Hi all friends and peregrinos
I have managed at
last to get this last part of my walk - from Santiago to Fisterra, then on to Muxia
and back to Santiago - onto the Amazon Books pages.
You can 'Look Inside' it to see an excerpt on line and order a copy from them. If you are in Australia you may email me.
There is now another book on Amazon covering this Via del Plata walk - called Via del Plata Camino Experience to Santiago Compostela - from its start and up to Santiago. Type in Via del Plata on Amazon books or my name Mike Davey
Here are
the links: (You can type it in here in the 'search' box)
Amazon Spain:
(There's no 'Look Inside' available on this page)
To read from the beginning of this journey up the Via del Plata look on the left-hand side for September then Start and Cordoba
The Fisterra- Muxía Way
02/07/04
Friday
N05 Photos -1273--1279
To Negreira
I came down stairs with Mark the friend I’d made on the via del Plata camino that we both had finished the day before. We found the little dining room and an enormous array of food for breakfast here we filled our stomachs well, then after a good coffee, I shook Mark’s hand promising to keep in touch. I swung on my pack and set off into town at about eight am. I found the correct arrows pointing out of town in the direction of Fisterra and started to follow them. I was in the narrow street not far away from the hotel when I stopped to text my wife Maisie to say I was on the road and might get her to try to change my ticket home. Just as I finished, two young women carrying rucksacks came walking along the same pavement.
“Hola’ donde va?” said one smiling at me
“Fisterra,” I said “es buen yo andas contigo?” Is it ok if I walk with you?
“Si” she answered giggling to her friend.
I introduced myself as we walked and asked their names. I must admit I had difficulty remembering them but the shortest girl, was Virgicina (Vigi) and the other Conchita (Conchi). They told me they had walked part of the French camino and I told them I had walked the eleven hundred kilometres of the Vía del Plata. We got on extremely well from the start, they walked fairly slowly but it was better for me that way, rather than trying to keep up all the time. It is quite amazing how quickly you leave the city on this route and soon enter the lovely Galican countryside. There are several outstanding views of the cathedral if you look back occasionally too. I like to sing as I walk and started singing ‘Maritime’ a favourite song of mine. It felt good to be on the ‘Way’ again. As I finished they started singing one for me and both had lovely voices and would naturally harmonise together. We laughed sang and chatted till lunchtime, then as we came into the beautiful village of ‘Ponte Maceira’ they said they’d get some bread and make bocadillos to eat here by the river Tambre. They had spotted a van selling things from the back, but as we got close we saw it was not bread but fish being sold. We could find no baker’s shop so Conchi said
“Come, we will ask in the restaurant back there, they’ll sell us some.” Vigi was not so sure. We walked back and into the bar and asked, I was prepared to buy a sandwich as I had very little to eat except fruit. The man in the bar said gruffly
“No.”
He would not sell bread without a full lunch, and that was too expensive for us. It was his attitude that annoyed me, so I never bothered to ask about my sandwich. We came out and the two girls shrugged their shoulders
“Come on.” They called and disappeared down the sloping path beside the building then round in front of it.
I followed and we sat down on the stone path facing the river, right on the waters edge. Just to our left stood the beautiful old arched bridge spanning the river which we knew we’d have to cross later.
To our right a weir damned the river. Built into the dam, mostly on our side, were some huge boulders, with clumps of vegetation clinging precariously to them like small islands. The water cascaded round and over the weir’s top in a foaming white waterfall. As we sat in our cool spot out of the hot sun, the lovely sound of rushing water drifted across to us. Behind the weir, like a ladies looking glass, the water reflected the little puffy white clouds and brilliant blue sky above and the tall trees that lined its banks. The old water mill stood raised up behind us and was the source of the shade on our picnic spot. Virgicina and Conchita kindly shared their chorizo and yesterdays bread with me and I put in what little I had, a bit of chocolate a peach and two bananas, there was plenty even without more bread. We ate and watched three young children who were having a wonderful time,
swimming in the river.
It was a glorious spot and a moment I will never forget, sitting there with these two happy Spanish girls from Asturias.
We later paddled our hot feet in the cool clear water and sat watching the fish, then laid on the path and dozed for a while, it was idyllic. My two companions told me they came from Oviedo in Astuias. Their songs were mostly from the region and, as is common when the language is not your own, the individual song words were hard for me to understand, but I think in this case this was mainly because they were in Asturiano not Castellano Spanish, but it didn’t matter, it was magic!
We continued our journey after our rest and eventually found the albergue, a fairly new building just on the far side of the town of Negreira. About four o'clock we booked in and obtained beds but very soon the place was full to overflowing and mattresses were later put on the floor and some even slept outside under the porch.
The caretaker lady came round asking who would like dinner as she was going to cook a paella (she makes one every night I discovered later). We did our washing and put it out to dry and I looked around the town and bought some fresh fruit for tomorrow and went back to wait for dinner. We were not to be disappointed, it was very good, and our cook supplied the paella and wine for just seven Euro each. We were not late to bed because tomorrow was a walk of thirty-seven kilometres so we would have to leave at six. I laid there and decided to get Maisie to change my flight to get me home, instead of going back to France. I worked out the days needed roughly to finish my new walk and added a few to be on the safe side. I really felt I must return soon. ‘I hope she feels the same’ I thought ‘it’s been a long while. Tomorrow I’d better text her on my mobile.’
3rd July
Negreira to Olveiroa near Hospital
It must have been just after six a.m. when I got dressed. The girls seemed still to be sleeping, I didn’t disturb them though they said they wanted to get away fairly early. I came downstairs and tried not to disturb too many folk as I went to the loo then put on my boots, but people were on the move. I adjusted my pack and ate a banana and yoghurt out on the terrace. It was very misty and cool: No sign of the girls till after I had eaten, then they came and found me and made toast in the kitchen for breakfast, and after having eaten it we left. The path went by the church, looking very spooky in the dawn light in the mist. We turned left onto a path that climbed up through a forest. We were walking in the mist with the moisture dripping softly from the trees, but it was clearing. About nine o’clock and some eight kms out, it was damp and cold as we turned off the track and up through a village looking for a café. We were out of luck, the bar was closed as usual, and there were several of us wanting coffee too. I can never understand why do they advertise a bar if they’re not going to open the hours when the people will be passing? All the walkers would pass here between nine and ten in the morning. The others went back to rejoin the track where we had turned left and followed the signs to the bar, but we took a chance and continued along the road, hoping the track would come up to meet our road, which it did a little later on. We stopped in a bus shelter, out of the misty rain and had a bite to eat. As damp and misty as it was, it had been a very beautiful walk and my companions were fun to be with. We stopped a couple more times as we ambled over the mountains, the sun coming out warmly later.
We were going very slowly and a Frenchman caught us up and I found he could speak good English and a fair bit of Spanish too. I could not pronounce his name and started to call him Martin while his real name was Tanguy Emmzavel. I now think Emmzavel was his Christian name. We all got on well and he slowed down to our pace and joined us laughing and listening to the girls and me singing. There was something very special and magical about walking in the mountains of Galicia with these two charming girls singing their native folk songs, whether we happened to be walking in the mist over the high mountain moors or through its deep forested valleys or maybe we’d be ambling through one of its quaint little villages, with ancient farm buildings. Men and women would stop and smile and chat or wave at the sound of singing even if they working in the fields, maybe tossing hay in the old fashioned way with a pitch fork. I believe it was here somewhere that we came across an elderly woman with a bullock cart. Dressed in black she had a beautifully handmade wide brimmed straw hat. The girls were singing and she smiled at us happily. We stopped and spoke to her. She said she had made the hat herself many years before and took it off to show her fine straw work. She noted that I had flowers in mine and said how lovely they looked. At that the girls tried to give her some to put in hers but she wouldn’t have it. Saying
“It’s only my old working hat,” she then made the excuse laughing “I’m not dressed up to go dancing.”
She condescended in the end at Emmzavel’s insistence, to have a buttonhole of some of the wild flowers. We waved goodbye and she waved back beaming, wishing us all a good trip and a life full of happiness. I swear I heard her start singing quietly to herself, before going happily on her way with her bullock cart slowly trundling behind her.
We covered the thirty-three kilometres to the albergue, some five km this side of Hospital, by five o’clock. This little farming village stinks of cows, they keep one building right alongside the albergue full of them. Men downstairs, women up, said the notice and arrows. There was a top bunk vacant downstairs so I took it and washed clothes and showered then met the girls again outside. We set off to find a bar, as someone had said there must be one here somewhere. We turned a corner and saw a little old lady sitting in the back of a tin shed. We ambled over and Virgicina asked her in Castellano where there was a shop or a café. The old lady opened her mouth exposing one giant blackened fang (A pickle stabber! my old aunt Emm would have called it) she had nothing else in the way of teeth. She spoke a stream of words that none of us could understand! Virgicina tried again, in Asturiano this time, it had the same affect, and after three tries we gathered more from her arm movements than what she had said. We must go straight up the road and turn right, or then it could have been left?
