14/06/04
Monday
Map 25
Photos --1098--1110
Granja de MoreruelaI set off ok and knew I had to turn left somewhere. I passed the road to Portugal, as my maps gave the impression I would find an arrow for a mud track shortly, I continued on. There were road works all the way out of town and no arrows at all, I kept walking on hot asphalt, over trenches and a half made up road. As the road-works finished I saw arrows pointing straight ahead I continued. On coming to a village I saw a man getting into a truck in a yard. I called to him and asked where I was on my map. I was miles north of any possible turning to Portugal, I hate going back and the feet were sore. I would head north, and hope I found someone with a map showing the way to Ourense. Luckily I still had some information on albergues. The way was straight tracks over a very flat landscape, following parallel with the road much of the time.
Passing Montamarta I came to the reservoir. Had I known, I feel sure I could have taken a short cut and walked closer to the water. But on my own and unable to discus it, I felt unsure and stayed on the track which wanders far to the right, just to cross an almost dry stream. First I met the road and then I crossed the stream by the road-bridge. I could see the castle mentioned on the map, and felt sure anyone who walked by the waters edge keeping the castle as their focal point, thereby arriving much sooner than I. Sure enough my arrows took me to the land-ward side of the castle.
Then on to Riego del Camino, I got a good cheap meal here in a little bar that I had almost passed unnoticed. A beaded curtain hid the entrance and as I walked in out of the bright sunlight I couldn’t see a thing. The place was busy. I could hear but could see nothing. I sensed a table more than saw it and crossed and unloaded my rucksack. My sticks fell over and a voice from the darkness said for me to
“Leave them there, they’d be ok.”
I could see a little where the light was coming through the door, the bar started there, so I crossed to it and climbed up onto a stool. It was nice and cool in here after the heat outside. A woman behind the counter served everyone else before coming over to me, (I think she was afraid she would not be able to understand me because she brightened up considerably when I asked for
“Un tinto de verano.”
Having drunk that I asked if there was any chance that she did food.
“Yes, what do you want?”
I ordered soup and fish with a glass of red wine and another ‘Tinto de Verano’ to drink while I waited. Shortly she called me over and through to a back room cluttered up with prams and baby things, but a table by the little window was set for me. The meal was plain but very good and after I had eaten I sat with my wine and dozed for a while. Then paid my bill and left around three o’clock.
I passed on through very flat, hot shade-less country, till Granja de Moreruela.
Can you spot the arrow?
Here I asked if there was an albergue and was sent to the top of this strange village full of cave houses to find the bar ‘El Peregrino’.
I found the bar and in it Jacques, Bernadette and Nicholas. The albergue was full I was informed.
I asked the barman and he said he could arrange something. They were a charming family and always helpful
That something, was a scruffy mattress on a bed in the wine cellar! I was taken down to see my bedroom. A cave cut from the hard soil with an arched roof. Four of us slept there that night.
It was, I was assured, a constant seventeen degrees. It felt more like freezing after the heat! The problem for me was my sleeping bag, I’d never used it till now, it was too hot and when I removed it and tried to sleep in my silk sheet, I was too cold! There were of course no windows and the door at the top of a long flight of stone stairs had to be closed at night because it would bang all the time, as heat and cold air from above and below struggled to change places. It felt very humid too and claustrophobic, I didn’t sleep much that night but it was offered free of charge.
I went back up stairs again and joined the others and had a few drinks and a great ‘ensalada mixta’. Then showered and did my washing. When I asked where to hang it, the son took it from me and hung it out for me! They were such a friendly family. I was informed two fellow cavemen were to leave at five in the morning and he, the barman would be up then to see them out. So no problem in leaving early. My problem now was I had no maps at all from here. I did manage to get a list of the next few villages from Nicholas!!!
15/06/04
Tuesday
Map 26
Photos --1110--1129
Tabarra. On the camino to Ourense now.On getting up to the bar I found we could have a coffee and ‘magdalena’ (a small sponge cake) for breakfast, I ordered one. Nicholas arrived for coffee too. He finished first and left before I had chance to put my pack on and when I reached the door he had disappeared. I had no idea which way to go, so I went back into the bar and asked. The barman told me to go to the top of the hill and turn left, this I did but could not see Nicholas so still felt unsure of the way. I returned again, this time the barman accompanied me and pointed out the road. It must be remembered I knew there were two ways from here. I didn’t want to take the wrong one and go via Astorga. Nicholas,
I found out later, had gone down hill and joined the route thereby going a km or two further, so had Jacques and Bernadette.
I saw them a while later coming out of a side turning and we grouped together again. Some fairly rugged country through a forest of Holm oaks then we came to the tail of the reservoir and crossed it by a stone road bridge.
Immediately on reaching the far side we turned left and went along a difficult path over rocks by the side of the water. The remains of a Roman bridge showed where the old Vía del Plata had crossed.
We now cut up the steep hill on the right, up a goat track. At the top everyone turned left except me! I had stayed back to photograph the old bridge. I lost sight of them and on reaching the top puffing and blowing, in a hurry to catch up, I missed the arrow and continued straight on, that was until I came to a path down the other side that had no sign of my companions on it. I quickly turned round and retraced my steps and found the arrow and narrow track I had missed at the top of the hill. I hurried on as fast as I could, not wanting to do that again. My nerve had suddenly fled me, I had no map for Christ’s sake!
I soon saw them in front and felt at ease again phew!
I loved the rugged country we were walking over but this was to give way to a flat valley. We stopped for lunch in a vineyard sitting by the side of a strange, completely stone shed.
The afternoon brought another horrible straight road, into Tabarra.
We took the track to the left into the village. Here Nicholas and I left Jacques and Bernadette to go to the hostel on the road a kilometre or so out of town, while we found a bar. We learnt there that there were already people at the albergue, this was of course on the far side of town. After having a drink we walked through the village and found it. It was a small but new building set next to a stone washing trough, as used by peasants for generations.
“Well we know where we can do our washing.” I joked
We rested, did our washing here, then hit town to buy food for tomorrow, the bars in the village only serve ‘bocados’ sandwiches we were told.
We got our stamp at the town hall and then walked all the way to the hostel where Jacques was staying. The barman said sorry the restaurant has just closed and
it won’t open till nine. I said we were far too tired to walk all the way back down here again, to eat later on! He went into the kitchen and came back and said if we would like soup and veal we could eat. We had a lovely meal with white table clothes and a bottle of wine.
By the time we set off back we were very happy. Passing the tin bullring we went to have a look, the door was open so we went in. We fooled around bull fighting. It was very dilapidated and had not been used for some time. When we came out a young man stood opposite in a garage, ‘Fire Station’ a notice said over the doorway. He had a one-wheel bike leaning against the wall next to him. I called out
“Can you ride that.”
Before long we had him riding around on it, while we took photos. He offered us a ride but we were both too frightened of hurting our legs and feet to try, after all we still had a long way to go.
16/06/04
Wednesday
Photos --1129--1158
To Santa Croya de Tera 23k?On my way by six thirty a.m. I'm travelling with Nicholas. Nice walk through the mountains past ‘Holm Oaks’ windmills.
