with Brook trout (trucha). Eventually the pain is unbearable, and we stop at a perfectly timed albergue in Ruitelán ( Refugio de Peregrinos Pequeño Potala ).

Carrot, potato, squash soup...the best, EVER!

Here we have a fabulous dinner provided by the hospitaliers and are instructed that we are to sleep in until 0700…that getting up any earlier and rustling about before then would NOT be tolerated. Yeah! And with that we sleep, hoping that tomorrow will be void of any foot pain.

Buen Camino!
Be Strong! Austin Strong!