We left her sitting there, patiently waiting on her rickety old chair, watching the busy world pass by her little hut, waiting for the next unsuspecting peregrino to pass by and make her day by asking ‘Which way?’ too!’
“The new albergue and its daily influx of peregrinos would have brought her a lot of pleasure” laughed Conchita. “She said something about a house. Maybe two?”
We walked past the second house,
“Was it the second one?” queried Vigi raising her eyebrows.
A bit further we could see our narrow lane met a main, but still a very country road, at a junction. We looked left and right. To the left was a hill past a lot of farm buildings, to the right we could see a few houses and so walked to them. Still no bar, but there was a woman whom we might ask, working in her garden,
“Back up the road on the right,” she said to Vigi in strong dialect again. This time we did just understand
“We should have turned left.” I said, “It was obvious that old lady didn’t know her left from right” I joked.
Topping the small hill we found the bar and it was very busy. No real food only bocadillos, but why not eat at the albergue they are making “Sopa de Galicia.’ We must put our names on the list if we wanted to eat. ‘The list is in the lounge,’ someone in the bar commented. We ordered and drank our drinks and then feeling less tired went back, this time straight through the smelly village to our albergue. We found the woman taking names and stamping credentials. After stamping mine she said,
“Yes I’ll bring the ‘caldo’ to the dining room, it’s the room alongside this one, at about at eight thirty.”
Dinner was a great caldron full of hot thick stew, vegetables, cabbage, chorizo and beans, and lovely crusty bread. I imagine this meal to have been the main stay of ‘Galicana’ diet in the past, and probably still is in many country houses. There was a big crowd and near the end of our meal I found out, while I was asking everyone where they come from, that I was sitting next to the only other Australian I was to meet on my entire walk. He was a shy young man from the Eastern States of Australia who was now, unlike the rest of us walking back to Santiago, after having walked the Camino and then on to Fisterra. To my right on the end there was an interesting young man studying Celtic history and symbols. Then opposite me was a very enlightened young Spanish lady studying religion. There seemed nothing that these two didn’t know between them about the Via, its routes and history.
“For instance, what’s meant by the tall pointed pyramid stones that are seen on some places where a cross might have been used. For example the granaries here have a cross on one gable end and the tall pyramid stone on the other” He went on to inform us “This is a very strong Celtic symbol. The cross is put there in the hope the family might engage the help of God for a good harvest, and just to be sure, they also call on the pagan gods as well, by placing the pyramid on the other end.”
It was all very interesting to my two Spanish girl friends and me but some folk were getting tired and slid off to bed as the conversation got deeper. ‘Strange happenings on the Vía’ became the topic. After listening to others I told of my own experiences, the young woman informed me I was very lucky, I had received Christ on more than one occasion. Mind you, when I left for bed later I think they were starting to think the Devil may have had some influence too!
Outside I stopped to breathe the cool, country night air. I’d drunk a fair bit of red and had a cognac at the bar earlier. The woman who had stamped our cards and supplied the dinner approached me out of the moonlight and asked
“Is there any likelihood that they might finish talking soon, I want to lock up?
“Big possibility that they could be there all night. Religion’s on the menu” I chuckled.
We stood chatting and I happened to say
“It’s so hard to stop walking after reaching Santiago.”
“Verdad” and continued “but most people find reaching Fisterra very satisfying, and a fitting end to their mammoth journey and they can then go home in peace.” I hoped she was right.
4th July
Olveiroa to Fisterra
We set off and the four of us and were soon climbing over mountains again, dotted with new electric power windmills, then we started to look for a café as we met some drizzly rain. We found a café some ten kms out at the top of a hill. The rain soon stopped and from here we branched out and crossed some very misty mountains. You couldn’t see more than twenty meters in some parts and while I stopped for a pee, the others immediately disappeared into the fog. Strange feeling alone in the mist atop a bloody big mountain. I now spent my time fooling around howling like a wolf for the benefit of the girls as I tried to catch up, there were some out here they’d said. I shut my mouth and it became absolutely silent as it does in fog, a dog howled from the valley somewhere below, I wasn’t sure if it had been such a good idea, I quickened my pace till I could just see them ahead, and howled again for bravado.
The sun eventually drove the mist away from the superb mountain scenery we were walking through and we now got our first glimpse of the blue Atlantic Ocean ahead, it uplifted the very soul. The colours were stunning as we sang our way down from the high slopes. Rocky headlands, little fishing villages and green pine trees all added their colour, The calm sea was every blue you can imagine, finishing as a brilliant turquoise as it met sandy beaches.
“Who’s going for a swim” we asked each other, as it became a possibility.
We met a road and passed a graveyard and you could look down into it. Across it I could see a beautiful fishing village, with the calm sea in front. A sobering thought flashed through my brain. That same sea would certainty have laid many to rest here, it was not always as serene an ocean as it was today. It lasted only a fleeting moment and I stood again, happy to look at the beauty of it before continuing.
We passed through Cee and along the sea front and we went over the next hill and back to the sea before swimming.
Anyway we did decide to swim at an idyllic beach somewhere along here and we put our bags on the rocks and stripped and changed leaving some of our gear where it hit the sands. Emmzavel was way out and swimming by the time I got my feet wet.
“Christ! It’s freezing” I hollered as I waded out into the sea.
Conchita had beaten me and was now out there too, shouting for Virgicina to hurry up. It was a very shallow beach and I had to go someway out before it came up to my groin. When it did I nearly died and quickly decided I would be better off getting wet all over. I took the plunge and swam a short way, it was so cold it took my breath away. I stopped swimming and put my feet down, they were numb, but now sending sharp pains up through my skinny ankles.
Vigi had waded out nearly as far as I had, but a little over to my right. I shouted across encouraging her to get in and added,
“How can it be this cold when the sun is shining?”
Then I remembered this is the Atlantic, not the Pacific Ocean.
“Ahh! Don’t come near me” she screamed, scared I would splash her or push her under as I waded back towards her heading for the shore. She may have been just modest as she was only wearing her underwear.
I told her not to worry
“It’s too cold for me, I’m going in” I laughed and I set off again as fast as I could in the direction of the beach.
My feet were really hurting, ‘Oh!’ I shuddered, it was great to be out and on the beach again. Boy! I was glad it was a really warm and sunny day! Just at the moment that I came ashore, a wave swept up the beach and boots and clothes started to float off. I grabbed what I could and dumped them higher up the rocks, they were Conchita’s mostly. Then I saw Emmzavels rucksack, the bottom was right in the water. Forgetting my hurting feet I dashed forward hoping the water hadn’t penetrated too far, I snatched it up and put it on a rock further up the beach. I called out to them, but they were a long way out and having too much fun swimming and shouting to each other. I sat and towelled myself dry and massaged my feet and ankles, amazed at the stamina of my new friends, for I could see even Vigi had joined them frolicking in the freezing cold sea.
Coming to a small village we stopped at a bar adjacent to the beach.
Here the girls helped us order some succulent seafood, tiny little squid, their tentacle heads removed and stuffed inside the body sacks and fried with loads of garlic. That may not sound very appetising but believe me they were delicious. Small individual plates of fish, mussels, sardines a good wine and crusty bread. Emmzavel and I managed after a struggle to convince the girls to let us pay the bill between us then we set off again. A long walkway ran beside the sea, as we arrived almost to Fisterra my feet gave out for some reason. It may have been that I hadn’t been drinking enough water or maybe the cold sea had affected them.
The others were going strong so I said I was sorry but I would have to stop I couldn’t keep up. They insisted on waiting with me as I dumped my rucksack and sat on a post next to the beach. I removed my boots and massaged my feet and after a while they felt a bit better and I put on my boots again and tried to walk. Yes, I decided, we hadn’t far to go, and hoped they’d be ok now. We set off again and soon entered Fisterra and had to walk through the pretty old town to just behind the lovely harbour. Here we found the albergue and signed in and were issued bunks. I came down later looking for the others and found them milling about outside. They were going to walk to the lighthouse to watch the sunset at the end of the world as they say. As they had been unable to find me they were just going to leave as it was getting late. I dashed back and got my food to add to theirs and rushed back out to join them, forgetting to put on my walking boots again. It’s three kilometres to the lighthouse and now I had to walk there and back in my silly flip flop sandals and it was uphill most of the way.
We got there in plenty of time and hunted for a spot out of the wind that now blew quite cold and continued to get colder as the evening drew in. We climbed over the wall onto the cliff top and sat on a few pieces of concrete almost buried in the grass, our backs sheltered from the cold wind by the wall. Here the four of us shared our crusty bread and chorizo, and drank a good bottle of red wine and sang and watched the sun gradually sink below the horizon across the sea. With the last of the sun sending glittering gold and purple shadows cascading across the ocean. I text to Maisie half the world away.
“SUN 04/07/04 10.28 p.m. The sun has set here to the singing of Galicano songs. I think of you, to see it rise xxx.”