We Arrived at Santa Croya de Tera at twelve forty pm that was about twenty-four kms going northward. Tomorrow we would travel westward again. We chose to stop at ‘Casa Anita’ our side of the bridge.
It turned out to be a good choice and an excellent hostel. We could have crossed the bridge and gone to the albergue on the other side, it would have been cheaper but we knew the fast walkers would already be there. Most probably we would have had to sleep on the floor and we were very tired of being the ones to rough it.
We cleaned up and went to look round the little church on the other bank of the river. We climbed the small slope up to the square and the church. We found the church rather unusual in having carved stone toothing round it at different levels and we found out later they went right through and could be seen inside the church also.
We walked round the far side and found the well-known statue of Santiago and another saint either side of an arched doorway and took photos. The church was closed but as we came out a lady said we would be able to
see it just before the service. We thought we might come back. We met Jacques and Bernadette, I think it was on the bridge, and were told the priest would stamp our peregrino credentials.
Nicholas ran back to get his and waiting there I met an elderly man with an enormous rucksack. He was seventy-five years old and never stopped in albergues. Having put his bag down I tried to lift it and couldn’t. It had four litre of water in it he informed us. He loaded up and went off to find a place to camp by the river.
Nicholas returned and we went to the priest’s house and knocked.
The priest duly arrived and I asked if he would stamp our peregrino credential cards and was it possible to see inside the church.
“It is just before the service anyway,” he said.
He took the cards and stamped them and escorted us to the church.
It was a lovely church and as I have said the bands of stone toothing were inside as well. A stand held a number of religious bones and artefacts and Nicholas and I took photos.
I asked the very pleasant father if I could take his photo at the altar table.
He smiled shyly but seemed very pleased at the request and gave me his name but I’m afraid I never wrote it down and have forgotten it. We left him to his service preparations and returned to our Hostel.
Here we found we could drink as much red wine as we liked and did so. It was on the house as the owner owned a ‘bodega’ and he said he would take us to see it later. He also assisted us in marking what villages now had hostels or albergues on our route, also noting some that still had none at all.
After dinner and a lot of red wine he took Nicholas, Roland, and me, (Roland was a nice fellow pilgrim, German I think) to see the bodega. Our host had been drinking as much as us or maybe more.
We piled into his car and left in a cloud of dust. Going back the way we had walked in the morning he then took a right turn up a rough steep track and pulled up in front of several cellars. They were built into the hillside, earth covered, they each had a flat wall in the front with a door in each. One was open, and as we got out of the car Domingo our host and driver called into the darkness. There was no reply, he shrugged his shoulders and gave me a large door key and pointed at the steel door in front of me. I opened it with as much ceremony as I could muster and the door opened into a fairly large room with a table and a few chairs, and a winepress. The white walls had the round straw-press mats hung on them and other bric-a-brac including the usual semi-nude calendar. Domingo now explained how the press was fitted together and how it worked.
He pointed to a flight of steps going down to a pair of wooden doors and gestured we should go down. Nicholas went first and nearly pulled the door from the only hinge that held it there and managed to open it enough to go through. Domingo hit a light switch and we all followed down into a small cave with a vaulted ceiling. Taking up the whole of one side stood an enormous barrel, it was lying on its side and held in place by brick piers. A tap faced the front for withdrawing the wine. Domingo looked round and found a couple of very dusty glasses from the other side of the room crossed and filled one, drank it himself declaring it the best wine in the district then filled them both and offered them to Nicholas and Roland. Then after hunting out another glass, I had to join in as well. I must admit it was a superb wine. Our glasses empty Nicholas was allowed now to refill them all.
I started to look round the place and a narrow low arch led into an adjoining cellar, at right angles to the first. It was filled with two modern stainless steel vats. Then as I looked up I noticed the roof at the far end went up like a great chimney it had smoke stains up the sides, the top was capped by a large square cover. Domingo was telling me that this was to vent the cellar at times to keep the temperature even. We were all squashed in the available space in this room when I looked towards the steps we had come down, (the only way out). Nicholas like me had caught sight of this new apparition too now. We could see an enormous heavily muscled man approaching, shirt less his skin tanned a dark brown, his clenched fists the size if hams were hanging readily by his side. He seemed to fill the width of the stairs!! His bright bloodshot red eyes shining in the harsh light from the single light bulb! He grunted something although unintelligible, sounded to us like ‘What the bloody hell you doing down here!’ Nicholas looked across to me expecting me to translate. I shrugged. The man grunted a few more words some I think did understand they translated as ‘Lucky,’ ‘Pistol,’ and ‘Dead.’ I didn’t bother to translate them but pushed backwards.
Domingo now pushed forward trying to see, saying in Spanish,
“These are friends, come to try our wine.”
Unaffected and staring straight at us the man, swaying a little, kept coming as Nicholas and I both pushed backwards. Domingo repeated his words and turned to us explaining this was his brother-in-law who looked after the place. Still looking as if he was about to slam us with a massive fist at any moment the man now filled the doorway. I could smell his breath and it smelt like a wine vat! He stood swaying staring at Nicholas, Domingo pushed his way to the front and the big man slowly backed out, muttering some unintelligible words. Slowly we got back into the first cellar. I didn’t understand a single word the big man said. I don’t believe Domingo could either but it may have been strong dialect. Domingo filled the glasses again from the barrel and gave one to his minder. We had several more glasses together before we finally climbed the stairs to fresh air and freedom. We thanked Domingo and were standing in a circle ready to leave when I noticed the minders massive fist. It now held a handle fixed to a small wooden board with a screw eye in it, through the eye hung a rocket and the other fist now lit the fuse from his cigarette! We are all standing very close and became showered in sparks as the rocket flew into the air from between us and exploded with an enormous bang. All laughing, Domingo explained
“Its fiesta today we have to have some fireworks.”
Slightly stunned we are still tightly packed round the big man as he light another. This time it got stuck and wouldn’t leave the board. We all stood there staring at it as sparks cascaded round our legs. Domingo started shouting, I now realised our huge new friend was too drunk to be able to think what to do. It seemed almost a minute before Domingo’s words took affect and the big man turned and threw the board down by the wall, about two-foot away from us.
The bang we heard previously in the sky, loud as it had been, was minuscule compared to this one!!!!
By the time we got back to the hostel it must have been after ten o’clock. Now Jacques and Bernadette, who had still been eating when we left, now had to get in the small car and Domingo took them to see the second show!
17/06/04
Thursday
Photos --1158--1169
To Mombuey
We intended to stop at Ríonegro when we left at 6.30. There is a very bad part for finding your way on this section it’s spoken about in the German guide books and in Nicholas’s one but it is never very clearly. We left a village and found the track and arrow going straight on, this we took. In a few hundred meters we came to an unmarked turning to the left. We had seen Jacques and Bernadette go straight on, and you can go straight on here. But I in my wisdom stopped a car a car that came down the side track and asked the driver and was told
“Straight on goes over the mountains, you will do better to take the track I just came down and go the other way.”
