Day 30, Wednesday, May 8: O Cebreiro to Triacastela (22.5 km, 14 miles)

Things aren’t always as they seem or as you are lead to believe. This town I have arrived at today, for example. Triacastela. Three castles. Only… there are no remnants of any of them! We must take it on faith. (And three? Aren’t castles for kings? Did each one replace the other, being constructed with more grandeur, more turrets and towers than its predecessor? Or did they exist simultaneously, owned by three noblemen who would-be kings?)

Or take today’s weather, which is going to come up several times in this post. With an angry, bruised sky like we had today, with the low clouds whipping across the mountain tops, with the mist dropping down into the valleys, trapped there at times, how could we not get rained upon? It looked like a sure thing. Unavoidable.

Or take the guidebook’s comment that this stage is “mostly downhill” and its reminder to be very careful because “most injuries are sustained going down”…. Downhill? What, then, are we going to say about the 222 floors that my Fitbit recorded for today? If it looks uphill, and it feels uphill, and the highway below looks ribbon-like and the cows ant-like, and in addition your Fitbit tells you you climbed the equivalent of 222 floors, then… it’s probably not “mostly downhill.” Sorry, John Brierley, but in spite of the elevation chart in your book, I know otherwise. So do my toes.

But, hey, it was 50 floors less climbing than yesterday, and, besides, I’m a mountain goat in training. And besides that, I had an absolutely marvelous day, so who’s counting floors anyway?  And one more thing: today’s paths were gravel, none of those life-and-limb threatening stone slabs with foot traps here and there and everywhere. No. These hills, up and down, were “flat,” “level”; it was just a matter of putting one foot in front on the other.

Easier said than done, though, with the wind that whipped and howled and bit and frothed and otherwise did whatever it took to try to earn the main role in today’s play.

It might have succeeded if it hadn’t been for

• The lush green hillsides, covered in sloping pastures divided by rock fences
• The melodious tinkling of cows’ bells as the bovines attacked the hay that had been set out for them
• The magnificent castaño [chestnut] trees that begged to be photographed. (One of them 800 years old, with a 28-foot circumference; others where the roots had grown together so that it appeared to be one grand double-trunked giant
• And speaking of one becoming two: ever seen a two-headed donkey? I did today and I’d prove it if the strange creature hadn’t rearranged itself into two donkeys by the time I got out my camera

Yes, the wind might have been the main character if it hadn’t been for

• The huge bowl of just-now-ready Gallegan soup I had around noon
• The path I chose (1.5 km longer than the one everyone else seemed to follow) which gave me a good half hour to sing as loud as I wanted and not fear being overheard and sent to the nearest lockdown institution (I needn’t have feared singing at any point today because I wouldn’t have been heard over the wind, but it felt luxurious, anyway, to be alone up on that “forgotten” path)
• The wonderful art work in the bar/cafe of O Tear, each piece hung on the stone wall and each depicting a “typical” (as in “folkloric”) Galician scene. I wanted to figure out how to bring a pallet of these paintings home with me
• The conversation I had with the woman who made aforementioned soup and who was patient with me as she explained the finer details of butchering pork and–once the vet has taken samples and declared the now-dead pig “clean”–turning it into sausages and chops and all manner of things in between
• The dozen or so laborers during a pause in their building a stone-fence in a little hamlet who proved beyond any shadow of a doubt that Spain has changed since I was last here 46 years ago. How so? Not a piropo [whistle, comment, or innuendo] or even a second glance out of one of them…. and surely that can’t possibly have anything to do with the way I have changed in those intervening 46 years. Surely not….
• The song gifts that came to me as I walked in the wind. I had been looking for the simple melody of one of them since Easter morning. An “alleluia” song I learned in Orange. Beach, Alabama, and for which I couldn’t for the life of me come up with the melody until today, when, totally unsolicited, there it was. I brought it out “to air” for quite a while. The other came out of the blue, but was oh, so appropriate. Harking back to the 60s and, if I’m not mistaken, from an album by a woman known as “The Singing Nun,” it was about the Spirit of God, blowing, blowing where He wills. More than appropriate for the day. [Aside: we’re often told to listen for that “small, still voice” of the Spirit. I’m here to say: it’s not always that way!] [Aside #2, added on May 8, 2020, one year to the date of this walk: in the intervening year, I had occasion to locate the song I refer to above.  It is called “Spirit of God” and is found in an album released not by The Singing Nun, but by an entire group of singing nuns known as the Medical Mission Sisters.  The album, entitled Joy Is Like the Rain, was released in 1966.]
• The fun of watching and listening, while waiting for my soup at lunchtime today, to the young Italian and the young Spaniard who had slept at my end of the dorm last night. They met each other right at the beginning of their Camino a bit over a week ago in León and have been a duo ever since. They spend a good bit of their time–it’s obvious to the casual observer, but they also told me so directly–swapping language instruction. A bit more time with them and I think I would have been speaking Italian! As a language instructor, I took delight in watching their interactions. (I was also pleased to learn that the Italian’s blister was doing much better thanks to the “surgery” that was performed on him by flashlight last night in the hall outside our large room.)