The floodlit church
seen walking back
05th JulyI start from Fisterra for Muxia
I couldn’t make up my mind whether to stay here another day or not, and I rose this morning still undecided. But on rising late I went down stairs to find the others, they were nowhere to be seen so I strolled over to the harbour and stared out across the water. Fisterra reminded me of Cornwall in England. The café that we had had coffee in yesterday on arrival back after the sunset was closed but there was a few people outside the albergue and I strolled back thinking although it’s a pretty place without friends I would get bored here alone. I decided then to say goodbye to my friends at 11 a.m. when they caught the bus back to Santiago, and eventually on to their respective homes. While they were taking the easy way back I would set off across to Muxia hoping to arrive before dark. As I stood outside the albergue a bus stood loading passengers. Suddenly a woman came up to me
“Could you use these tickets? There’re for today only, and we have changed our minds and won’t need them” she said pushing two tickets into my hand.
“Oh thanks!” I said hardly realising what she was on about.
I looked at the tickets in my hand, and by that time I looked up she was gone. Well I had two tickets to Santiago today. I had found lots of four leaf clovers from Santiago to Fisterra and one had actually been a five leaf clover, luck seemed to be coming from all directions. But then I wasn’t going to Santiago today but I knew two people who were! I smiled to myself and hoped they hadn’t bought their tickets yet.
Just then Vigi and Conchita came out of the door
“Come on lets go and get breakfast” they called.
I held out my hand and passed Vigi the tickets.
“I hope you haven’t bought your tickets yet.” I continued, “You know how lucky I am, all those clover leaves I found yesterday, well….” and I went on to tell them how I’d come to have two tickets for a bus to Santiago. I believe for a moment, she thought I’d gone out and bought them. I explained to her the tickets were no good to me and I repeated my story and she and Cochita excepted them gratefully. Luckily they hadn’t bought theirs so Vigi checked with the bus driver that they would be ok to use on the eleven o’clock bus and of course they were.
As we strolled back down to the harbour I said
“I think the cafes are closed but there might be one somewhere.”
Lady luck was strong that morning, over on the other corner one was just opening. We took our places sitting looking out across the harbour. At that moment the waitress arrived and we ordered.
“Hi” said Emmzavel coming up just as she was leaving.
“Espera un momento” I called and asked Emmzavel what he would like. The waitress went off to get the order and Emmzavel took a chair and we all sat chatting. The time flew and I looked at my watch, ten o’clock, I had a long way to go,
“I should leave.” I said sadly.
“I really should go now, I’m going to miss you, look here’s, my email” and I gave Vigi my card and I got them all to write theirs in my address book. I undid my bag, sadly I had no Koalas left but I gave Vigi a disc of me singing, I explained it wasn’t a good recording but I hoped it would work on her or Conchitas computer and bring back memories of our time singing together. As Emmzavel had a good knowledge of English I gave him a battered bush poetry book of mine. I had nothing to give Conchita so I just reminded her I would like her recipe for ‘Galicano’ stew that she had promised to give me someday. With a heavy weight inside and another back on my shoulders I kissed and hugged them all and waved goodbye. I’d made so many good friends walking, parting was always the hard part. Was it really only three days I’d known them. I looked back from the corner, my eyes were smarting, but I could see them waving from the café table, I turned and headed back through the town the way we had walked yesterday.
All through the town I was looking for the familiar arrows or the shell that was more often used here. I met several peregrinos arriving as I came down to walk along the beach again but could find nothing about Muxia. At the next cluster of houses and some shops I went in and asked for a baker’s and directions, the baker’s was almost next door (no sign) and I was told to take the first asphalt road I came to. I got my bread still hot from the baker’s and did as I was told and soon came to a yellow arrow painted on a post. As I was heading north I knew I had the right road at last. Luck soon changed. I came to a turning to my right, a concrete pillar set at an angle with a blue tile with yellow shell symbol. Ok so far so good, but reading it as we had always done, meant I had to go into the ground?
What I didn’t understand till some time later was from now on, all the way across to Muxia, the hinge of the shell pointed the way, not the point of the shell! While this is hard to describe it’s even harder to understand why. Why would anyone change the marking system halfway through a walk? There was a marker, so most probably there was a different road to take. Mmm! I looked at the map, it was not detailed enough to be of any help. I shrugged my shoulders and took the turning, thinking I could soon ask someone. I spotted a woman with a dog some way ahead, I quickened my pace, but she was going my way and just as fast. There wasn’t a house till the village in the distance, perched on a small hill. I saw the woman and dog cut off into a field and carry on walking, I would go straight on. At the base of the village there was a crossroads but no arrows, oh dear not a good sign. After hunting in the grass for yellow paint on a stone, or a tree, anything but finding nothing, I went straight across. I spotted a woman high up on some stone steps in front of her house, I called to her and asked the way to Muxia. She pointed up the steep hill into the village. I asked about yellow arrows but she just pointed up hill. Half way up the hill the road forked and still there were no marks. Two hundred meters further on two women had their faces pressed to the window looking at me, I went up to ask them. One opened the window and I explained I was lost, could she help.
“Muxia is over there” she said pointing. “You will have to go back and turn right, then in three kilometres turn right again.”
I thanked them and went back to the crossroads. Now I was not sure if she had meant turn here or way back were I first took the wrong road. I took a chance thinking she most likely meant here. In about two kilometres I could see a road that I thought might be the one I should have been on originally. Luckily I never tried to cut across the fields to it, because soon I saw a woman cutting cabbages in a field and went across and asked her. She told me to go straight on and take the turning to the right,
“The first one” she said as an after thought.
I came to a junction and there were two turnings to the right within a few feet of each other. The first more of a path but just wide enough for a little tractor, the second was a country lane. I took the first on her advice and hoped she was right. Later I joined a lane and came to a tiny village. I walked all the way through and saw no one, out the other side the lane petered out and returned to a mud track. I came to a cross track. Here stood a pine tree with an arrow round its trunk. First marker for miles but it was not clear whether it meant go up the hill or turn left. Again I would have to choose, I went up hill. The track soon went deep into a forest and up a logging track,
I searched for markers but found none. Some distance up the hill I decided I’d better go back and find someone to ask.
Back in the village again it seemed almost all the houses had big dogs loose in their yards. Not a good idea to open a gate to knock.
About half way back through the village a little girl stood staring at me with a yapping dog that now circled me, looking for an opportunity to dash in and bite.
“Where’s your mummy” I asked in my best Spanish.
She stood wide-eyed shaking her head. I tried again. After maybe six tries she shyly pointed into the barn behind her while the dog continued to yap loudly. Someone called from inside the barn, and I shouted to be heard above the dogs yapping and a woman appeared in working clothes and gum boots and shouted vainly at the dog to be quiet. I tried again but mum was no more used to castellano or to hearing foreigners speak than her little girl. Again I had to repeat myself several times before she understood.
“Yes you should go through the forest” she confirmed at last.
Leaving them standing staring and the dog still yapping, I set off back.
.
Over the hill I went and at last I could see the coast and knew I was going in the right direction. After a while I rumbled the shell markers and felt happy that I was still going the right way, even if sometimes there was a choice of taking a track or the road. I was pretty sure all I had to do was keep the sea on my left and I would arrive eventually. My feet were getting tired and I was sweating profusely as I came up a hill to rejoin the road once again. A man was standing at the top in the road in front of his house as I reached the junction, so I asked if there was a bar near. He told me there wasn’t one for some kilometres but as I looked tired, would I take a beer with him. I accepted and he disappeared and returned with a can for me. I dumped my bag and thanked him and sipped the cool beer. I started to feel a little light headed and realised I must be a little dehydrated. I asked him if I could fill my water bottles from his garden tap and he nodded for me to fill them. We chatted and discussed the world and he was convinced Australians were all very rich with a lush country full of cattle and sheep and I explained how it was and added, you don’t walk twelve hundred kilometres if you are loaded with cash.
His two sons arrived in a four-wheel drive Toyota. They were broad shouldered brawny men and he told me they did most of the work now as he was getting too old for cutting trees and that they also farmed a few fields
“Enough for the house.”
He wouldn’t let me pay him for the beer and they all waved me on my way like I was an old friend.
I was going well for a while, then the track headed inland again, and I got lost once more. After walking miles I came down a steep hill and saw a few buildings a little way ahead. On reaching them I found it was a farm and hunting around I found the milking shed and a few women working and a bunch of kids in wellington boots. (There rarely seems to be a man about on the farms, just strongly built women working knee deep in cow dung, with either a bass broom or a pitchfork.) They sent me back a little way and out to the right along another road that I rightly guessed was in the direction of the coast, but still no markers for some kilometres.