This proved to be bad instructions, as I believe left is the way for the cyclists and is further. Not only that we took this left turning and after a short while turned right and followed an arrow pointing along a track with power poles along it. Then we saw, unknown to us, wrongly marked arrows pointing to the left again, which we followed. Then more to the right and eventually we arrived at a junction with tarmac road but no arrows some two and a half kilometres at least from the first bad arrow. We both felt sure we were wrong but there was a faint possibility that we should now turn right and go to the top of the hill. Luckily we both decided to retrace our steps and this we did. Just before we came to the last marked arrows we had passed, we met a pretty shepherdess. The girl informed us she had called and tried to stop us but we were going too fast. (That was because we had seen her large shepherd dogs that now circled us growling). We tried to scrub out the offending first arrows painted on the canal wall but they still showed. Arriving back at the last offending marks we tried to scrub them out and now formed an arrow of stones pointing along the correct way of the poles.
Now had we been told in the guidebooks to keep following these poles we would have been all right, because they go all the way to the tower that is mentioned in all the guidebooks. There was another part with arrows in different directions but after careful inspection and a bit of luck we followed the poles. Our work may help some but Mark later on told me he had gone the wrong way and I believe he came along after us.
Nicholas and I, after walking along the old tower access road and its potholed hot asphalt, came eventually to the steel phone tower and its small building. I went across to the tower to look for arrows and found none but could see the dam wall below to our right. I went back to the road and we both continued on a little, and then I took a shortcut across the scrub between our road and the road that ran almost parallel to it. Nick hadn’t trusted my judgement and carried on a little further, found the road junction and turned right down the same road. I now turned right onto it and I waited a minute for him. We walked down to the ‘Embalsa’ and crossed the dam wall. It was high but not unnerving if you keep to the lakeside. Turning left at the end I wanted to swim, but there were several notices saying no swimming for two hundred meters. I obeyed the notices and didn’t risk swimming till we were some distance further along its banks and far from the dam wall. I walked down to the water. It was beautiful, the lake’s still waters shone like a mirror, its banks had clumps of scrub giving some shade and were sandy like a beach. They sloped gently into the clear water. It was like a picture post card, I was hot and sweaty I could not resist its call. For some reason Nicholas would not join me and kept going and saying he would wait at the next village. I let him go and stripped off naked in the warm air and walked into the water. It was beautiful and warm in the shallow water; I walked a little further and lowered myself in and gently swam around for a while. Not a soul passed as I enjoyed my magic swim in the nude.
I came out set my camera on a rock pushing the time setting button and dashed back and sat on a rock in the water, hoping nothing unwanted showed. It worked I discovered (No that’s my other hand on my leg, you can see). I reluctantly came out, dried myself and dressed.
On leaving I saw a small snake, it suddenly reminded me always to be careful when near water. It had been worth the risk, I swung on my pack and set off after Nicholas.
I had been fooling about for a while and was surprised to find he had kept his word. For on my coming to the next tiny village I found him sitting in the little last bit of shade, on the stone steps of the church. He told me Jacques and Bernadette had only just left. We sat and ate a banana and I put another coating of Vaseline on my poor feet and re-did my boots.
This Village had no services and we moved off and we eventually caught up with Jacques and Bernadette as we came into the village that was to be our stop, where the guidebook said you had better ask how much a room costs before taking it. It was late afternoon and we were cooked and very tired. Asking a couple in a doorway we were sent to a bar to find out if there was any rooms vacant. The girl behind the counter said there were rooms but she would not tell us how much, we had to wait to see the ‘dueña’. We drank a couple of ‘vino veranos’ and waited. The woman came in and we instantly disliked her attitude, Jacques and Bernadette could have a double room for twenty-five Euro but Nicholas and I would have to pay fifteen each for a room with two beds. Jacques and Bernadette went to look at the rooms with the dueña. Nicholas said,
“Wow that’s expensive, this is a country village, the old cow knows we’re stuck here and who do you think has the best accommodation (meaning the fast walkers).”
I agreed and said in Spanish to the girl behind the bar that we wouldn’t normally pay more than twelve each. We were told that it was at least another ten kms to the next hostel and there was nowhere else in this village. At that moment the ‘dueña’ came back in with Jacques and Bernadette and the girl told her we wouldn’t pay the fifteen each, only twelve. After much chiding telling us how hot and late it was she eventually caved in and said she would take twelve each from us. Nicholas looked at me and we both said
“
No we won’t take it, we will go on.”Everyone was flabbergasted. We were too, we couldn’t believe we’d both said that together!
Our minds made up we said we would eat a sandwich then leave. We of course paid too much for a French omelette sandwich at the bar, picked up our bags and left with the old biddy telling us how hot it was going to be and how difficult, but she pointed kindly out the road we should start off on.
We really thought we would have to sleep out and I thought it would be a good chance to try it but Nicholas was not keen. So we continued on and came to a motorway. The book said go under it, the first underpass we came to was blocked by a very large dog guarding a flock of sheep sleeping in its shade! Refusing to be beaten we now crossed by climbing the fence and running the gauntlet across the carriageways and over the other fence, only later to find we should have gone further along by the second underpass and crossed there anyway. Turning left we found the second underpass that we should have used and found our yellow arrows again. We struggled in the heat across some pretty poorly marked scrub-land, stopping only once at five fifty five, in the shade of a stunted little tree for a rest and drink. Eventually we arrived at a busy restaurant, I was in a state of collapse, but the barmaid couldn’t seem to find the time to serve me. We did get a drink in the end when another customer said to her as she turned to serve him,
“No serve this poor beggar he looks about to collapse!”
We drank our drinks then pushed on again into the town. Here we found the bar with the albergue key, but were told to find the mayor. Luckily he came down the street as we left and said,
“There are people already there, should be enough mattresses for you on the floor.”
We found the single story building with two windows and a door opening onto the street and chatted a moment with a cyclist standing there and went in. We grabbed the only mattresses without gear on them (not realising our German fast walker Hank had spread his gear on a bed and a mattress!) It was quarter past seven. We showered and went out to look round the town. The church had a most unusual tower.
“It’s a national monument” I was informed by the old man I was chatting to a little while later.
He was sitting in a chair on the pavement, opposite the church. Just then Nicholas and the congregation came out. Nicholas told us he had been chastised for trying to take photos inside the church after the service! We strolled back and went to eat at the bar and restaurant that held the albergue key. Here we met the cyclist again, who we thought was using the other mattress and found he wasn’t, but was booked in the hostel here!
18/06/04
Friday
Photos --1169--1170
To Palacio de SanabriaI Left at about eight with Nicholas. We intended to do a short walk to Palacio de Sanabria, a nice walk. By ten it was cloudy and not too hot, lovely villages but none had cafe's.
Twelve o’clock saw me sitting under a chestnut tree on my own. It was now hot and humid.
A sample of text sent and received from my daughter Josie and my young granddaughter Alex.