So yes, the wind was truly a main player in today’s drama, but it shared the stage with other noteworthies. Never doubt it.

In conclusion

Can you tell I really enjoyed this day? What was not to enjoy? I had perfect clothing for staying warm. The clouds did not open up for us, just did their acrobatics, at no charge.

And then: I arrived in Triacastela of the No Castles and, as the first drops of rain began to fall, without much thought or effort, I took a bed in this albergue which not only has real sheets–a top and bottom one (and “real” means not disposable paper ones) but has a (fake, but still….) fireplace next to which is a cupboard labeled “Secador de botas/Boot Dryer.” Boot Dryer! I am sitting right now in front of that “fake” but warm fire and I am one happy pilgrim who is about to go upstairs to bed.

But not before mentioning the super nice priest who offered such a heartfelt mas and blessing to those of us attending the 6:00 pm pilgrims’ service. Although I appeared to be the only Spanish-speaker in the bunch, he acted as if everyone in the congregation understood him and he preceded to modify many of the words of the mass to give it a pilgrims’ “slant.” My guidebook mentions “the delightful Fr. Augosto.” Must be one and the same.

It’s a top bunk night, but in my little “upstairs cubby” I am equipped with a private, shine-it-right-down-on-your-book-or-phone-or-tablet light and a place to charge up my phone. A blanket, too.

Ah, life’s simple pleasures….

Puzzling questions I take to bed with me

1. Every village through which we pass seems to have large dogs kind of stationed at the entrance. What has been done to these dogs to make them so totally, unabashedly, absolutely uninterested in even bothering to stand up when pilgrims come into town? And what might I do to encourage all dogs to be likewise bored by my presence?
2. Why are there so few wind turbines in Galicia? Is the wind too strong for them? Are the roads too winding and curvy, thus making it impossible to haul those huge things up the mountains? Because, in case you haven’t guessed it from everything I’ve said already, there are some noticeable breezes up here….

Day 29, Tuesday, May 7: Trabadelo to O Cebreiro (20 km, 12.4 miles, [almost] all uphill)

En brève

Here’s the quick and dirty. I made it to O Cebreiro today. While it’s not the highest point on the Camino, the climb from 705 meters to 1310 (2313 feet to 4300) in about 9.5 km (6 miles) is significant. (Note: the climb is done on a very stony footpath. Spectacular views, though!) This climb was completed with no snow, no fog, no mist, no rain, no gale-force winds, all of which are common in the area), but with much effort. Clouds? Oh, yes. One wants clouds and cooler temperatures not only to create “atmosophere,” but to keep one cool while working hard. There were many breaks to take photos and videos which, unfortunately, don’t begin to do justice to the scenery. Not as “brief” as I had hoped, but you’ve got the big picture. Scroll down for photos or check back later for them.

You like details? They follow.