I checked again with a man driving a tractor. All ok he said just keep going straight on. After a while I came through a valley in view of the beautiful coast again. I looked again at my map and I believe I had walked round a large hill rather than climb up and over it. Now all I had to do was to follow the coast road again. Like most coast roads this one wound in and out, up and down and I began to wonder if it would ever come to an end. Tired out, I saw people walking towards me over the hill in front. I must be getting near to Muxia I reasoned. I was, but the people here like to walk in the afternoon and I still had a fair distance to go, but at last I came to a line of houses and asked a woman (again) painting a iron gate, where was I to find an albergue. She told me to call at the police station, the ‘Guardia de Sevilla,’ as I came into the little town. This I never did because as I got to a big promenade, a man came up to me and said he was a French peregrino, and that I should go straight to the town hall,
“You should just be in time before they close for the day. Here you get a key for the gymnasium. I’m already there, and it’s free. It’s really good with showers with lots of hot water.”
I hate being accosted like this but was too tired to argue and went to the town hall with him.
A very friendly girl filled in my details and signed a certificate to confirm I had arrived at Muxia and stamped my certificate and even unsuccessfully, tried to phone the airport, to confirm my flight change. Maisie had text that I should try to confirm the new date of the fifteenth of July at ten fifteen in the morning, that she had made for me. I was also worried at the time about Maisie as she said she had to go for tests with her doctor for high blood pressure. The Frenchman waited and took me back to the gym saying he would save her the trouble of going. On arriving we were accosted by a plain clothed policeman who threatened to turn my French friend over to the authorities for living in the Gym. He’d seen him over several days he said. My friend could speak little Spanish but got the gist of the problem and kept repeating that the caretaker was “mi amigo”- my friend. I’d rumbled the scam, all it was, was Peregrinos are only supposed to stay one night. I think he had managed to stay a week by giving the caretaker a drink and getting a key cut. I believe he’d got lonely in this massive building on his own and wanted someone to share his good fortune as he saw it. We were left in peace and to take a shower and set out my bed on the floor on as many foam mattresses as I cared to use. I was advised to turn on all eight showers as this got the hot water running so I wouldn’t have to freeze waiting for it to come through, and where to plug in my phone to charge it. He knew where everything was and how to use it. I set my washing going in the machine and my companion said I could dry it later after dinner in the tumble dryer! After I’d cleaned up, we both went out to find a place to eat. The Frenchman wanted to eat in one place and I another so we split and I went in a restaurant down by the harbour and sat inside looking out across the choppy grey-blue water. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts of home, and maybe it was also my companion’s attitude of using everybody, getting things for free, even if he then shared this knowledge with me. I had seen a little of this on my journey but definitely not among my ‘Camino’ friends.
The little town reminded me of a seaside town in the winter in England. There were few people about, it was quite cold outside, and the town had a windswept winter feel about it. Many shops and restaurants were shuttered and closed as though it was out of season but I had just come from Fisterra and that had been all hustle and bustle compared to Muxia. This would be a hard place to make a living from the tourist trade. I ordered my meal and I remembered the oil tanker disaster a year ago on this coast, and asked the lady behind the bar if it was still affecting the fishing. She at first tried to make out she didn’t understand my question, then told me it wasn’t, but I felt that she hadn’t wanted to tell me the truth. My meal consisted of two sardines as starters and then a big plate of hake, squid rings, prawns and chips and a bottle of red. A man drifted in and ate at the counter and later a small family but that was all. I strolled back as the sun was setting and I went back, got my camera and returned to take a few pictures of the sunset from the plaza looking out across the ocean. It was lonely staring out to sea after yesterdays company, no singing tonight. I returned and rolled into my bag in this massive empty building.
6th July
Muxia to Olveiroa near Hospital
I never visited the sanctuary of ‘a Nosa señora da Barca’ and have felt guilty ever since. It is said, that the Virgin Mary landed in a boat made of stone at this point to aid St James the Apostle to preach the gospel. The boat is supposed to be visible in the sea. This explains why it has been included in the pilgrimage route since medieval times. I found a café open and had a coffee and a small cake and went across the little town to the harbour then started along the coast.
It was spitting with rain so I stopped by a bench and put on my cape. I had reached the first hill and as I started to climb I realised I was missing something. Damn! I had left my sticks somewhere and had to return. I looked around the place I’d put on my cape and as they weren’t there I continued all the way back to the bar. They were still propped in the corner! I started again and this time it started to rain harder but it stopped as I came back to the place where I’d turned round. I walked over the hill and through Moraime. I looked again at the map. It had written “The pilgrim must cross the village of ‘Os Muinos’ which is on the waterfront.” I could see a village way out to my left on the coast and wrongly assumed that was ‘Os Muinos’. I asked a lady leaning out of her bedroom window directions of the track ‘La Via’. She pointed down the road to a ruin and said it went down by the side of it. As I had been travelling on the road I had known I would have to take a path to the left soon, I’d been lucky as it was just a few meters away and was poorly marked. It went steeply down hill and was overgrown with weeds and stinging nettles.
I passed a path to the left but no one had pushed through lately, so continued down. A man, this time in a house ahead, leaned out his window shouting for me to go back and take the other branch track. Back up again I cut my way through the stinging nettles and it got a little better and eventually came out on a country lane. I headed right, then took a left and came to the beach.
I searched for markers in vain. But a path crossed a stream, headed up the steep bank then along the low cliffs through a lot of bracken. This track petered out and I turned round, found another possibility and got to the top of the hill and into a forest. Here I found a road. ‘Must turn left to get to that village on the coast’ I reasoned. After walking several kms, deep into a small valley covered in dense forest I came to a building. The road just stopped at it. There were no tracks.
“Oh God! I’m really stumped this time I’ll have to go back all that way!” I cursed to myself.
Right the way back to the beach I went and re-crossed the stream bridge at the bottom and took a track that headed inland into a valley where I could see some houses in the distance. ‘I might ask there’ I thought. I passed the houses and saw no one. The track by now had turned into a road and it lead at last into a village way up on the hill at the far end of the valley, here I asked a man and he advised me to go on and take a left past a café. I needed a coffee by now and stopped to get one and was told this village was Muinos not the one on the coast I’d seen. No wonder the arrows had disappeared!
I soon found an arrow and the sun was now shining as I came to San Martino de Ozon. Here I stopped and took a photo of the little church,
then another of the longest of the ancient granaries on stilts.
The unusual mushroom tops to the pillars are meant to stop the vermin getting in. I looked down as I put my camera away and spotted two four-leaf clovers in the centre of the track, my good luck must be returning I thought as I placed them in my little book. After crossing some lovely countryside I came to the village of Quintàns. Walking through the village I said
“Buenos días” to two ladies dressed in black, standing in the sun outside their house
“Buenos días, de donde vienes, tienes mucho peso”
(where have you come from with all that weight?)
I love chatting to villagers and stopped and told them of my journey. I finished with,
“I’ve done over twelve hundred kms by now, I’m returning to Santiago.”
“My! All your sins will truly be forgiven for such a pilgrimage. Have you eaten this morning, would you like a coffee?” said one.
“I’ve had a coffee thank you.”
“But what about something to eat, a biscuit maybe?”
I believe it’s rude to keep refusing such hospitality, and it was only a biscuit she offered
“Thank you I will share one with you” I replied smiling.
I could see by their excited smiling faces I had done the right thing as one hurried inside. She returned and pressed a large package into my hands. I was a little confused, but on looking saw it was two packets of biscuits fixed together in one outer cellophane wrapper. I thought she wanted me to open them so I tore the outer and went to give her a packet back while I opened the other to take a biscuit.
“No they are for you” she insisted.
“No! I can’t take two packets!” I said amazed and rather embarrassed at their generosity.
They both insisted I keep them, and nothing could persuade them otherwise.
As I started to crunch on my first biscuit. I became aware of a beaming round faced man, standing in the road with a pitchfork, watching and listing to the three of us. He now spoke to me and I couldn’t believe I had understood correctly till he repeated,
“Would you like a horse? I can get you one. Would you like a horse?”
I could see he really meant it and I had to explain
“Thank you, but I have nearly finished my journey and I will have to catch a train from Santiago and then an aeroplane to return to the other side of the world, to Australia. So, thank you but I can’t possibly take a horse.”
I took the ladies photo outside their front door saying I would always remember this moment. I would send them one. Silly me I forgot to take their address. Still, I hope soon to send a card with their photo printed on it, hoping the postman will know them and deliver it to the right house.
Munching biscuits I continued on my way light headed and text home
TUES 06/07/04 12.18pm 2 old ladies insist I take 2 packets biscuits then a man offered me a horse. Can u imagine that.
Maisie replied, U obviously look tired & hungry!
I then remembered and text
TUES 06/07/04 12.28pm I had just found 2. 4-leaf clovers. The other day a 5-leaf one xxx
She replied, Buy a lottery ticket! Xxxx
I never did, but my day was not over yet, I still had a long way to go.
Walking along a country lane I stopped in front of a stone cross on a corner and struggled up the bank and placed a little flower from my hat on its base as I had done so many times before. I smiled to myself, I must be mad as if I’ve not enough walking to do, let alone getting up here to place that poor little flower that no one will see. I climbed down and the lane meandered on and crossed a shallow valley of farmland and by a few stone houses. I said “Buenos días” to a woman and her child in her garden and confirmed my way.