FRI 18/06/04 19.55am Cloud, not too hot as yet. Walk slowly, love the little villages, but no bars
Josie = Alex says hi. We are looking at map. Where are you?
FRI 18/06/04 11.23am Coming into San Salvador de Palazuelos hoping for a coffee.
I found Nicholas again and he left behind his stick which Bridgett had given him. In the same village I collected a splinter of wood from a church roof as a souvenir. In another we were chatted to and told to give the Saint a hug from them (I did). I found a café and hostel in last village Asturianos. We ate here and had a nice meal and (if I remember right) the bar woman kindly phoned to see if there was a room ahead in Palacio de Sanabria for us and we got a room for twenty-five Euro on arrival. We walked through Holm oak forests and I got a glimpse of a wild deer.
19/06/04
Saturday
No4 Photos -1170-1189
To Padornelo High up on the other side of a mountainWe were on a forest track at dawn (six thirty am) and we came to Puebla. Here Nicholas had arrived first and crossed the river bridge and had climbed the steep stairs to the town church at the top.
I, having fallen behind, found a bar open and had a coffee with a man I was to meet again later. I crossed the river and went up the gentler roadway hoping to get a map at the tourist shop on the hill. They were closed but I did some shopping then climbed the rest of the hill through the streets to the church. Here I tried the town hall for information but to no avail. I wanted a photo shop to transfer my pictures from the camera chip to disc. I asked someone in the street they said
“Go down to the bottom re-cross the river and there’s a new one over on the left I believe.”
This meant going back, something I hate doing, but there seemed no choice. I spotted Nicholas on the church steps and said
“Oh good I’ve found you. I’ve got to get my camera chips copied somehow, I can’t take another picture.”
I then went on to ask him would he look after my bag while I went, or did he want to come with me? Well we went down the steep staircase hoping it might be possible to go round to the right and miss re-climbing the hill (it’s not). Finding the camera shop the chap said
“Hello again”
I realised it was the same man I had met earlier in the bar! Pity I had not said that I needed to copy my camera chips then. He started copying the chips to disc but was very slow. Nicholas was getting fed up, he asked where the bank was, as he was thinking of buying a new chip for his camera. I translated and was told
“At the top of the hill.”
“What sort do you need? I’ll lend you the money and you can draw it from the bank at the top of the hill as we return.” I said
Nicholas turned putting on his rucksack,
“I’m leaving.”
“Where to?” I asked puzzled.
“Don’t know, I’m off” and he left.
Well I was dumbstruck and stumped, he had the only guidebook and I didn’t even know the names of many of the villages I was to pass through. I got my discs and paid, it was the cheapest price I paid for them on the whole trip. I climbed up the roadway again thinking I might see him in a bank amongst the shops at the top. Not finding him I found a tourist shop and the girl gave me a map of the town and marked where I should leave on it. I took pictures of the church and beautiful streets as I went.
Arrows went down a steep track and onto a road and I was on my way again, but it seemed all tarmac. I came to a roadside restaurant and had a coffee but no one seemed to know of the Vía de Plata. Further on, feet hurting, I took a big chance and walked across to a river and sat and bathed my feet in a beautiful spot.
Feeling refreshed but still worried, went on again this time across the fields trying to keep parallel with the road. I stopped a man in a car coming down a track I had found and was now walking down. He said I should branch out across the fields, heading for a hill in the distance, saying the village I wanted was behind it.
I found an arrow on reaching the road near the foot of the hill and there took to a forest again. I came out at a clearing and a road and crossed it and passed a stone cross so knew I was on the track again. I then came to a small church that had carved shells on every panel of its doors, and some of its key stones another good sign.
I took photos and entered the forest again. It was beautiful but I was tired. I came quietly out into a clearing and stopped. In front of me on the start of a bridge over a motorway stood a deer looking at me, she stood silhouetted against the sky some twenty yards away. As soon as I moved a hand to get my camera she was gone.
As I walked down the track the other side of the bridge I text Maisie hoping she might have an idea where I was, and then saw a village in front of me, Arejo. It was late afternoon I’d text at quarter past four. I found a café and after my ‘vino verano’ I asked about the albergue. The woman told me where to find it and I walked there. When I entered, tired out, I found a large dirty room with four mattresses. All of them occupied by the same fast walkers soundly sleeping. Shit! That meant I would have to spread my thin floor mat on the dirty floor. Swearing to myself I took out my wash gear, changed my clothes, showered and rubbed out my washing, then went out and found the only place to dry it was on a dusty iron grill over the window of the building opposite. Oh well, I hung it there and hoped no one would object. I went back into the albergue but just didn’t feel like lying on the hard floor. I found enough energy from somewhere to go out and look round the little town. I walked the way the yellow arrows pointed thinking it might help me tomorrow in the dark before dawn. As I cleared town walking along a lovely tree lined country lane, I wondered if I should sleep rough tonight? At least it would be clean dirt! I studded several places, ‘fields, a forest clearing? But no, couldn’t make up my mind. Walking back I took a side road up the hill, came upon the main road and found an expensive restaurant. I entered and had a coffee but they would not feed me.
“It’s too late, no food till nine o’clock tonight” I was told.
I left and wandered down to the little bar, the one I had first found and asked for a bocadillo.
“No bread” She informed me.
I must admit my temper broke, I was very tired I had walked some thirty kms. I exploded saying if they wanted Peregrinos to come, better learn to feed them, and I stormed out. Outside I felt guilty at my outburst, but I was determined to go now.
Back at the albergue I collected my washing, stuffed it into my bag tying the wet bits on the outside. Swung it on my back grabbed my sticks and left shutting the door loudly, the others were still supposed to be asleep as they lay on their bloody mattresses.
I asked a man from the village how far to the next village walking by the Via. He answered in the local dialect
“Oh not far about seven kilometres.”
Well, I thought that was what he said.
Note:
As I kept no accurate notes and have to rely solely on my memory, some information quoted from here maybe out of sequence until Padornelo.
I came to a rough tack going up hill, there were arrows pointing up it. It was seven o ‘clock by now. I thought, the sooner I get my back into this the sooner I’ll arrive. I stuck my sticks in the ground and set off at a quick pace up the track. By eight o’clock it was starting to cool and I thought about sleeping out again. I stopped and looked at my surroundings. To the left of the path I could hear the sound of a rushing stream coming through the trees. Ahead the path disappeared into the forest again, it looked dark and thick. While the grassy slope to my right with the sun on it, looked warm but rather exposed should it rain. The sloping grass had a few smooth granite rocks, and some scrub. Choosing what might be the most suitable spot I put down my rucksack. I’d had a tent once but posted it on remember. I should have thought to try this set up before, I had just presumed it would work. I unpacked the foam mat and my sleeping bag and got out my waterproof cape. I spread the cape and laid it over the mat. Next I put the sleeping bag on it and rolled that out. It became immediately obvious that the cape would not cover the bag. I unwrapped another thin plastic cape, my daughter had given me and tried the two. Both capes were slippery and on this slope (there was no flat ground available) I would slip out even as I tried to climb into it. No, it wasn’t going to work! I had absolutely nothing else to make a suitable cover for the night. I would have to keep going and find a village.