Beyond the sounds of silence…

Because, yes, there was some silence. Most definitely. But so many different kinds of reality came along to break that silence at frequent but unpredictable times. Like, for example:

• The birds were busy singing up a storm–except for my cuckoo. Is he taking the day off or, now that I’ve stopped arguing with him, has the fun of trailing and taunting me subsided? I guess that remains to be seen.
• The roosters. I caught many bird songs on my videos, but I couldn’t extract any command performances from the roosters. You’ll have to take my word for it that they were welcoming the day, and even the afternoon….
• The cow bells were charming. Who doesn’t like their comforting, all-is-well-out-here-on-the-range clang? But the bellowing? The I’m-in-intolerable-distress call? From the looks of the cows making the most racket, I’d say that they were in dire need of milking (it was 10:15 am; come on, farmer Hernández, rise & shine!). About that video where it looks like the two most miserable cows are chasing me, uh…, yes, the footage shows that I was a bit unnerved…. I, however, did not scream and add to the sounds of the day. Surprised?
• Horses? Check. (The dogs, though? They could not have been less interested in one another or in the passers by. They were mute; just couldn’t bother rousing.  Just what I like in a dog!)
• The noisemaker of the day, though, was the Valcarce River which flowed beside the Camino for the first half of the day (until the climbing began), and along which I had also walked for several hours yesterday. Hurray for a rather narrow river that is capable of drowning out the sounds of both the local highway and a major national one. The big A-6 and the Camino did a bit of a pas de deux as they continually crossed paths until finally the Camino found its freedom from modernity. (Boy, did it ever!). The river gurgled and cascaded and laughed its way through the valley, often with shade trees blocking one’s view of it but doing little to silence its music
• Katy’s singing? Not much of it. Some. Even some on the uphill. In general, though, I was more into the sounds of silence, letting the animals have their day on stage
• Then, of course, the “Buen caminos” to and from pilgrims. The occasional conversations. Mostly, though, the walkers saved their conversations for the small towns along the way in which they rested and took a bit of sustenance. Out “in the wild,” there was almost an awe for the sacredness of the places through which we walked. The mood was somber and peaceful. A challenge, without question, but well worth the effort. (No doubt the lung power required for climbing helps to explain the lack of much conversation along the route, too.)
• I’m here to tell you, day after, that evening (post 10:00 pm) brought out more sounds as the howling winds outside the albergue competed with the snoring of the weary walkers. The wind alone was consistent enough to be almost pleasant–after all, we were sheltered from it. The snoring? Not so comforting. I heard many commenting about it the following morning….

Encounters of the human kind

Yes, of course there were some.

I had a really nice conversation with hospitalero Pepo before leaving the albergue in the morning. He was a great host to our little party of 5, fixing us a good dinner last night, setting out breakfast eats this morning, having the milk warmed for coffee. I’m not even sure if the other four ever sat down at the table to enjoy it. People rush off in the morning. I bet they were out by 7:00. It was 40 minutes later before Pepo and I had finished analyzing the problems of the world or at least the (possible) ones of the Camino and those who walk it. All hospitaleros, as I have surely mentioned, have been or still are peregrinos as well. Full bearded, a “hippy look-alike” if there ever was one, Pepo has been walking the Camino for years. He’ll do his volunteer gig for another week or two, then he’ll continue walking. Not unlike the David I met a couple of weeks ago, Pepo is inclined to spend most of his time walking the Camino. This summer, though, he’ll walk from Santiago to Rome. Like my host Pedro a couple of stays back, Pepo can’t remember just how many Caminos he has done. It is his passion. He walks the talk. And talks (up) the walk when it is done in the right spirit. (“Most people don’t have that spirit,” he confided.) Nice interaction. Very positive experience at this church-organized facility, tucked into yet another medieval (and crumbling) town which would probably have died of boredom several decades ago if renewed interest in the Camino hadn’t resurrected it.

Early on today there was Oscar from Latvia. He’s making speedy progress on his Camino–though note: not as speedy as Barb–and thinks he’ll wrap it up in a total of 28 days. Nevertheless, he slowed down to chat with me for a while. As we were talking, I kept seeing things out of the corner of my eye that I felt I couldn’t stop to look at or photograph. (That’s one of the reasons why one ideally walks alone.). But soon there was a tempting fountain at which to stop, and Oscar moved on.

