Category: Stacey

It is our last day in Santiago – this time.   What to do?  Well, for one thing, I slept in.  We met the Canadian women at breakfast again, they are booked in here as well.

We dashed off to the market first thing to shop for a couple things for gifts, and to see the selection of food there.  Fish, meat and all kinds of vegetables, in both an open and enclosed setup.

Then we dashed back to the cathedral to be plenty early (2 hours) to get the best seats for the noon pilgrim’s mass.  It was everything that it was the other two times – the singing nun with the beautiful voice, and the botafumeiro ( q.v.).

Even though the weather was cool and threatening rain, we opted for an al fresco lunch – how many more chances will we have?

We spent more time in and out of souvenier shops, of which there are hundreds, each with a slightly different selection of Santiago oriented junk.  We found Vic’s favorite T shirt store, which appears to have expanded to at least three outlets since we were here.

While proceeding up a street we found ourselves in the midst of a Star Wars parade. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of otherwise normal people (we hope) dressed up as Star Wars characters in varying quality costumes.  The parade ended up in the square in front of the cathedral, where there were banners and other signs of celebration.  The crowd packed the square, rivalling the daytime pilgrim crowd.

Now it is time to repack the suitcases, and get ready to say goodbye to Santiago.  Until the next time………..

 

We could hear the rain beating on the roof all night, so it was no surprise that when the hostess dropped us off back on the Camino where we were picked up, that it was still raining heavily.  Even though it was 8:30, some parts of the forest were unbelievably dark.

It continued to rain all day, and we  pushed on, stepping over the little rivulets running down the path.  Around noon as we approached the edge of the city, it really started a downpour for 10 or 15 minutes.  It takes a downpour for you to find that the waterproof garments are not quite as waterproof as the salesman suggested.  There was no concern with cars spashing us – we couldn’t get any wetter.

We finally arrived at the cathedral about 1:30, having walked through the 20 km of rain with only one pee break early on.  Somehow the rain this time quelled the magic of our previous Santiago arrival.  We took the obligatory photos in the square and headed to the fancy hotel.

We misinterpreted the instructions to get to the hotel, and ended up walking all around the outside of the complex looking for the door, adding an extra km.  The first order of business was to shed the wet clothes, and get warmed up.  The next thing was to get a bit of food under the belt.

The food in Santiago so far is of a lesser quality and twice as expensive as food on the road.  We discussed this with other people, how the Spanish do not seem to take advantage of the pilgrims, or the pilgrim route.  Food and drink and housing are reasonable and equally priced, even when there is no alternative, and where they could easily gouge the pilgrims.  That philosophy seems to have fallen apart in Santiago.

Anyway, then off to get our compestella certifying that we had completed the pilgrimage.  That entailed a wait in a lineup of hundreds of pilgrims for an hour and a half on tired feet.

Then it was time to go out shopping for T shirts, souvenirs and jewelry. By this time the weather had cleared and things were starting to dry up.  It is hard to remember that only 10 hours ago we were slogging through rain and mud.

As we walked through one of the big squares associated with the cathedral, we saw that they were setting up for an outdoor symphony performance.  There was a lone clarinetist in the back practicing his A.

After being thoroughly hosed on the price of a salad and a couple drinks, we returned to the square where the performance was in progress.  There was lawn chair seating for perhaps 500 (full) and many people sitting on the cathedral steps, so we joined them.  I have a tendency to doze in symphonic music, but granite seating removes that tendency.  It has been a year since we heard Victoria’s symphony, and I have never heard one with this many strings.  A highly strung orchestra.

So then it is back to the hotel.  It won’t feel right to not get up early tomorrow, and start walking.  It’s been an experience.

 

There was a chance of rain predicted for today when we set off, so things were  a bit cooler.  We stopped for coffee at the first available stop, and once again remarked on the toilet queue. That is definatly something that the Spanish government could work on next to improve the Camino.  Later in the morning we stopped for an ice cream with the four ladies from California.  Walking was mostly on trails through the eucalyptus forests, and there were long stretches between coffee stops.

As we neared the destination for the 22 km day (at lunch time), we stopped for a welcome beer before proceding the last 4 km. That is when the thunder and the rain started, but it was only a light rain and didn’t dampen our spirits much. Tomorrow is to be heavy rain for our last day.