I had climbed for a hour and seen nothing to say the thick scrub and forest would give way to a village and now over the tops of the trees I could see high mountains, their bare tops above normal tree line. There must be a way through, perhaps a valley I can’t see from here I reasoned. Dark clouds were starting to gather and the heat was going from the weak sun shining just above the mountaintop.
I repacked quickly, I had wasted a lot of time I must get going. What if the next village is as far down the other side, as the one I’d left so long ago! That old man I’d asked hadn’t had a clue how far the next village was! The track became narrow and overgrown. In places it was just a muddy creak. I pushed on and came out into a clearing with the roar of water somewhere very close. In front, up the slope I could see the track crossed a stream over a wooden bridge that had recently been built for walkers, but I crossed on the old stepping stones just below it. The track now went between scrub covered banks and was so full of soft mud and water you could not walk up it without getting your feet and boots soaking wet. I decided to try to get up the right-hand bank before they did, and push a new track parallel to the old one.
I climbed the bank and pushed through the long grass and bushes and travelled about fifty meters. The bushes became too thick, and I couldn’t go any further. Puzzled as what to do next I retrace my footsteps. About half way back I found a break in the bushes. I slid down the bank and onto the water-laden track. Taking a couple of quick steps directly across, I reached the other bank without getting my feet wet, although slimy mud now caked my boots. I climbed the left bank as best I could. Here the bushes thinned out, it was now mostly tall grass. I looked up the way the track was going and struck out a little to the left to clear some scrub and then gradually back towards the track again. When I got back to the track I found it was much deeper between its two banks but I could see it was still deep mud and water at the bottom. A little further on the grass gave way to woodland. As I went on I realised I was getting very high above the track, and it was getting harder to push through the trees. Walking on a bit more and I glanced down again and thought the track might be just passable if I could get down the steep bank to it. Taking a chance I set off down the bank at an angle and nearly arrived on my face, but by grabbing a convenient tree branch, I arrived at safely. Well I wasn’t going back up so I started to walk on the clumps of grass and rock sticking up above the water and found the bottom here was much firmer than it had been lower down, so I continued up it again in this manner. All was in deep shade now.
I came to a junction with a wider track, still no arrows! I decided to go left. I turned but soon a notice on a tree and a yellow painted sign informed me I wasn’t to go any further! I turned round and walked back in the other direction back past where I had emerged from the trees. This new track went up steeply but by my calculations it was going in the wrong direction, but I had no alternative but to go on. I came across some foam plastic bubble rap that had been blown here, probably from the road I could hear traffic on somewhere above me. I shivered, I was freezing, I stopped and put on an extra T-shirt and stuffed the foam under my waistcoat and up to my neck, and re tied my tiny thin scarf round my neck. I still had nothing on my arms except a cotton shirt. I got out my cape and put it over my pack and round my arms and felt a little better.
The track soon doubled back in the right direction but was still climbing steeply. I came out onto another wider road, it didn’t look as if it had been used by traffic for sometime. I turned right, ate my last banana and toyed with the idea of rolling up in my sleeping bag under some green bushes, then told myself I’d be mad. I’d freeze and die of exposure if it rained!
This road eventually came to a clearing with a small three-sided building and down and to the left was a large tin shed or old factory building. There were heaps of hard concrete and rubble about.
‘Probably a bulk concrete factory, at onetime. It still doesn’t look much like a warm place to sleep. It’s bloody cold enough to snow’ I shivered.
I crossed the bleak wind swept yard and found on the other side an arrow. I had to get over the mountain tonight and there was to be no quick hidden valley that was sure. A little later I could see a concrete motorway bridge ahead, it disappeared into a tunnel through the mountain ahead, and then another bridge, both exceedingly high, with cars looking like a child’s toys. The cold wind was blowing relentlessly as the sun slid behind the mountain.
‘God I’d get blown away if that’s the only way to cross the chasm’ I worried.
I steadily climbed nearer to them and went under their great concrete spans. Bits of a lorry were scattered about. ‘No shelter here, and looks like someone had a lot worse luck than me’ I mused. At the far end of the chasm I could see an old stone road bridge. I could see my path now crossed this bridge and back down the other side, then under the motorway again on the far side. A stream rushing under the old bridge put paid to any thoughts of sheltering there. I walked along the other side till I got to the big bridges again, shivering. Water from some mountain water source poured from under them, no shelter here either I decided. Cold and shivering I went on, climbing higher. An arrow sent me off the road straight up towards the mountain peak, I came to the road again as it took its longer but less strenuous way, zigzagging it’s way upwards. Again I went straight across and up steeply, puffing and blowing. Three times I came to the road but the third time an arrow sent me left along it, the road stopped climbing. I had at last came over the top of the pass. I could see the motorway came out of its tunnels down below me and on the left of it, a building looked as if it might be a motel but I couldn’t see how I could possibly get there, because it was on the left-hand side of the motorway and I was on the right with a number of fences in between it and me. My track now came to a road and I started to go down that. The recurring thought kept running through my tired brain. What if the next village is as far down this side, as the one I had left so long ago, way back down the other side?
Rounding a bend in the road I saw some buildings and a lorry, just past the lorry looked like a bar sign. I looked at my watch it said nine thirty, perhaps that old man at the start had said ‘Diecisiete’ that’s seventeen kms! I was convinced I had done more than seven and most of them nearly straight up. I opened the door and almost fell into the little bar. An old man behind the bar was talking to his only customer, the truck-driver. I called for a large white coffee and a cognac as I took off my pack. I felt the coffee start to warm me inside and the cup warm my cold hands. Now I grabbed the glass of cognac and put half its contents down the same way as the coffee then tipped the rest in the coffee that remained in the cup.
Starting to feel better now I asked if there was a place to stop the night and the old man went through and came back with his wife and she said there was a room with two single beds and with a bathroom and shower in the hall. There was one other ‘Peregrino’ from South Africa already in an adjoining room, and she described Nicholas. I said I’d take it but could I get something to eat as I was cold and hungry. She said if a bowl of soup and a cutlet of veal would do I could go through to the dining area and she would bring it to me. Well I sat down to a large hot bowl of hot ham and vegetable soup, as thick as stew. She served me, then placed the serving bowl on the table saying help yourself to more if you want. Oh it really did the trick, I rather bolted down the first bowl full and took another and had almost finished when she arrived with a very large plate of veal and chips. All washed down with good house wine. They ate exactly the same meal at another table. It was a cheap meal especially considering the amount I ate. Afterwards she showed me to my room in an adjoining building. It was basic but clean and comfortable. I showered and went to bed leaving my stick outside the door so Nicholas would see it.
20/06/04
Sunday
Photos --1189--1197
To LubianNicholas knocked as he left in the morning and we chatted about the walk. It had been a very long one for both of us. Today he was going to go past the next albergue, that was only eight km further on, and walk another twenty-five kms to the next one. I decided to just do the eight kms to Lubian, and make an easy day of it.