A little farther on a peasant farmer and a mule pulling a rusty single plough with a single rickety iron wheel squeaked round the corner. It could have been a scene from a hundred years ago. I can’t understand why but I never thought to take out my camera. He stopped the mule in the middle of the road and we chatted and his old mule waited patiently. I told him of my journey, of the generosity of the ladies in black, how I could have had a horse too by now, how I’d sung for three days with two sweet Galicana ladies. He told me I would often find such hospitality here in the country in Galicia, but times were changing he said sadly.
“Our cities and towns have their problems now” he warned.
We spoke about the green and lush countryside. How it would grow almost anything and how beautiful it was. He then said I must go a little way off my route to find a beautiful waterfall that cascaded over the rocks in a valley and was only known and used by locals. I thanked him saying I would try to find it. I left him and turned the corner and took a right turn as the road went up the other side of the valley. Before entering a forest at the top I stopped, thinking I would take a photo of the valley below, and knew it should contain my friend that I’d spoken to, just a few minutes ago. I stopped and studded the valley but he had gone, vanished!
Note:
I never wrote any notes on my strange experiences and am not sure what day it happened. I believe it was the day after this but I am not sure. I remember walking on my own high up in a moor-land setting and climbing. For this reason, today most of the first part of the country was woods or farm land. I think it must have been the day after. Maybe you will understand why I mention this now, on reading tomorrow’s diary.
I was in no hurry to get to Santiago but one has to find cheap places to stop and that usually means finding the albergue. The small village of Senande appeared and I was a little hungry and tired and wanted a coffee. Down the first turning to the right I could see a pile of plastic crates outside a door. That could mean a bar. On entering I found a supermarket type of shop but with a small bar down one side. I asked for a coffee but the lady said sorry they had no machine. I ordered a cognac instead to revive me and chatted and asked for a cake but I was informed I could only buy a packet of three from the shelves. I didn’t want more stuff to carry I already had two packets of biscuits that I was chomping my way through. I bought them anyway and sat and ate the lot rather than carry them. I said goodbye and went back to the junction, turned right and continued down the main street, around a curve and then I could see two bars, one each side of the road. I still needed a coffee and took the one on the right. A typical little bar sparsely furnished, a few tables and chairs and a bar from wall to wall to my right with the usual array of bottles. A plumpish woman took my order with a smile and I dumped my bag and sticks by the door and settled at a table rather than stand at the bar. She left me for a moment and went through to the back and the smell of fish cooking wafted across to me. I could hear her turning the fish in a pan. It was much earlier than was normal for Spaniards to eat. When she came back I ordered a meal and soon I was, I believe, eating their dinner. But a little later, as I was enjoying my meal, she called to the papa and the son to come. The son came into the bar to hold the fort should I need anything while mum and dad ate their fish. As there were no other customers and the son was hungry he went back and grabbed his plate and brought it back behind the bar. I chatted to him telling my story and today’s experiences. I asked if he knew where the waterfall was that my muleteer had told me about. He said it was a few kilometres out of my way, but very worth seeing if I had time.
I knew I had a long way to go to reach Hospital, the village at the very top of my map page. (I’d quite forgotten that the next albergue was not at Hospital but over the page at Olveiroa, five kms the other side of Hospital!)
Three of four kms out of my way to see the falls, meant the same distance back, I couldn’t do that today. I asked if they had rooms for the night but they didn’t do them.
“Oh well I’ll have to leave it till another year then, I haven’t time to go there and back” I explained.
“If you will wait till I have finished my dinner I’ll take you in my car” he said. “It won’t take long, the car’s outside” he assured me.
“No! Really I couldn’t impose on your time.”
“Oh Mum will look after the bar, we won’t be a minute.”
With that he called Mum and told her that we were going and wouldn’t be long. Mum looked surprised but never complained. I paid my bill and leaving my gear where it was, we piled into his little CV Citroen and soon we were buzzing down a country lane. We went some six or seven kms till we came into a clearing with a little tiny church and a stone cross. We then went down the valley and I could see the small river tumbling over a series of waterfalls.
“What a wonderful place” I exclaimed. “I’m so glad to have managed to get here. Thank you so much.”
To myself I also thanked my disappearing muleteer. I was taking photos while we climbed over the rocks to the lower reaches.
“It gets crowded in the summer with everyone swimming in these pools. There’s even a small one for the children over there” he said pointing.
We started back up and at the top again I said
“Here let me take a photo of you, by the way we still haven’t exchanged names I’m Michael or Miguel.”
“Jesus.” He said shyly as I snapped of a photo of him.
“Well then I have been taken to see a little bit of paradise by Jesus” I smiled.
We drove back to the village and I collected my pack and said goodbye and I set off again the sun shining but not too hot, a lovely summer’s day I thought as I ambled along the lanes. I’m still getting lost occasionally but nothing drastic as yet. It’s just that coming out of a lane or track with an arrow pointing back down it, doesn’t tell you which of the two or three roads facing you the next pilgrim traveller will be coming down, as he heads for Muxia, not that I had met any anyway. Somehow I didn’t care, I’d had a wonderful day so far.
day,” she emphasised.
“Ha, we live in a strange and wonderful world,” I said “modern technology has achieved so much and has proved so many things, but not all.”
Just then my phone buzzed and I took a message from Maisie and answered her:-
TUES 06/07/04 4.33pm What a wonderful day. I eat in a bar get taken to see a waterfall by car. I’m talking to folk. U rang. They tell of stone boat that moves once a year day of the mas.
She replied, Where U stop 2nite? Nite God bless xxxx
“There isn’t it marvellous as we stand here I just received and sent a message half way round the world to Australia, and she has now heard your story and is going to bed. It’s night time over there” I laughed.
I waved goodbye and with my two sticks keeping a steady rhythm I pushed on towards Hospital. I got in a mess several times and took to the asphalt road when unsure of the way. This was ok but usually meant I travelled further than necessary. I still had no companion and it makes it hard at times. The weather changed too, now it rained quite a bit. Getting lost and the rain slowed me down, I was going to be late getting to Hospital. It was then I remembered I had another five kms or so after Hospital.
I followed a road up a mountain over bleak moor-land. ‘I and the girls, I believe, had been on a track somewhere up here in the mist as we were going to Fisterra.’ I now puzzled. ‘I must be roughly at the point where the two tracks join.’ Hospital, I remembered, and took the small path we had come out of that day but soon I’m lost again. I had seen so much on my travels and everything looks different from the other direction.
High up on a mountain at one point I remember walking up a road across moor land, it was cold, cloudy and drizzling rain, the tall windmills to my right looked strange, silhouette’s stark and still, shrouded in mist against the grey cloud. At another bleak point at the top of a similar mountain, an old dilapidated factory belched smoke from a tall chimney into the low grey cloud. Both views were not beautiful but etched a graphic picture on my mind as I now struggled on.
Just before half past eight I found a bar and went in. I suddenly recognised the lady and young lad behind the bar. We had stopped here, this had been our first coffee stop on the second day out from Santiago. I remembered back, it had been a hard slog for an hour at least to get here. Warmed by the coffee I started off again keeping on the asphalt all the way. Mostly down hill, I pounded along at breakneck speed for me. Eventually I could see my quest far below and my road winding down to it. There were no safe shoulders on the road, but it didn’t matter much as there was little traffic. I was glad I’d put a little red reflective tape on my sticks, I mightn’t get there before dark I worried. At last, still in daylight I spotted an arrow pointing down a path to my right, I crossed a little stream’s bridge and entered the back streets of Olveiroa. On past the toothless wonders little hut, now closed for the night, and up to the albergue.
I signed in and was told she had one bed left. She took me to a stable like building alongside the dining room come kitchen, opened the door and directed me up the open stairs to a loft room above. Inside I found a number of peregrinos and asked in English which bunk was free.
“None” I was assured.
I shrugged and asked who was sleeping in a top bunk that had little on it. They said it was taken. I came out and said to the lady caretaker
“The bunks are full.”
“No they’re not” she said pushing past me.
There was a bunk free, it had been the old gag again, just different actors.
On dumping my gear, I found I was just in time for the usual stew. I went down and was given a plate which I filled from the cauldron and gobbled it down hungrily even though I had eaten well today, and like Oliver I asked for seconds. It’s amazing the amount of food you can eat after burning up energy walking all day from six in the morning till nine at night. Sat round the long pine table was a very mixed crowd. Different crew than before of course, for the first time I noted several Asian girls amongst them. Few had the look of real peregrinos, but they were a happy group but all were heading for Fisterra. After dinner I shrugged off doing my washing. I washed myself and retired to bed. A crowd of cyclists arrived late and slept in the stable below and made a hell of a racket making beds till I yelled,
“We’re trying to sleep up here!”
I never managed to tell the nice caretaker lady that while she had been right about Fisterra being good to finish a pilgrimage, the lonely walk back so far had been an experience all in it’s self.