Around 2:00, just as I had settled down to have my lunch at a particularly scenic spot, a man with whom I’d been leap-frogging for an hour or more came along. “I’ve plenty for two if you’re hungry,” I offered. He wasn’t, but he was happy to answer my inquiry about the very tall/long walking stick (maybe 6.5 feet in length) which protruded significantly from both sides of his pack (making it, as you might imagine, challenging to pass him on the often narrow trail). A gift from some friends back home in Slovenia. York (sp?) explained that the carved initials C, M, and B were symbolic of both the three wise men (Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar) as well as…. oops, I forget the exact meaning, but something to do with bringing a “blessing” to homes/albergues at which he arrives. That’s when he detaches the big pole from his back and uses it, rather than his hiking poles, so that he’s ready to bring that blessing to towns and to albergues within the towns. An etching of “MM” on the other side of the pole stood for the Latin “mementum moris,” a reminder that we’re all going to bite the dust at some point and so should … well, should keep that in mind as we make our way through life. We’re not such hot shots after all, not the big deals we sometime think we are; we all share that mortality thing. I asked York if I could take his picture with the pole and he said: “Why don’t I instead take yours with it?” Ok! Why not? Hey, that sucker was adding a bit of extra weight to York’s packI I hope he was lightening the load with each blessing given. And that this wise man finds a treasure when he reaches Santiago and/or Finisterre . Traveling wise men should be rewarded before they return home. By a different route.

A brief conversation with the four girls from British Columbia with whom I had shared a pleasant hostel experience a few days ago. I seem to come upon them at the most opportune times to snap photos of the four of them with one or more of their cameras. Spotting them means a chance to speak and hear English with no struggles on anyone’s part. A nice break from the more challenging conversations where first it must be decided if there is a common enough language to have an interchange.

Short encounters or waves with the French couple whose names I never remember but with whom I exchange smiles and brief commiserations as we make our way. We seem to be choosing the same daily mileage for the last few days.

At my end of the big dorm tonight: a Spaniard, a Columbian, an Italian, a Polish couple, and a bunch of people whose faces have been in their cell phones all afternoon and evening. (Oh! “Let the one who is without sin cast the first stone”…)

The really kind priest who said the pilgrims’ mass and gave the blessing tonight. Big smile, big heart, great liturgist. Easy message: “Go and be happy. And share the happiness.” The church needs more servants like him.

Then there’s the (certainly paid) overseer here at the albergue. She got her training in the military most likely…. Oh, but the central message in church tonight was about “love.” I take it all back about the lady. She probably was giving back what she had received from too many cranky pilgrims today. Like maybe pilgrims who couldn’t figure out the WiFi instructions or who looked disappointed when they learned that there were no blankets here… (Guilty as charged…)

Up, up, and away (without the beautiful balloon) OR Macchu Pichu without the llamas and the Incan ruins

The thing about long blogs, written over the course of several days, is that you tend to forget what you’ve already said. No doubt I’ve already described all the climbing involved in this journey and have, as well, mentioned how beautiful it was. But the above sub-title is such a perfect “fit” for the experience that i just had to use it, whether I have anything new to tell in this section or not. Forgive me.

And yes, my ears popped several times as I moved upward from La Faba to O Cebreiro.

Signs along “the Way”

So many! Like when I entered Las Herrerías and found a series of Burma-Shave-like signs but instead of promoting the right to bear arms and to defend myself, they recommended “love” and “unity” and “awareness.” They proposed “meditation,” “taking it easy,” and stopping to breathe and to observe.

Then the sign: “What are your dreams?” And an invitation to write them down and leave them in a waterproof tube so that someone (?) would tie them onto a nearby tree. Or one could tie them oneself, I suppose, with some ingenuity. The tree was full of dreams. Sweet idea, no?

Another sign promoting renting a bicycle to do the climb from Villafranca to O Cebreiro. I sure hope no one chose that idea thinking it would be “easier.” I can’t imagine anything I would have wanted to do less than ride a bike up those grades. (There has only been one short stretch of the Camino where I thought: “Hmmm, that would be nice to do on a bike.” It was also a stretch that was perfect doing on foot as well.)