Setting off, I soon found a petrol station that was just opening with a coffee vending machine. Here I received my morning coffee fix. No one about much as it was Sunday. It was an asphalt road all the way to Lubian but it was little trouble in the cool of the morning and I arrived just after ten. I asked and found the albergue keeper walking up the street and followed him home where he stamped my credential and gave me the key. I found the albergue, there were four double bunks and I picked one. It was a bit of a shame, I thought, the fast walkers would get beds. ‘Still I mustn’t be too vindictive’ I thought as I started doing my washing including my trousers that had not been washed for a few days and my night-clothes. While doing this the four arrived and one German male insisted on using the shower before I had finished and sprayed water everywhere including over me. Then left the room flooded and I had to mop that up before I could shower. I was now in a bad mood. I hung out my washing.
This used most of the washing lines across the front balcony. The sun was out so I thought they would soon dry. They had done the same to me on several occasions before, one has to find an alternative. As there were no chairs, I sat on the floor of the balcony in the sun, and started whittling the end of a new stick I had cut that morning. I had made a tiny gap in the washing by hanging two socks together directly in front of my face. Now it was the lady of the group’s turn to have a go at me. She hung her dripping wet black nickers in the little gap, six inches from my face and told me with a silly grin on her face.
“You should sit somewhere else!”
I decided I should go for a walk or someone might get knifed accidentally or I might at least slip and cut the crutch out of a large pair of black panties. I went out and they did their usual trick of spreading their gear over the rest of the beds to make sure any new people that might arrive would think all the bunks were all taken.
A couple of hours later Mark arrived as I sat on the step whittling. I had seen a woman leave not knowing she was the lady looking to collect the three Euro from each of the other four. I presumed she must be a walker, having probable taken the bunk above mine. I said to Mark I thought all bunks had gone and he left and booked into the hostel just round the corner and paid twenty-five Euro for the night. This selfish behaviour from the four fast walkers at every opportunity really got to me!
At two thirty I went to eat a meal that I had ordered earlier in the restaurant at the same hostel. I found Hank already there and although he had eaten half his lunch he suggested I eat at his table. The music was blaring out of a disc player and he asked the proprietor to turn it down. We passed the time of day and ate a very good meal and he left when he finished, refusing the invitation of a drink with the proprietor. I took a liking to the proprietor ‘Juan’ as we sat drinking the orujo he had treated me to, laughing and chatting together. He turned the music volume down a bit more and said,
“The other gentleman, he asked for the music volume to be either turned up or down at least four times before you came in.”
I met him again later with Hank in another bar that stood on the main road, and here my new Spanish friend kindly paid for my beer as he left. I, in my poor Spanish, heard and understood what he said as he paid and left. Hank drank four beers in quick succession before going back to the albergue to bed, which he and the others always did very early, so that they would be first up in the morning I presume. I paid my bill and had to remind the barman that although I’d had two beers, one had been paid for!
I bumped into Mark on the way back and he asked me to eat with him at the restaurant. I said I had had a big meal there at two thirty but would join him in a drink and maybe a salad. We drank a bottle of wine and I had my salad and a nice sweet but of course I’d forgotten, I paid for a full menu. No wonder the vegetarians get upset at times. Still it was a nice meal and I left happily a little tipsy back to my bunk bed while Mark retired to his posh room with balcony.
21/06/04
Monday
Photos --1197--1200
To La Gudiña
I set off last at twenty-five to eight. Had a text from Reinhard and Maisie but the phone battery was low. It was cool and misty. I put on my cape and walked the road way and didn’t see the other route.
It was a very pretty walk, steadily climbing and I saw another deer in the forest beside the road.
The road disappeared into the mist for a time as I got higher. I found the old pilgrims stone beside the road and took a photo of it, then went on towards the pass.
I reached the top and laid a flower on the stone cross as I often did. I saw the track left just beyond the boundary stone of Galicia. As I walked to it Mark appeared coming up a steep track out of the scrub.
He had walked up through the valley on a mud track. It had run we thought, a bit lower down than the road and he said it had been quite hard going. I was glad I had come by the road way, the asphalt had not been hot and I’d really enjoyed the easy walk. While we chatted we ate a snack and the rain started to come down. It was getting hard and we put our rucksacks on again and I adjusted my cape. Mark put on his rain jacket and trousers and happened to say how much he had paid to get a really good set. We set off, as it didn’t look as if it was going to stop raining, and it didn’t stop much all afternoon. We were very wet by the time we stopped for a coffee and cognac. To get this we had to go into a village and out of our way a little to a hotel bar by a garage that was on a road running parallel with our track. We had seen the hotel way over to our right as we had walked along.
Recharged we went back to the village and found the Via again. The rain continued to fall but it was a lovely walk all the same.
We eventually came into La Gudiña and we found the albergue just the other side of a bridge on a side road in the town. We had to hang our wet gear outside of the albergue under the porch, we were then issued a bed by Dutch Yvonne. The albergue was new and very clean and workmen were putting finishing touches to the paint-work inside. The albergue was run by a very efficient, English speaking Spaniard. After a short rest Mark and I decided to go and find a bar and find a place to eat for later. For a fairly big town it lacked much atmosphere, we had a drink in a deserted bar then walked a long way down its main street going down hill. Mark saw a Spanish girl in a garage that he knew and we went across and chatted. The boy friend was having problems with his feet and they were arranging a taxi for the morning but were reluctant to say how far it would be taking them. Funny how no one wants to give up and the few who cheat a little, hate to admit it. We left her there and went further down the street and came to a busy junction with a hotel and several bars and decided to look into a small bar tucked in the corner on the right hand side of the road and crossed over.
Here a birthday party for a seven-year old girl was in progress. The place was packed with Spanish mums all talking at once and kids shouting across their table as they stuffed their mouths with some great smelling food. I thought as it was such a popular bar, it must be a good place to eat. We ordered a couple of beers and sat at the bar listing to the bedlam that ensued from the kid’s party. After a while I managed to call the bar lady over and ask if we could eat.
“Not till eight o’clock till the cook returns” she informed me.
Oh well! We decided that the walk up the hill back to the albergue and then back again at eight would be too energetic. Although there had been restaurants, we had seen no promising ones on the way here. The alternative was to have a few more drinks and wait till eight o’clock and eat here, we could then ring for a taxi. To get out of the sound of screaming children we retired to the patio in front of the little bar. This exercise was a waste of time. The children on finishing their food, came outside to play a game, this involved swinging a toy with flashing lights on a piece of string fixed to a plastic ring around the kids ankle. The Spanish mums took the table next to us and took no part in supervising the little dears. A little boy with a stick very nearly hit Mark on the head and on telling the child to be careful, the child did it again to see what he had done wrong. This time he had better luck and hit Mark on the back of the head much to the amusement of the wine-drinking mums.
The cook never came till eight thirty and we had been drinking on an empty stomach. This may be why I can’t remember what we ate except it was good. We did drink a nice bottle of red wine with it, I think. In the end we decided to walk back to the albergue as the wine had dulled the pain in our feet and we thought the walk might help clear our heads.