7th July
Olveiroa to Negreira
Text messages this morning.
Maisie = Got a chimney leak. Son John coming 2 nite 2 look in loft. I know there’s a lite in loft but where’s wander lead in case we need it?
WED 07/07/04 9.05am Me = Just inside g door is lead use loft lite.
Maisie = Ok found that but thought there was a bulb with cage round somewhere?
WED 07/07/04 9.15am Me = There is probably rite low shelf. Having trouble finding way
Maisie = Seems we both have problems! Where r u heading 4 now?
WED 07/07/04 9.15am Me = Negreira 37k
Maisie = Try walking backwards then u find arrows chuckle! Found lite. Looking 4 orange lead, but it was black. Hope John can do a makeshift repair till u back. 2 dark on roof nite time.
All this was going on while I was trying to find my way. I was going mad, I couldn’t find the track out of the village of Olveiroa, because it immediately split into three and shortly split again and I couldn’t see a marker anywhere and racked my brain as to which lane we had come down. It was no use, I couldn’t remember and there was no one to ask. All I could vaguely remember was shortly before arriving at the village we had been walking beside a hill. Here the only hill I could see was over to my right, so after trying all the tracks to see if one would jog my memory into gear and get the general direction they were heading, I came back to the start. For the fourth time I stood and looked at the junction, sharp right I decided probably went to the right then further right and might even go round behind the village in time. The next turning to the right looked to be the most promising and might lead over to the hill. Straight on went to the road, I’d tried that and had to give up, and come all the way back. Then this time I would try the one that seemed to be heading for the hill, I decided, and off I went. I’m sure it wasn’t the way we had come, but eventually I did get to the lane running round the hill. Maisie and my daughter had sent me directions to find my way once before near Ourense but that would be no help here.
After some kilometres I found a marker pointing back the way I had come so I knew I was right. I’d even tried Maisie’s silly tip about walking backwards but it never helped, and nor had trying to remember where I had last left my electric wander lead while I struggled to remember the track. Daft as it seems I had been telling my wife where to find things in my garage twelve thousand miles away. I can’t find things in there when I’m working in it, yet she had been lucky, twice I had been successful.
What a day, I seemed lost most of the time. I must have walked well over forty kilometres by the time I reached Negreira. Much of this section is high up over moors and somewhere up here, I don’t know where I was, I was just thinking about things in general, my life my future etc. Over the last two months I’d had so much time to ponder such things especially in the last two days travelling alone. I questioned why was I here doing this, lost half the time and tired? I would look at the fantastic views and feel so small, like an ant. We plod on our way and in a few days even the footprints have disappeared. Why did I leave wild flowers on the ancient stone crosses? I was not a catholic I don’t believe the main religions have it all right. I believe there must be a force, a God maybe.
I was climbing up between grass clumps, then I knew! I believe in the man Jesus! I didn’t just think, I knew! I knew! That’s all there was to it. No miracles, no explanation how it would help me gain peace, solve my problems nothing, just I knew (No, there was, no had been or is, they didn’t come into it) just Jesus! All worry left me and peace as I had never experienced it before enveloped me for an unknown time.! I found myself walking again! I managed to push it out of my mind as I continued but the same thing happened once more, later on or the following day. I don’t know when it returned but it did.
I’m sure many will think I was possibly exhausted, dreamt it maybe. Maybe put it down to me hearing my café friend’s name yesterday, maybe but, I will put it down to the strange happenings of the Camino once again. It’s difficult to explain but today I don’t have quite the same feeling, I feel calm, yes, and I can face my everyday problems as normal, I haven’t become a religious nut, but that feeling of knowing, of being sure for those split seconds will stay with me always! I never mentioned or told anyone until after I wrote these words, some two months later.
More text on my phone.
WED 07/07/04 12.09pm (noon) Aly tape in garage. Put round outside chimney possibly the answer.
Maisie = I'll go look 4 it but can’t get up on roof, pouring rain & gusty winds. May be able 2 do inside. Expect John soon.
WED 07/07/04 12.18pm Leave till daylite & kids.
Maisie = John coming tonite. Work daytime. He’ll do temp job in loft. At the moment not much leak. I'll let u know after. Don't worry. In garage. Where’s tape?
WED 07/07/04 12.28pm Garage, face little door. Above draw.
Maisie = Is it wide and squared? If so I’ve got it.
WED 07/07/04 12.34pm Yep.
Maisie = U do no where everything is don't u! chuckle. Wait John now. Txt u later xxx
(Wed 07/07/04 3.00pm, Maisie = All bone dry in loft so don't know where water comes in! Mystery! Did u find way ok? John says ello xxx)
WED 07/07/04 3.03pm Yes but having some problems again. Will go on and hope, Rain 2 xxx.
Maisie = Hope u find a place 4 the nite xx
WED 07/07/04 3.15pm Think I’m ok now
Maisie = Good oh! B glad when yore back home safe & sound xxx
I never took more than a couple of photos on this section as I thought I had taken plenty heading out. Today I missed the two girls singing, their laughter and company very much as I passed the odd spot or view that I recognised as I tried to find my way. Two guardias stopped in a Land Rover at one point as I came out of a turning. I asked them which of the two lanes facing me should I take for Santiago. I tried to tell them how difficult it was retracing your steps on this section, but after I had explained that the shells only pointed back the way I had come not the lane I should take they said,
“Just follow the shell point!”
I had to start again and eventually they pointed down the track they had just come up.
It was drizzling a little rain as I came to a bus stop and dumped my bag for a moment and put Vaseline on my feet. I recognised it, it was the one we had used on the way up. Strange sitting there alone, I could almost hear their voices and see them offering the bread round. We’d had a great time, I was getting fed up being on my own.
.
I Text home
WED 07/07/04 4.49pm God bless, I have about 6k to do. Taking a short foot rest xxx.
It must have been about seven o’clock as I came down the slope through the forest and come out onto the road near the junction that led to the albergue. Here I probably made a mistake by walking to the town rather than going to the albergue. At the albergue I would have found company, while the pub I stopped at, had a nice enough room and the food was good, was unfortunately very quiet.
I decided to stay an extra day too, to shorten my stop in Santiago.
I Text home
WED 07/07/04 6.13pm Took a pub room to get some sleep. Feel like I need it xxx
Maisie = Good. Uve plenty of time now. Take it easy! Luv xxx
8th July
Negreira
I slept well and started the day strolling about trying to find a place that would do my washing. I found a laundry but it would take two days, it was fiesta. I would go back and do it myself. I had to safety pin it to the curtains and leave the window open and hope it would dry. I wrote a few postcards and heard a band start to play in the street so went down and found a post box and came back to listen.
Text today: Maisie = Glad u have a rest at last! Enjoy fiesta. Presume u r still in Negreira xxx
THUR 08/07/04 1.20pm Yes a small town. Walk it in 5 mins.
THUR 08/07/04 1.44pm Getting my culture. Band playing in street now can u hear.
Maisie = No! 2 far away. Maybe if u rang I cud (joke). Have a drink on me 2nite don't get drunk! Xx
I love these Spanish town bands it takes me back more years than I like to remember, to when my children played in our Spanish village band in Alfaz del Pi near Alicante.
I decided to test out my way for leaving the town in the morning, thinking it might be dark when I left. I walked probably one and a half kilometres before turning back. The road forked and I couldn’t be sure of the correct way to go. On seeing a car pull up outside a house back the way I had come, I went up to the lady to ask if she could tell me, should I go straight on or turn left?
A scruffy brown dog was barking at me all the time, making a lot of noise. I had left my sticks back at the hotel unfortunately and had just been told to go straight on when the damn animal dived in from behind and bit my very upper leg and a tooth grazed a vital piece of equipment I keep there. I was not amused! The woman apologised profoundly but quickly assured me that it was a stray, not her dog. I thought afterwards I should have got her to put some cream on it!
Back at the hotel I enjoyed a good but lonely lunch in the restaurant then went upstairs, rested and fell asleep.
I went out after my rest as the town woke up and came alive with people milling about using the fun fair and shopping at the stalls that had been set up during the afternoon. I was amazed at the massive show that was put on free for everyone. I have never been to a rock concert but this little town laid on one with great artists and a fantastic light show. The noise was deafening. Each artist changed their skimpy and glittering clothes after singing three songs. I could understand why too, with all the shaking and leaping about they did all the time. I loved it but I was still alone with no one to share it with. I took several photos but unfortunately because I ran out of chip space later I removed all but one. I stayed up till eleven but knew I should go to bed as I would be walking again tomorrow.