Another entrepreneur rents horses to pilgrims who want to save their legs en route to O Cebreiro. For 34.5 euros, one gets a horse and a guide for the two-hour, 8 kilometer climb. So the sign says. I did not see any takers, but I saw evidence that there had been some. Just after setting up my lunch stop along the trail, around 2:00, I saw the horse caravan returning from a pilgrim delivery. The timing was perfect for me to grab my camera and video the horses descending from O Cebreiro. Another case of being in the right place at the right time.

The last one I’m going to mention: advertising on the side of a small delivery van. There is, apparently, a beer in the area called “Peregrina.” The sign, in Gallegan–yes! There is such a language, looking for all the world (to this non-linguist, please understand) like a mixture of Spanish and Portuguese–that says: “Et ti, peregrinas [that word refers to “female pilgrim”], a cervexa do teu camiño” [And you, lady pilgrim, the beer of YOUR camino]. Whatever it takes, right?

Cleanliness is next to godliness?

Oh, I’m in trouble! But really, don’t you think that cleanliness is a bit overrated? Why wash those gray pants whose permanent dirt stains are covered with fresh dirt, and which, if cleaned, will just get dirty again. Don’t I have better things to do?

The body I did clean, just because something tells me that I should probably do so every couple of days. It’s a bit of a pain because then it means, at least when the weather is cool as it so absolutely is up in the mountains, staying indoors for a couple of hours until it dries.

Overrated, most definitely. How often did those 10th-century pilgrims wash themselves or their clothes? Come on!

Ya gotta eat!

And you have to relieve yourself from time to time. Behind bushes works better when it is warmer. At least for me.

So yes, I’ve been eating. Lots, actually. Here’s May 7th’s breakdown:

1. 7:00 am: the yogurt I didn’t eat for dinner last night
2. 10:15 am: wonderful stop in Las Herrerías at a lovely cafe (fire in the fireplace there! And yes, I sat on the sofa near it and did email for a while after my mid-morning snack which consisted of apple cake and café con leche
3. 2:00 pm: trailside picnic of half a loaf of “French bread” filled with cheese and morcilla; not a sandwich to die for as the one I’d eaten the day before had been. Same sources for meat and cheese, but the bread was inferior to what I’d had before
4. 6:25 pm (too early, but I wanted to make it to the 7:00 pm pilgrim mass): a thick Galician/Gallegan soup with slices of good bread, followed by a platter of fried eggs served with ham and fried potatoes, topped off by almond cake. (I know, I know: two pieces of cake in one day…. I told you I was eating!)

End of (food) story.

And ya gotta sleep!

Or try to sleep! I’ve already mentioned the wind and the snoring. I’ve already mentioned the lack of blankets. Which caused me to sleep in my long underwear and the Smartwool top that has been on my body at the start of every day since April 2!

Here’s what I haven’t mentioned: the albergue must have a thermostat designed to turn the heat on each evening, needed or not. At some point in the middle of the night the warm clothes and socks were replaced by my little short pajamas. In the morning everyone talked about how hot it had been (and how noisy with the wind and the snorers). I caught my Columbian neighbor reading–on his cell phone–at some point during the night. As for me: I may actually have slept better than usual.

Any PSs?

• Unexpected sight: solar panels on a hillside in an area that rarely sees the sun…
• A farmer with a sense of humor: in an as-yet unplanted garden he had marked out a very large dirt arrow indicating the direction for pilgrims to head, his own small contribution to our successful journey
• Chapel/small church in La Faba was open (pretty unusual, actually) and very welcoming; I lit a tall candle there
• As I climbed, the roar of the river became a gentle murmur and then disappeared, unable to compete with the breeze or reach the heights to which I was ascending
• Thought: there is a contemplative inside each of us waiting to be discovered
• And, finally, to answer the question you have been polite enough not to ask: No, I really don’t share every thought that comes to my head. It just seems that way. Really, you have no idea how many thoughts can come to me some days…

Day 28, Monday, May 6, Camponaraya to Trabadelo (25.3 km, 15.7miles)

It is Tuesday, May 28, when I return to this post that was orphaned three weeks ago, left with just place names and distances recorded.