22/06/04
Tuesday
Photos --1200--1208
To Campobecerros
Casa Rural NuñezWe were late getting away as we stopped and had a coffee in a cafe on the main street. We knew there were almost no bars today on our mountain route, well according to Marks guide book anyway.
We came to Campobecerros, a small village nestled in a valley that had been the centre of a stone quarrying area many years ago. Here we found a restaurant and bar advertising trout on the menu, run by two sisters and their mother. We stopped and had a coffee and asked if we could eat. I said I would love to eat trout, as I hadn’t had any this trip.
“No you don’t want them, they're only farmed fish. This time of the year they aren’t any good.” I was informed.
We were taken into the restaurant and fed an enormous meal cooked by the mum, I noted we were eating the same meal of ensalada mixta, veal and a pasta, as the family, ridiculously cheap too. If I remember right our bill for four ciders, a bottle of wine and the three course meal was four maybe five Euro each.
We left saying we would give the Santo a hug from them and went into the street to look for the albergue we thought was possibly here, as now we had left it very late to walk the fifteen or so kms to Laza. We were informed on asking a couple in the street that we had passed it, a ‘Casa Rural!’ Of course, it was the same restaurant as we had had our meal in. We returned rather embarrassed, and asked had they any rooms?
“Yes of course, you never asked” they laughed as I explained what we had done.
One girl took us to see the room. This was a bright and sunny room with two single beds. Two large glass doors opened onto a balcony looking out at the beautiful misty mountains and just below the balcony were the tanks of trout that they wouldn’t serve for dinner. It was all brand new new new with a superb bathroom and shower that worked properly. After some of the rough places we had stopped in this was paradise. We did our washing and hung it on the balcony to dry. I then walked through the quaint little village taking photos.
Several houses were bridged right over the narrow streets. A baker was selling bread from a van and a then herd of cows were driven down the narrow street on their way home for the night. I did find there was another bar and of course there were rooms there if we had wanted them, but we were very happy where we were. Returning to the room, I met Mark and we decided the washing was not going to dry as it was raining really hard again. So we strung a line across our lovely room from the wardrobe to the television bracket on the far wall and hung the washing across, hoping the owners didn’t peep in to see how we were getting on.
With mountains all round the only way I could get phone text out was to lay the phone on the metal handrail of the terrace balcony
23/06/04
Wednesday
Photos --1208--1213
To LazaI had a bad day worried about some things at home, but the scenery was wonderful. We were walking through high mountains in the clouds a lot of the time it was very dramatic and pretty.
Ulli joined us in the albergue, a two-thirds glass building on the outskirts of the little town. We went to find the bakers to get bread for tomorrow’s breakfast and lunch and when we got there, we found the shop closed. The neighbour working in his garden called over the fence to Ulli, saying
“Go round to the back,”
But still she found no one. Returning to the front garden again she was then told to go up the alley to the street behind and ask for the mother-in-law of the baker! Laughing and thinking we must be mad, we all went down the alley into the narrow street behind, turned left and after fifty yards Ulli spoke to an elderly lady standing in a doorway, explaining we were peregrinos and needed bread for tomorrow,
“Which is the house of the mother-in-law of the baker?” She asked in her good Spanish.
This seemed to start a big argument as the old lady turned, and in the local dialect shouted loudly up to an open window. Here now appeared another old lady. After a loud discussion she in turn, called out to another in a doorway further down the street, that started another loud exchange of words. This woman then called up to another open window where there appeared one more elderly lady. This one came down from her upstairs room and met us in the street and was in fact the mother-in-law of the baker!
“Bread? Why of course I have bread for peregrinos,” she said as we apologised for making her open the shop. She guided us back the way we had come until we turned and entered the yard at the back of the baker’s shop. Through the big glass doors we could see the bread ovens and empty bread racks. Our baker’s mother-in-law unlocked the door and we entered and she now asked what was it we needed.
“Solo una barra por favor”-only one loaf please!
She lent over a deep wicker basket and pulled out three bread loaves and we picked one.
“How much?” we asked.
The cost was less than fifty cents!
Earlier we had ordered a meal in the Hostel restaurant that we’d found near the entrance of the village. We returned there and we found Jacques and Bernadette again. We had a good soup and a meat and pasta dish while poor Ulli had the ensalada mixta and was expected to pay for the full menu again. I believe Mark and I split some of the cost to make it fair.
24/06/04
Thursday
Photos --1213--1217
To XunquieraIt was nice to have Ulli with us again. We set off together but I still had trouble going at their pace especially climbing mountains. Getting to the top of the first one all shrouded in mist Ulli turned and moaned
“Come on, I get tired going this slow!”
“You’d better go on,” I answered “I thought I was hurrying!”
She soon disappeared into the mist.
Mark stayed with me for a while then I had to stop for a pee and I lost him too. Coming to the next village later it was starting to rain and I found a bar. On entering I found Mark drinking coffee.
The ceiling was covered in clamshells each with a name and date. The barman invited me to do the same and gave me a pen and a shell then after I wrote on it, he nailed it to a beam. Two coffees con cognac, plus we both accepted an invitation by the barman to an orujo. Well three orujos later we managed to stagger out to complete our walk!
It was raining again when Maisie phoned but the phone was in my rucksack and it played a tune I had not heard before. Stupidly, (could have been the drink) I just presumed it must be some new fangled type of message from a new server and never stopped to get it out to answer it!
Mark and I more or less stayed together till we arrived tired at a new modern albergue, a strange all rusty steel building (kitchen-dinning room) to the right of the track just before Xunquiera. We rested a while then as the rain had stopped I did my washing and then had hell of a job to find somewhere to string a line to dry it. Amazing how they build these new albergues without place to do or to hang your washing! We found Ulli already here and went into town, (quite a walk) where we bought a bottle of wine and some food to cook for our dinner because Ulli, a vegetarian, had said she was fed up with eating salad each day. I cooked the peppers and onions, which we sheared with Ulli. Followed by pork chops cooked with herbs and pimentón. Mark and I also shared her vegetables and for a sweet, a very soft cheese eaten with the stiff block of jam jelly stuff you get in Spain. This cheese and jam thing is a traditional sweet and I encountered it several times afterwards, its extremely nice.
25/06/04
Friday
Photos --1217--1221
To Ourense
It was quite a hard walk, but there were a number of cafes but Ulli insisted we shouldn’t stop till we’d got to within ten kms of Ourense.
Turned out that we were glad we had, as it was much further than any of us had realised. We found a place at about the right distance out, and as the asphalt roads were beginning to make my feet ache again and I was glad of the stop. After a coffee in this café, we found there were miles of miserable suburbs to go through.