9th July
Negreira to Santiago de Compostela
I over slept and never got on the road till quarter past eight. I passed the place where I’d turned round and was unable to get my own back on the yapping dog as for some reason he seemed to think my sticks might just engage his part where he bit me. I found my way better, the markers now often pointed back to Santiago as well as on to Fisterra. Sun was shining for the most part and I was feeling better today. I had found another cloverleaf and now I walked into a small hamlet and saw a beaded curtain that might just be a bar open for my morning coffee. I peeped in and sure enough it was, a pleasant lady served up my coffee as a van pulled up outside and a man and his assistant came into the bar, with an order. This he gave over the counter, then he ordered a cognac and a beer for his mate. We exchanged “Buenos días” and he asked where was I from and where was I going. I ordered a cognac to go with my coffee and we chatted away about Spain and of course Galicia, for some five or ten minutes. He wished me well and paid his bill and they left. I said to the bar lady that I must be on the road too and went to pay for my coffee and cognac and she said
“El señor ha pagado!” The gentleman has already paid!
I text home to Maisie
FRI 09/07/04 10.07am. This place never ceases to amaze me. I Just had a coffee in a village bar and was treated by a man I just spoke to.
This is a lovely part of the country and I was much happier today, finding my way better, a lot of country I recognised too. I was walking downhill singing to myself through a leafy country lane. I just came round a bend coming out of a wood and spotted a young peregrino walking towards me. We stopped and swapped stories. He was French but spoke very good English but little Spanish. He’d walked the coast route to Santiago sometimes referred to as the Northern way from France and was heading for Fisterra. I asked him how hard had it been and was it well marked? He said it was pretty good and a very beautiful way. I told him about my trip on the Vía de Plata and to Fisterra and back. I told him about my two old ladies as I gave him a biscuit, and how my luck was so good as I found my four-leaf clovers everyday and took them out to show him. I finished by saying the only down part had been the loneliness of the last two days, it was great to talk to someone I said,
“I need company.”
“Well looks like you have some” he said.
I looked up to see a tall young woman, looking very much like a tall young friend I’d met before coming round the bend.
‘My guess is she might be a little bit younger’ I thought as she came up and I spoke to her in Spanish. She spoke good Spanish but lapsed into English as I said I was Australian.
“Where are you from” she asked my companion.”
“France” he said.
“I’m ‘Marie’ Mary she said for my benefit, I’m a French Canadian” offering her hand to him to shake.
They both lapsed into French for a moment or two.
“Where have you walked from she now asked him in English.”
“I walked the coast route and Mike here walked the Vía del Plata.”
“Wow! Then we between us we have walked all the three main routes, as I came on the Camino.”
Mary spotted my book with the clover in that I hadn’t put away and wanted to look saying how they bring good luck and the young guy now said,
“Luck! He had only just wished for some company to walk with, and you came round the bend!”
We laughed and I asked if I might walk with her and she agreed.
Mary was a charming young thing and we got on well, although I felt she was a little unaware about the dangers chatting to strange men when alone, and miles from anywhere. She told me that from Santiago, she was going to hitch hike up through France to Paris. There she would pick up some gear she had left at a friends house and then hitch hike to Switzerland, where she had a job to go to. She had to get there by a certain date, the fifteenth I think she said. I thought she might be taking a few risks and should be very careful too and I promptly put my foot in it, by telling her about another friend and her fright near Salamanca and made her a little more nervous. I’d forgotten that I might be considered a strange man, walking with two weapons (my sticks, Mary had none). But after a while she relaxed as I gave her plenty of space, told a few yarns, joked, and sang a few songs. I said again
“You should be careful.”
She laughed
“My Dad’s always complaining that I don’t phone home enough. I’m supposed to phone each Sunday, but it’s not always that easy to find a phone that works but he never understands that.” she complained.
“I can understand he’s worried sick Mary. Make sure you phone Sunday!”
As we came into Santiago after a pleasant few hours together, Mary said to me she was going to stop and eat under some tall trees in a small plaza. As she didn’t directly ask me to join her I said I hoped to see her again before she left Santiago, wished her all the luck in the world and to have a good trip to France. I waved goodbye and left my charming companion thinking there was little chance of us meeting again.
I had to find somewhere to stay, and while Mary had said she knew of a hostel she had used on her arrival, she had never said where. Mary was much younger than I, I could therefore understand that maybe she wouldn’t want me around cramping her style. Never mind I’d find something. I had to concentrate for a bit as I walked the narrow streets into town and suddenly recognised a crossroads, not that far from the hotel that I had used but could not afford.
Mary stopping to eat had made me think of dinner, I could eat somewhere and ask if there was a hostel. The centre of town is usually expensive I thought. I crossed over and looked around and turned to the left as it looked more likely I would find a restaurant in that direction and I was right. A small cafe offered ‘platos’ and very cheap too for Santiago. After eating my lunch I ordered coffee and asked if there was a cheap hostel near by. The old boy wrote his name on the back of a card of a place called ‘Nebraska’ and gave it to me and I went up the hill as he directed looking for the hostel name. Couldn’t find it all the way up the hill, though there were several. Then I turned back knowing I had missed it and a woman stopped me and asked if I wanted a room.
“I’m looking for here.” I said showing the Nebraska card “They have rooms for twelve Euro a night”
“I can do a twin bed room for only twenty-five and will throw in breakfast.”
“No” I said, “I have to find the cheapest room.”
“All meals supplied for twenty?”
“No, I can’t pay more than twelve, I want it for three or four days.”
I saw a change in her expression and she agreed,
“Twelve a night.”
I made her take me to see the room before I agreed.
She took me up to the room. It had clean twin beds and a small wash basin in a recess with a shower cubical, all new. It was in the attic I admit, and no towels supplied but other than that practically as good as the hotel we’d paid a hundred and fifty for with Mark sharing! Not only that, I’d rumbled that very hotel must be almost adjoining the back of this place.
“Twelve a night” I confirmed still a little amazed.
“Si.”
I really think she couldn’t count. She always, I noted afterwards, used a calculator to add the smallest of figures together. Three or four twelve’s must be more than twenty taken for one night, maybe? Well yes but it turned out she could easily have let it for more every night. Having settled in I did my washing and strung it across the room to dry, then walked into town and looked around again in the afternoon, I went to the cathedral to see the service.
.
Here I was quite moved by the ceremony again and I changed my place to the end by the side entrance door hoping to get better photos of the incense burner, “botafumeiro “
but my camera really isn’t suitable for catching this moving target. Outside I remembered I hadn’t got my credential stamped in Negreira or here but I did nothing about it. I walked around then ordered a piece of coca, a pie like ‘tapa’, it was awful and I left most of it. Another stroll window shopping then I returned to my hostel bar, here I had a coffee and when she asked me if I wanted to eat I said as I had eaten in town and so I would only take a little salad. This was nice enough and she then asked did I want a sweet and I had a yoghurt. She then charged me the full menu price.
When would I learn? Chuckle
10th July
Santiago de Compostela
I was late, up after all there was no rush. I text Maisie
SAT 10/07/04 9.23am Just up. Going to collect tent etc.
(I had posted my tent on before reaching Santiago the first time, as it had become to heave to carry!)
Maisie = (Ok. Lovely day again here xxx)
SAT 10/07/04 9.29am Not too good here, cool pos rain. Bit lonely on my own, miss u xxx
Maisie = (That's cos uve stopped walking - not occupied. I find if I'm busy doing something its not so bad. U'll b home soon xxxx miss u 2)
Yes that must be it I must try to keep occupied. I’d get my ticket to Madrid sorted out and collect my tent from the post office. First I walked to the train station and tried to remember how to get a ticket. Here I was lucky, the guy behind the counter spoke good English. My new ticket said I leave Santiago on the thirteenth at 22.30 on the Talgo Hotel and arrive Madrid 07.45 on the morning of the fourteenth. That way I would only need one night in Madrid. Madrid’s a lovely but expensive place, I’d seen much of it on my arrival, and I’d spent more than a week there on my last trip to Spain.
It would mean I would have to miss seeing some old friends but I might see some of the others if I rang one of them. I remembered they lived near here, at Pontevedra ( on the Portuguese Camino to the south and on the coast from Santiago). I would have to book one more night in my room here though. I asked the ticket seller about taking a day trip to Pontevedra,
“No problem, get your ticket in the morning and watch the monitor for when it leaves.” He said marking the times it left on a timetable.
‘Dead easy’ I thought, ‘that’s sorted.’ I walked back into town to collect my tent at the post office.
I walked down the stairs into the parcel sorting office, said I’d come for my parcel and had to show my passport and the girl went to the back picked up the parcel and gave it to me, nothing could be simpler.
“Sign here” she said and I scribbled my name an thanked her and turned and came face to face with Mary coming down the steps
“Hey! Hello” she beamed,
“How about a coffee” I said
“Sure, can you wait till I send this off?” she asked and I nodded and she went up to the counter.
We found a café and while chatting she said she was off shortly to hitch to France, all she had to do was get her credential stamped to show she had walked back to Santiago.
“Yes I should do that too, perhaps we can go together?”
Arriving at the office we were amazed, the queue stretched way out into the street.
“This could take a long time. Are you sure you want to do it?”
She did and we waited half an hour or more but I could see Mary was getting worried.