I’m betting you hadn’t noticed that it was missing from the line-up, leaving a void between walking days #27 and #29. I hinted at it a time or two, admitting that I had some catching up to do. But in my mind, early on, this was such a special day that I didn’t want to rush it. It was a special day in a string of special days, and, wanting to write about the others while they were fresh, I trusted that this one was special enough that the details would remain vivid, “safe” for sharing when I found the time.

And that was true, I think, for maybe three or four days. Then it was just hopeful thinking. Now I know: even though I’ve read through my notes, even though I’ve looked at my photos from that day, the “freshness” of it can’t be captured again. I guess I should be thankful that this was about the only day that “got lost in the shuffle.”

Even the title…. It made some sense back then, falling on the heels of a “riddle” I asked you to solve. “Riddle” … “paradox”… My notes reveal a bit of what I had in mind when I came up with the title:

• It was kind of paradoxical that I was as “alone” as I have been in a long time… and yet finding myself to be uncharacteristically friendly and outgoing. Hmmm….
• It was May, but I was still happy to put on my winter coat in the morning.
• We were still in the Province of Leon, but the style of the houses and the kinds of food being offered were increasingly Gallegan
• From one day to the next, the climate had changed; the Bierzo area through which I passed on this day has its own special micro-climate that is noticeably different from both what I’d experienced earlier and what awaited me at O Cebreiro.

So, there were many reasons to keep my eyes open on this day. And my ears. And my nose. My notes indicate that I did all the above, as I jotted these expressions:

• The birds!
• The vineyards!
• Beautiful and very fragrant flowering bush!
• Wonderful fragrance from something I’d like to call pink honeysuckle (and which, almost certainly, would not be that)

I noted that I felt extremely privileged to be walking where I was walking, that I was grateful that a few steps seemed to have taken me from an early-spring environment to a late-spring one, that I loved walking along a mountain stream as it frolicked and cascaded downward.

I commented that by the end of the day I was in short sleeves (and that phenomenon might not have repeated itself on the rest of the Camino; I can’t swear to it, but it is very, very possible). I wrote that it was such a nice day that even the bugs came out to play. Noted that I had eaten “the best bocadillo ever” that day, that there was a lot of “flying cotton” but that it wasn’t causing me any allergic reaction. At one point I jotted down: “Where is everyone?” It seems that except for a couple of groups of cyclists who went by, I hadn’t seen anyone for hours.

“Lots of singing,” I wrote. That makes sense, since I seemed to have the paths to myself. And I jotted down something that often occurred to me while I was singing but had always eluded me when I wrote about the singing, and that is this: that the way in which I was singing reminded me, even though I was alone, of “chain gang” or “cotton field” singing: it was repetitive, simple, with lyrics that could be altered slightly to fit the situation, and it kept up my spirits, made the time pass, and even gave me energy and a new attitude. My singing felt “communal” to me because I was bringing a lot of people and their situations into my thoughts as I sang.

I remember one very sweet stop on this day, in the tiny town of Valtuille de Arriba. I turned a corner and there it was: Cantina Estrella, a veritable “hippy hangout” in the middle of nowhere. There were flowers galore, plaques and inspirational sayings, Indian chant music, bright colors, God’s eyes, and friendliness oozing out of its pores. The female owner had been a pilgrim herself years back, and when she got to this town, she decided that’s where she needed to settle and set up a cantina for passing pilgrims. I enjoyed my snack there.

What more did the day hold? I joined Mary Claude and Patrice for lunch that day, I think, in a town square in Villafranca del Bierzo. I’d been daring this French couple to acknowledge my existence for the last couple of days; finally accomplished the task on this day and I found them to be much friendlier than I had first thought. We made it through the linguistic challenges pretty easily. And for the next few days, when our paths continued to cross, there were big smiles on all parties.

And I’m thinking this is the day that I was finally able to reload my SIM card which had expired about four days earlier (meaning that when I didn’t have access to Wifi, I was out of luck in terms of sending or receiving messages or doing any of the other things that require connectivity). I feel like this is a story I have already told, but maybe just to family. I saw a sign in a window front stating that this particular store (appliances, pots and pans, electronics) sold SIM cards. I went in to inquire about purchasing one and told the owners that I would be back after I’d found a bathroom and had a bite to eat.