Today’s accomodation was to be a bit different as we were to be staying in a Casa Rural, not in the town.  This neccesitated  Vic calling the totally Spanish speaking hostess to tell her where we were so we could be picked up.  That went surprisingly well, and we are now at a lovely farm just outside Ocala de Abiaxo, which I think is pretty well Nowheresville.

There is a huge fig tree at the entrance that towers over the out buildings.  Its trunk must be 18 inches in diameter.  The figs are not yet ripe, but there are a lot of them.

The house itself is large and imprrssive, totally built of well crafted stonework – relatively small flat pieces with little mortar, a meter thick, including all of the inside walls.  There are two or three levels, with about 6 guest bedrooms.  The walls are so thick that the wifi will not go through them.  We were the only people here until a bunch of Spanish guys (who turned out to be from Argentina) arrived.

The buzz on the internet said the food here was good, and they were right.  We showed up at 7:30 for dinner, naturally the first ones there.  We had our own table, since everyone else would be speaking Spanish.

The first course was essentially a paella, except the rice portion was like a thick soup.  There were a couple huge prawns, and a bunch of shellfish, all very tasty.  We had suggested beef as the second course earlier in the day, and it came as pieces of stewed beef and potatoes in a sauce.  That was followed by lemon mousse and Santiago cake.  Really a very tasty Spanish meal.

During the meal 5 ladies showed up, speaking something that was not quite Spanish. We eventually got to talking to them and they were from the Caribbean island of Aruba, and were speaking the local dialect, a combination of Dutch, Spanish and English.  Four were walking the Camino, and it was the birthday of one of them.  Her daughter had flown in from New York and secretly arranged to meet the group to come up behind her mother on the path to sing Happy Birthday.  What a wonderful gesture!

They are still in the dining room with the Spanish guys, and have definately hit the wine course.

 

We found out what was wrong with the lovely room we had in O Coto last night – the room above the 1 inch thick ceiling appeared to be a dormatory – for the Roman legion troops who arrived very late and stared leaving very early.

On the trail we saw a chap on a horse leading a loaded pack horse.  His progress was no faster than ours, what with being stopped for pictures.  The curious thing was the solar panel hanging off his saddle.

The first church across the old Roman bridge entering Furelos, Igrexa San Juan, is one we remember because of its unusual crucifixion statue.   The church itself is a reconstruction.

Melide is a memorable town because of its octopus food connection.  How a town 100 km from the nearest salt water become renown in Galicia, and indeed all over Spain, for its octopus resturants, is a mystery to me.

Let me recount our experience from the last trip. The premier resturant right on the corner sucked us in.  At the entrance there is a huge cauldron of boiling water being tended by one of the ladies from the opening scene of Macbeth.  She is throwing three foot long octopuses into the bath, and occasionally  fishing one out with a hook. She wacks the tentacles into inch long pieces with a huge cleaver and places them on a wooden plate with some boiled potatoes.  That plus a tankard of the local wine, which has not yet finished fermenting, is your treat.  It is served with a small chunk of pine plank approximating a toothpick for a utensil.  The rubbery cubes of fishy tasting tentacle would not be that bad, but the slimy skin and odd sucker are too much for this lad from Alberta.  A single toothpick is not an adequate tool with which to skin an octopus.  Note that some of the details may have been elaborated for purposes of illustration.  It is an experience I would not want to have missed, nor an experience I would want to repeat.

As we walked through town at 10 AM, the same resturant was tended by an enthusiastic young fellow chopping up octopus, inviting us in. I explained that it was too early for my octopus fix for the day, and wished all of the numerous locals already eating good health.  They will need it.

As we left Melide we visited the Igrexa Santa Maria de Melide which may not have been open when we were here last.  The apse has some wonderful 14th century frescos (some say renaissance), as well as a crudely carved capital said to be of Daniel and two lions. Or is it a corbel?

The trail west of Melide passes through the first of the eucalyptus  plantations, as well as the wild forest where the plantation escapees are overtaking the slower growing oak.  It is a long but peaceful walk.  In the middle is a stepping stone bridge, not the first, but the best.

We kept pace with an extremely rude group led by a guy carrying a Bulgarian flag.  Me neither. I had to ask him.