We arrived at last very tired, in the sloping Plaza Mayor. Lovely stone buildings formed the square, an arcade ran across the highest side supported by fine stone columns. Beneath were several busy bars that had tables in its shade. As the afternoon shade now spread into the street, some even had tables in the roadway, most were occupied. We found one on the street right on the corner, here we sat to enjoy our ‘tinto de veranos’. While sitting there, firstly Mark was nearly rundown by a car, no wonder there was no one at this table! Then we were accosted several times by beggars! Later on when the three of us reflected back on our stay in Ourense, we all noted Ourense had a larger population of them than any Spanish town we’d seen, yet it looked so prosperous. We were never able to discover why!
Our stop made us a bit late getting to the albergue that was situated right at the very top of the hill. It was a very nice place and we washed and lay down to rest, and who should walk in but Nicholas!
He went on to explain
“I’m staying in the sick bay. I arrived three days ago transported here by the Guardia de Sevilla. They picked me up from the side of the road. I couldn’t walk any further, my hip had become so painful! I’ve been to the hospital and they examined me, and said my false hip joint’s perfect, but it’s inflamed with all the walking and I’ve got rest it. That was two days ago.”
He was walking quite well again and the hospitalaria who’d allowed him to use the room in the albergue seemed to have a soft spot for him. I unfortunately never found out if he continued or not, and somehow he never gave me his email or address.
I did hear from him later but have since lost contact with himI guess I thought more about it after that. I’d made sure everyone
knew when I’d been suffering. Anyway I certainly had a lot more respect afterwards for our Nicholas.
Just as I was settling down again to sleep when Maisie phoned and woke everyone. I went down stairs and she rang again it was lovely to hear her.
Ulli got her boots mended yet again, this time at no cost, a special for a peregrina. We walked to the tourist bureau and asked where to find a pizza bar. Mark wanted someone to do his washing and left Ulli and me to find the bar while he arranged to get his washing done, then he would come and find us. The pizza bar was not quite where the map had said. We found one that Ulli liked the look of, but I said
“Mark won’t find us here.”
“But look its cheap, and they do a vegetarian one and look at the tablecloths, it’s posh!”
I had to agree but I insisted and got her to come down the road and look at the one on the map. Ulli was getting touchy, she wanted the better one, I caved in,
“Ok we’ll go back and hope he finds us, but on a second look, the posh restaurant was shut! We had to use the other one anyway and luckily Mark found us just before we ordered. Ulli cheered up when we decided to stay another day, as we had not had time to look at the cathedral and things and promised we would eat at the posh pizza bar tomorrow lunchtime.
I’d begun to think more strongly about walking to Fisterra after the Vía del Plata. I’d noticed both Mark and I had been slowing and not wanting the trip to finish.
26/06/04
Saturday
Photos --1221--1229
OurenseFirst things first we booked into a hostel because the albergue would not let us all stay another night. I think I might have got away with it on my own but there were several others wanting to stay overnight. A new place took a bit of finding but we found one over a bar and Mark and I would share a room while Ulli took a single. We went back to get our gear and chatted with Nicholas and his hospitalaria and another Canadian woman before booking out. What really tickled us all happened while we were making a drink in the albergue kitchen.
Nicholas had said very little to anyone about having an artificial hip, until he had to stop here. I knew, but I don’t think anyone else did even Ulli. She now asked him outright
“What the hell did your doctor say, when you asked him if you’d be ok to walk a 1000 kilometres on the Via del Plata!”
Nicholas’s replied dryly
“I didn’t ask him, I told him!”
We stood like pop stars for some photos in the doorway for the Canadian woman, then left, dumped our stuff in our new digs and went to see the cathedral.
This was like so many of the wonderful churches we had visited previously until we saw an open doorway on one side off the main isle. We peeped into a beautiful room that had the most marvellous carvings and walnut panelling. We entered as quietly as possible, but my rubber-soled boots insisted on squeaking loudly on the polished wood floor. Once inside we realised the room was much larger than we had originally thought. It opened to our right with rows of pews with a number of people praying, and in front of them was the most fantastic thing I have ever seen all in all my life.
Through a gilded archway was a brightly-lit room that dazzled you, completely gilded and covered in carvings, painted statues and wonderful paintings from floor to ceiling. It was like looking inside a gleaming gold brick. But to me the most striking thing of all, from each corner and seemingly flying, flew a larger than life gold and painted angel figure, each one holding up the corner of a great golden canopy over the very elaborate centrepiece. Maybe it’s because I’d spent my life in the building profession, but I could only stare in wonder at the clever way the angels seemed to be flying with nothing to support them. With only one foot just lightly touching the corner, they were in fact the corner bracket and held the whole heavy canopy in the air. A sweet old lady stopped her prayers and waved us forward to enter the golden shrine. As I went forward, I tried hopelessly to walk on the edge of the carpet to stop my boots squeaking. Inside it was almost claustrophobic, a lady who had followed us through stopped in front of a beautiful Madonna at the rear of the centrepiece and reached up and touched her feet and whispered a prayer. Having no instruction in the catholic faith I felt I was intruding on hers. I turned the corner and an elderly man was crossing himself in front of the another statue. We waited for him to finish and came out to rejoin Mark who had not followed us through. We all seemed quite breathless as we whispered to each other how wonderful it all was. We came out to see the grey stone of the rest of the cathedral before us and it seemed cold in comparison. How many poor pilgrims over the centuries, having lived their life in filthy hovels in poverty, would, on entering this wonderful chapel, have thought they had already arrived in heaven. It certainty was how, I as a child, had believed heaven must be!
We turned right towards the side exit. To our right again was a great iron grill where you could see back again into the golden chapel and I tried to photograph it. I came closer and took another so as not to get the grill bars in the picture, switching off the flash as I didn’t want to disturb the worshipers therein. It was not very successful, the camera had so much light reflecting from all angles it could not focus properly. We came out and were accosted by a beggar woman on the steps.
Ourense was rife with them. This is a strange and amazing world we live in!
Behind this cathedral we found another and went in. It was different again. Here I was most impressed by the carved wooden confession boxes, there were so many! A priest entered one, probably thinking we should confess, and was probably right but we passed him by, now being more interested in the magnificent bunches of pure white lilies a woman was putting on and in front of the altar. She must have carried in eight bunches, each with just about as many as her two arms could hold. We left and went to find the posh pizza bar we had seen closed yesterday and here we had a nice meal. Ulli was very happy and so were Mark and I, having drunk the best part of a bottle of red wine. We left and went back to our new hostel here Mark and I stopped in the bar for an orujo before retiring for a siesta. Later we watched football on T.V. That night Mark fell asleep before me but was soon awake again, because of the groans and panted Aa-Aa-Aa’s issuing from the room adjoining ours. Someone was having sex in there and was not worried who heard. It was shockingly loud. I spoke to Mark saying
“I’m not counting but that’s the fourth time at least, its bloody frustrating for a man that’s been away from his wife for two months”
CRASH! My walking sticks fell over in the corner of the room onto the floor with a resounding crash that echoed through the building!
“That must have been the bloody vibration!” I exclaimed.
We both laughed out loud, while the panting continued unabated next door for another session. It eventually came to a climax! One-minute silence, then it started again slowly building up to another crescendo. Christ! We decided this was worthy of the Olympics, two gold medals wanted here!