When I returned, the husband-wife team consulted a bit and then said that they would call their son and have him come in to take care of the recharging. Oh, how familiar that was! I had an instant “inroad” to conversation with these people since I, too, have to rely on my son to figure things out for me and get me out of tech-related jams. Fifteen or so minutes later, the son came in and the whole process was so easy! I was good to go in terms of data and connectivity for another 28 days.

So that was the day. You can tell: it’s not hot-off-the-press fresh to me anymore. Not by a long shot. I guess I could conclude by saying it was like so many days on the Camino, with the beauty of nature being a super companion as I made my way. I write this with my last day of Camino walking having been a week ago already. I’ve been doing plenty of walking as my trip finishes up with walks in/near Barcelona and Madrid. But… they are not the same. I am already seeing how “keeping the spirit of the Camino in my everyday living” is going to be a challenge….

Note: I’ve received requests to keep up the posts at least long enough to incorporate my days along the Mediterranean and my days here in Madrid. I’ll try to oblige. Count on there being a few more posts, though nothing elaborate.

Day 27, Sunday, May 5: El Acebo to Camponaraya (28 km, 17.4 miles)

Oh, are you ever in luck with this post! Count your blessings! Notes for Sunday? I took… absolutely none! Not a one other than to “open” a page in which to write them. Nada. Zilch.

That tells you something!

Before I get started on a day which, 24 hours later I can’t even recall (other than knowing that it was long, challenging, and tedious…. yet, I’ll do my best to remember it and redeem it somewhat…), I’ll give a few updates. In case you care.

Filling you in on others

Barb: She’s been back in the States since the evening of May 2, after spending a couple of nights in Madrid before her flight. Sleeping. Relaxing. Wandering the Retiro (giant in-city park in Madrid). Discovering that the Prado was closed, May 1 being a holiday in Spain.

She’s happily reunited with her dog and her cats, but it’d be a lie to say she wasn’t missing the Camino. So ironic that Barb “didn’t care” about getting to Santiago, knew she wouldn’t have time to walk that far, and wasn’t bothered by that. Yeah, right! Way to go, Barb!

Ginny: She continues to astound with her forward progress. Slow, but steady, with frequent stretching stops. Extra care going downhill. Massaging at night. Being the general Good Samaritan to all she encounters. Oh, she has a fan club, no doubt about it. But she’s enjoying the solo walking as well. Getting her nightly report is always a joy for me

Alan: Do you remember him? The one I didn’t remember after sleeping “next to” him? The Brit who charmed a patio full of pilgrims, myself included, with his guitar playing and his singing? I ran into another gal who had shared the room with him the same night I did. She informed me that he had collapsed on the trail maybe a day or two after I heard him play. Pneumonia, I think. She wondered if I knew anything. Nope. I’m hoping he is out there somewhere walking and entertaining. Would I recognize him? Not if he’s not wearing his green puffy….

I have to wonder about Victoria, Sylvia (aka “Red”), Maria, Carlos, Fabio and Regina, Kelly. It would be a joy to come upon any one of them and many others again. It’s hard to say. I stopped for those extra days at the monastery. But then, others stop, too, for a variety of reasons.

And new friends have stepped in to take their places. Friends? Acquaintances? Fellow pilgrims, for sure. There’s a special bond even when the interactions are brief. And then we let go.

Oops! These got left out!

My post for Saturday, May 4, included a series of “thoughts” which I had jotted down during the course of the day. I realized after “publishing” the post that I had left some out. You’re invited to skip over this section if “random thoughts that might come off as ‘preachy'” are not your cup of tea. Consider these additions to the May 4th post:

• Coming down from Cruz de Ferro: I’m laughing at the smell of the pines on this side of the mountain. Understand a bit where the psalmist was coming from when he asked the mountains–or whatever…–to clap for joy or for all living things to shout out in gladness. I descended with my “thanks song” in one of its various versions. [further reflection, after the fact: and “David’s” woe-is-me songs? Maybe those were born out of rainy days, or cold ones, or days when his wife gave him the cold shoulder. Sh*t happens even for the masters of praise…]
• Thought: on the Camino there is a huge amount of freedom to be as kind and compassionate and friendly and helpful as you feel called to be, because there is no sense of fear or danger. It is a very loving community. Would that the world could be one huge Camino!
• 2:30. Still climbing. The mountaintops are carpeted in luscious purple splendor! Just wow!
• Never experienced anything quite like this. Set yourself down, alone, in the most beautiful setting/place you’ve ever seen, then imagine being able to stroll through it hour after hour! Incredible. Spring colors washing over you! Literally breathtaking and awesome. Many OMG moments. I found myself laughing as I came around bends in the road. FIND BEAUTY!!!! DRINK IT IN!!!!

Had your fill? I thought so. The rest of my notes are really just song lyrics, all variations based on the same melody, but tailored to the moment. I’ve sure gotten “the mileage,” literally and figuratively, from that melody!

Now, back to May 5th, the day I don’t remember…

I glance at the guidebook. At my photos. Oh, yes: the cool second story balconies on the old houses. Oh, right: the hermitage which was actually open and where they had real candles in tall glass–red glass, no less–containers. For 2 euros I lit one that may be burning still, more than 30 hours later, for family and friends. Oh, could I forget the stones? Never! Stones, stones, stones, thick, uneven, sloping rock slabs on just about every descent. And we descended a lot. No wonder I didn’t take notes; I was extremely busy concentrating and taking care with where I planted each foot. Again and again and again.

Old trees. Old bridges. Old castles. Well, one castle, but the size of many put together. This was in Ponferrada, a town of almost 70,000. Businesses closed on Sunday so I couldn’t find a place to recharge my SIM card. Busy with the usual let’s-go-to-town-with-all-the-family crowd. Ponferrada where I found an ATM to get some much-needed money. Ponferrada where I made it to a bathroom in a sweet shop just in time. And I do mean just. Ponferrada where any sane person would linger and enjoy the squares, the people, the bustle, where any sane person would tour the 12th-century castle of the Knights Templar and soak up some fascinating history, but where I felt hemmed in and just wanted to get to a pueblo.

And so I did. Eventually. After what seemed like a long haul. I stopped only briefly to photograph… a pig! (First I’d seen, though “pork” of some kind is a popular menu item.) Stopped to photograph this flower or that (one was beautiful white, but some red near the center of the flower and yellow in dead center). In one small town, I went down a narrow alleyway. “Just how narrow was it,” you ask. Maybe you’ll see a photo at the bottom of this post showing how it was as wide as my hiking poles are long.

At one point I caught sight of Ponferrada off in the distance and I sighed. I thought my “stay in the country” was over. But no. The Camino kept us surprisingly hidden in the countryside (going down steep rocky hills…) for quite a while, and we entered the city “by the back door,” making the arrival much more tolerable.

But it was hot. My pack seemed heavier by the minute. I finally dragged myself into Camponaraya by late afternoon. I had made a reservation–rare thing for me to do–by asking a stranger in Ponferrada if he would ring up an albergue “down the road” for me. Turns out, it wasn’t necessary. I had blessedly uncrowded accommodations for the night in a room where none of us–we were 6–had to sleep in a top bunk and where all of us had English as a first language. (The other five were Canadians, one from Ontario and four from British Columbia.). A treat: for 3 euros one of the employees washed my clothes in a machine. I was in charge of the hanging up (done at 6:00 pm; by 8:30 they were [almost] dry. Hurray for the ladders going up to bunks not needed by pilgrims that night; the ladders of two bunks were used for the last drying efforts).

I sat in the patio garden of the albergue/bar doing some writing, then joined my monastery friends Reiner and Christine who had come over to my hostel for supper. We seem to do so well with a mixture of my French and bits of English they can come up with. Dinner for me: Galician soup and roast lamb which was, literally, finger-licking good.

Bedtime followed soon thereafter. Hurray: I had found a new battery for my headlamp earlier in the day–on a Sunday, no less!–so a bit more writing before settling comfortably into slumber.

So, agreed? “Short and simple,” at least by my standards. The photos will tell or hint at “the rest of the story.” If they aren’t below yet, come back later, ok?

And again, thanks for coming along with me!