As the afternoon wore on it got hotter, probably reaching 30°C, and in such heat Vic begins to wilt.  She spent the afternoon zigzagging up the path in search of the merest bit of shade.  She probably walked twice the distance I did.

The official distance for us today is just short of 22 km.

It is getting close to the end – only two more days to go.  The distance numbers on the marker posts have mostly been souveniered over the years but there is only about 40 km left.

The breakfast surprise this morning was a Pilgrims Egg. It was a glass jar with about a half inch of highly mashed potato with bits of onion, and a poached egg on top. Also apparently with truffle oil, but I didn’t get that taste.

It was to be only an 8 km walk today, so even including a late breakfast chatting with other pilgrims, coffee stops chatting with other pilgrims, we still arrived at our lodgings around noon.

Vic had significant apprehensions about this establishment as it was in (near) a very small village, not on our agent’s normal route, and the picture provided was, well, unassuming at best. It turned out to be a super, newish resort that would sit well in Arizona.

We spent the afternoon on the patio chatting with new pilgrim friends (from Canada) and having a three course meal with the customary bottle of wine.

Our room is spacious with a good bathroom. The walls are three feet thick stone, but, as we found out when the people upstairs moved in, the ceiling is one inch thick. It is going to be a noisy night if they don’t stop rearranging the furniture. They have been at it for an hour.

After the heat of the day reduced we walked into the next town, Leboreiro, about a half km away to see the Church of Santa Maria. It was locked of course, but peering through a small back window I could see that it was stacked with cardboard boxes of wine glasses. They must hold a fun communion there.

There is a legend attached to the church.   Apparently a spring that glowed at night suddenly emerged.  In digging for the source of the spring the villagers came across a statue of the Virgin which they placed in the chapel.  Each night the statue returned to the spring, and the villagers had to move it back.  They finally discovered that she wished to be outside, so they carved her image on the tympanum where you can see it today, and the statue remained at the altar, where it is said, she has the satisfied smile of someone who has gotten what she wants.

The town is one I remember as it has a large arrow made of yellow scallop shells on the wall of one of the houses pointing the way to Santiago.

We started out the day with the taxi back to Portomarin, substantially less exciting than last night with a different driver.

The first order of business was the 200 m climb out of the valley.  The route was crowded with tour groups – so crowded that at the first coffee stop at 7 km, the queue for the toilet stretched not only across the courtyard, but down the street.  The second coffee stop, a half km further on was virtually deserted.  Location, location.  However, if you don’t use the first opportunity, there may not be another.  Advertising by the second site is the solution.  This respite was followed by another 130 m of climb.

We stopped at a small chapel that was not only open, but crowded with pilgrims.  It appeared that the chap in charge was requiring a ‘donation’ for the stamp on the credential, and a bunch of Spaniards were berating him for it.  It also turns out he is blind, so our stamp is wonky.

The trail really was crowded with pilgrims, mainly tour groups, with a bus seen at strategic crossings to pick up those who could go no further.  The trail was mostly a gravel path alongside a minor road. Later in the day the majority of the traffic on that road were taxis, dashing back and forth.

We were able to identify a few of the sights we remember from our previous trip – we should have reviewed our pictures.

We arrived in Palas de Rei about 4:30, weary after 24 km of hiking.  Our hostess welcomed us with a cold bottle of water each, which was just what we needed.  This a house on the end of a row and has about 5 bedrooms let out, all the rest to ladies, as far as I can tell. The landlady said ours was ‘romantico’, by which she means small.  It is our smallest bedroom yet.  There is less than a foot of space around three sides of the  bed.  The suitcases are stacked in a closet.  The door scrapes the bed when it opens.  The bathroom is to scale.  But it is clean, and the lady is wonderful.  Never have we found a place in Spain that was less than perfectly clean.

Well, we are not in Portomarin, even though we did walk there today.  We are back in our palatial suite in Sarria.  There was apparently no suitable accommodation available in Portomarin when we booked, so the agent arranged for us to get a cab back to our hotel in Sarria. The same driver will get us back there tomorrow.

Again, riding with a Spanish cab driver on the open road is a cheap Formula One experience.  She undid 7 hours of walking in 17 minutes.  I’m sure she pulled 2Gs on some of the corners.  The ones when she wasn’t talking on the cell phone, that is.

We did this part of the Camino 12 years ago with Bob and Liz, so some things look familiar.  The first few minutes were really crowded with tour groups leaving at the same time as we did.  To get a Compostella you have to walk at least 100 km, and Sarria is the first big town at 113 km, so bus loads of tourists arrive to do the short walk (sneer).  They mostly peeled off at the 5 km mark into the first bar complex, and things thinned out after that. Later in the day we were virtually alone again.

In Galicia the Camino turns into a cow path – not a small path, just a path used to move cows from pasture to milking.  The path is often covered with all too fresh cow manure, accompanied by clouds of flies feeding on the good bits.

It was a long walk with a couple stops.  At one we were able to get our first feed of Padron peppers.  We are getting closer!

We arrived at Portomarin at about 3:30 after some 7 hours of walking, nearly 24 km, and about 158 floors of altitude gain (and most of it lost again).  Portomarin was to be inundated in 1956 by a hydro dam installation, so they moved the whole town up the hill, including the church, numbered stone block by block.  The church looks more like a fortress, and is very plain and unadorned inside. I’m assuming they got all the blocks back in the right places.

Portomarin was an important bridge crossing since before Roman times.  The modern bridge is long and low, and ends in a long stairway to get to the town.  Because of the deep river valley the descent to the bridge was long and painful.  Tomorrow, there is an equally long climb out of the valley – some 320 m followed by an even longer hike than today.  We will be exhausted.

Tonight we could find the energy to walk out our front door  for dinner, and got caught up in the Sunday evening mothers-with-strollers get together on the promenade.  Sunday evening show off, I guess.

It dawned clear and cool, so it could be a nice walking day.  There are two routes to Sarria, the longer one passes by the active Benedictine monastary at Samos, and is a popular stop.  We took the shorter route.  It started with the obligatory uphill grind to get out of the valley that Triacastela is in.

The first couple of towns that we passed through did not have active coffee bars, and by 10:30 things were getting desparate when we happened on a pop-up coffee stop.  Someone had opened an old stone barn, set out all manner of food and goodies, and was serving coffee “free” , with the presence of a “donation” box.

We were just enjoying our coffee when the police showed up to discuss business practices with the operator.  He appeared to be Spanish, certainly fluent in Spanish, but the helpers were from Melbourne.  We left soon after, before we could be held as material wittnesses.

The majority of the trails for the day were gravel trails through forest, for very pleasant walking.  Once again in early afternoon we crested a ridge, and could see our destination of the day, wa-a-a-y down there in the valley.  The rest of the day was downhill, bearing on all of those pressure points from yesterday.

The hotel here is right on the promenade along the river.  There are a bunch of resturants catering to the Saturday afternoon/evening strollers.  We are in a third floor suite with a kitchen, dining area, and balcony.  It is a change from some of the rooms we have had that did not have enough floor area to put the luggage on.

Well, when we set off at 8 AM it was 2°C, raining, foggy, with a strong wind and uphill.  What could not get better?  We thought we were finished with uphill yesterday.  One of the town dogs (all showing a commom ancestery) lay unconcernedly on the wet cold street.

As we dropped down the far side of the hill, the rain stopped, the fog lifted, and the wind reduced.  We should have stayed in bed for another half hour.

By the time we stopped for coffee at 10, it was time to remove the rain gear.  This was followed by small rain storm, but the weather improved for the rest of the day.

There were a number of small towns with small churches that were open for lighting candles for friends, as well as a few unguarded entrances to bell towers. There were also a number of ups and downs, some very steep. Every town is located on a hill,  and every hill is associated with two valleys.  Welcome to Galicia.

On one of the heights was a large statue of St Roque walking into the wind.  For those of you keeping track of statues of your saints, St Roque and St Iago (Santiago) are often portrayed very similarly – the hat, cloak, staff and gourd, however St Roque has a dog.  He also displays a symptom of the plague, usually on his leg.  This statue did neither, but it did have a name sign, which helps.

The last 6 km of the trail into Triacastela drops some 600 m, sometimes gradually, sometimes very steeply, but always down.  It brings into play a different set of muscles and bearing points in the shoes.  Coming as the last bit of our 22 km/ 7 hour day it was quite exhausting.  A sangria at the local pub was very welcome.

The 10 euro (C$15) dinner at the resturant was of variable quality.  Maybe it is time to talk more about the food. I had the mixed salad and salmon.  The ‘ensalada mixta’ is a standard first course, Liz’s favorite, but I have been having the soups lately. This salad, not unusual, was an enormous plate of lettuce, with grated carrots, a full tomato (quartered), corn kernals, red peppers, olives, and just to make it non-vegetarian, the inevitable scoop of canned tuna.  The salmon was good, came with chips and more salad.

Vic loves her green beans, and spotted a dish of beans and potatoes.  That came as a whole casserole dish of green beans and a bit of potato.  Nobody could eat that many beans.  She also spotted a nice piece of meat on another diner’s plate.  That was probably not the Menu Del Dia portion that she got. The normal way for the Spaniards to prepare steak is to first take a bull, and run him at full speed through a harp, and cook the slices until DONE. A business opportunity would be to open a meat cutting school in Spain, because they don’t have one.

This morning looked good, 6°C with sun and cloud predicted, so I set off in shorts.  Vic carried her full rain gear. It soon became cold, and with small drops of rain – possibly just condensing fog off the mountains.

The path winds further up the valley at a gentle slope for another km or two, before the climb out really starts.  Vic was saying how beautiful it was; birds singing, flowers on the path side, a babbling brook beside the path, sometimes a bit of sun on our backs.

The climb out of the valley and over the pass is more than 700 meters up in less than 6 km.  The path is good – wet dirt and large rocks – but never ending.  As we left the trees and got onto open slopes, the cold wind picked up, and I began to regret the shorts decision.

Walking is not the only way up – you can rent a horse for a day.  That sounds like a way to get a new set of blisters in a different place.

The first village was only a collection of a few houses and a church that appeared in disrepair.  There was not really enough breath left to investigate.  The climb continued to the second village for a welcome coffee and tortilla.  A big slice of tortilla puts something under your belt that the breakfast bread didn’t.

Thus fortified, we continued uphill.  The scenery was magnificent whenever we stopped for a breath.  The wind made it very cold though. Eventually we reached the pillar that signaled we had entered Galicia.  Here also is the first of the frequent concrete pillars that mark the distance through Galicia to Santiago – precise to one meter, inaccurate within several kilometers.

The trail continued uphill to, finally, O Cebreiro.  Our walk for the day was 8 km, but with the 700 m climb it puts to rest any idea that you are fit.  Vic’s fitness watch indicates a climb of ‘196 floors’.  However, it was only 1 PM, so we did well.

O Cebreiro is a collection of 20 or so stone houses and a reconstructed church.  We are accommodated in one of the houses with 3 rooms on the second floor, a shop on the main floor, and a pub in the basement. Most of the houses in the town include either shops or pilgrim housing.

After checking in, we started to explore the town, but suddenly the clouds closed in, it got even more cold, and it started to rain.  Time for lunch.  After lunch the sun came out, but it didn’t get any warmer.

An item of interest is the Ethnographical Complex.  The medieval housing of the area were called palloza, oval stone walled dwellings with a thatched roof, strong enough to withstand the wind and snow.  There are three or four under preservation, and one open.  It is a split level design, built into the hillside. The lower level forms the stable for the cows, and firewood storage.  It has a wooden loft for hay and for sleeping, as “it benefited from the warmth of the animals below”.

Through a doorway, and up a step, is what amounts to the parlour.  A couple of small cabinets for possessions, including carved wooden utensils, and the main entry doorway.

Up anther step into the kitchen, less than 3 m square. There is an open fire in the middle with a spit and probably a cauldron over it for cooking.  It also probably provided the main source of warmth.  There is one wooden bench on the side of the fire, probably the family sofa.  There is another wooden bench on the other side of the fire that has a large overhead swing down table like a modern child’s high chair, which I assume is the dining room.  Overhead are racks for storage of “cheeses and chestnuts” and for smoking meats.  There is no smoke hole, the smoke leaves through the thatch. The whole building is oriented so that fire is on the downwind end for the prevailing winds.  That puts the family also downwind of the stable.

There is another walled off room with a very small bed “for the oldest married couple in the family”.

I found the whole thing very interesting. So there. There is a photograph in the pub that shows this building with three feet of snow in front. Certainly you would want the warmth of that cow in addition to an open fire.