“I have to buy a few presents and buy and write a few cards and post them. I really should get away as soon as we’re done here. It’s getting so late. Would you mind staying here and keeping my place while I do that?”
“Of course you pop off. No worries” I assured her.
I waited another half an hour and hardly got any nearer the door. I was a bit worried about Mary’s bag as she had just dumped it under the adjoining arcade behind a pillar and just hoped no one pinched it. This was just at a time when everyone was supposed to be vigilant about unattended bags after the resent spout of terrorist bombings! I did manage a few peeps to make sure it was ok and then Mary, hand waving alongside her smiling face, appeared way down the crowded street. She picked up the bag and very slowly we got to and came in the door and up the stairs moving one step every five minutes or so. At last two hours of waiting paid off and we were at the counter.
“All we would like is the Santiago stamp to show we have finished the Fisterra return walk,” we said. We are not asking for a certificate.”
The girl took our cards into the adjoining room and in a moment she returned saying
“Sorry the walk to Fisterra is not considered a part of a pilgrimage so we can’t stamp them.”
“We have waited for two hours for someone to say that!” we exclaimed. “We only want the stamp not the certificate” we argued. “Mary asked at the entrance desk at the bottom of the stairs and they said we must come up here.”
But no badgering would get them stamped, so we pushed our way back down the stairs.
“Well that’s it then” said Mary “Its going to be hard to get a lift this late in the afternoon.”
I was worried about her too and said
“Mary please, I am not making a pass at you but stay tonight with me and leave in the morning.”
“Thanks Mike” she said smiling “I must go though, I have to get to Switzerland in time to take that job. I must leave this afternoon, but thanks anyway.”
“Then if you must, we’d better say goodbye then, take my Email and let me know how you get on. Like your dad I’ll worry, and make sure you phone him Sunday!” She promised she would and we parted and I watched her walk up the hill till she disappeared into the crowd. I do hope one day she might just find a screwed up piece of paper with my email on it and drop me a line to let me know she got there safely. I never got to take her photo either. I seem to remember she’d told me she’d be away from home for six months, I’m sure she will be alright but if I worry about her, what must her dad be going through. I had a daughter a lot younger than her travelling around Europe some years back, I’d forgotten till now what it was like. Come to think of it, my kids now worry about me! Sadly I never did hear from her!
Later on I went to the little bar where I had been told how to find my hostel and enjoyed my meal. I then telephoned Nieves my Spanish friend to ask if they would be in if I called by tomorrow.
“Catch the Vigo train” she said “Phone me when you’re there, we’ll pick you up.”
I’m sure she said much more than that but I always have trouble understanding people on the phone especially in Spanish. The one thing I did understand was, she and her family would welcome me with open arms. I had walked a large part of the Camino last year with Nieves and her lovely daughter Lara I was looking forward to seeing them both again. I booked another night in the hostel and
I text Maisie with my timetable and plans.
Sunday 11th July
To Vigo by train and back to
Santiago de Compostela
Sunday saw me at nine-twenty in the morning boarding the train for Pontevedra. I spent some of my time on the train to text Maisie about what presents I should get and what I’d be able to carry home. At Pontevedra I got out and looked around. There would be nothing difficult about finding the car park in front of the station so I telephoned Nieves and she said her husband Angel, whom I’d met on several occasions, would pick me up in fifteen minutes. I waited half an hour then my mobile rang. It was Lara.
“Where are you? She asked and I tried to explain “Oh Pontevedra! We thought you were at Vigo, we live nearer Vigo. No wonder Papa can’t find you he is at the wrong station. No, don’t worry, wait there, Papa will be about half an hour.”
Sure enough in half an hour while I was having a coffee Angel arrived. After welcoming me, I finished my coffee and we walked outside and got into a very nice new silver Mercedes. I was very impressed. Rather than take the motorway, Angel kindly took the coast road so I could see the coastal scenery. Halfway there he stopped the car and we went to look at a new block of apartments that he was building he said. I’d been told he dealt in glazed tiles and knew he still did but I had no idea the family were in this bracket. I’d said I used to be a builder in Spain but that was many years ago and I built probably one house a year. That’s the thing when walking everyone is on the same level. What you have in your backpack is your belongings and what matters is if you are able to get to the next albergue or not. Angel was pleased to show me what he did and I was as pleased for him, he’s such a nice chap. We wound our way along this stunningly beautiful coastline, past a massive suspension bridge looking like the Golden Gate in San Francisco that bridged the estuary. We swung off the road between two factory sheds.
“That’s where I store the glazed tiles” Angel informed me and pressed a button on a hand set.The large gate in front slowly moved aside and we drove in. Well! A large modern pink granite three story building with large windows, lovely gardens, white railed terraces and balconies, a covered swimming pool and a view out across the lovely estuary. And what a view! I gazed across the brilliant blue water with its sailing craft, big and small. On either side the oyster beds, (man made floating islands). Green mountains swept down to the coast on, both sides. A view comparable with Acapulco I’m sure, I thought.
I was speechless, it was wonderful. Nieves and Angel made a fuss of me and I was introduced to her son and to two young ladies who, were part of the extended family and shortly young Lara came in and greeted me like a I was part of the family who had been away for ten years. I did my best to tell my story of the Via in Spanish but Lara kept helping me out by speaking English and Nieves had to remind us to speak Spanish. The pair of us had lapsed into English and not realised it.
They fed me plates of Spanish sausage and cheese then set up a table outside on the terrace and we opened a bottle of rather good red with more food and chatted and passed a nice time.
It was decided that we should go to a restaurant to eat. We piled into the car and drove off up the road and Angels mobile rang..
The family wanted them to come to a picnic in the park and wouldn’t take no for an answer and I was asked if I would mind going to the park instead. Of course I thought this sounded much more fun and said I’d much rather go to the picnic. The car was turned round and soon we’re back home throwing in a basket of goodies and we were off again.
We took another road this time and went higher up the mountain and into a park full of shady Holm oaks. Here we unloaded and found the family with the help of the mobile phone.
There must have been twenty-five to thirty, family and friends, all the youngsters with their boy or girlfriends. I was introduced to all the uncles, aunts, cousins and friends and made to sit at the table and eat wonderful home made sausages, cheeses, and crunchy bread, pies, coca, a bread roll with orange flavoured cream folded through it.
You name it, it was there to eat. The wine flowed freely and coffee was made but I was given ‘coffee orujo’ in a plastic cup by the charming young Lara! As my words were beginning to slur I was told I now had to sing for Nieves.
I tried my best but I don’t think I hit many right notes, but was given a round of applause as if I had been Plació Domingo. The uncle opposite me now sang a wonderful folksong. Not to be out done, the most lively of the aunts, I think it was probably his wife, stood up and got everyone singing. One really talented young man had come prepared and took out a guitar like instrument with a rounded back and rather long neck and played along with them. He played a few solo numbers too, his fingers flashing up and down the thing making it almost talk. See the photo, this is just a few of the group. Angel asked me at one point
“Is this better than sitting in a posh restaurant?”
I just hadn’t enough words in Spanish to emphasise how very much better it was.
They sang and danced all afternoon. Later as my head got used to the alcohol I sang a little better I hope, ‘The Rose’ for Nieves and ‘Maritime’ for Lara.
Alas Nieves said we should head back as the last train left Vigo at nine for Santiago. Angel wanted to drive me all the way I think, but the sensible Nieves said he shouldn’t drive too far,
“You’ve been drinking,” she said.
I know Angel had kept up and passed me in the number of ‘coffee orujos’ drunk, she just might have been right. Another sad goodbye, then Angel, Nieves and I got in the Mercedes and drove to the Vigo station, where Angel bought me a coffee and ticket to Pontevedra and once again wouldn’t let me pay. Maybe he had decided he should make sure I got on the train alone, not taking his charming wife and Lara along with me. Joking apart what a smashing guy he is, I’ll certainly toast to their future happiness. The train pulled out with me aboard and stopped at every station. I checked each one off on my timetable so as not to miss my station, and it wasn’t till I arrived in Santiago I realised the train didn’t go any further. Must have been the drink I thought walking back up the hill into the town back to my hostel.
I arrived and opened the door and thought WOW! Somebody has cleaned my room up well! My washing has gone and WOW! SO has my bag! Oh my God everything is missing! (I’d been down this path before, I’d lost a bag last year in Madrid.) I went down the stairs two at a time and rushed along to the hostel bar and spluttered out that my bags were missing.
“Its here” she said calmly “There has been a mix up, your room was over booked and as you went out with the key I couldn’t tell you until you came back.”
“Thank Christ” I swore in English trying to calm down.
“I have got you a room in a another hostel is that all right?”
12th July
Santiago de Compostela
The new accommodation was almost at the bottom of the hill, number twenty-one. Same price, second floor, a bigger room with twin beds but the bathroom was across the hall. I seemed to be the only one using it, at the moment anyway. I felt lethargic and not in good spirits this morning. I put it down to the spirits I’d drunk in excess yesterday, I’d taken my pills.
Maisie text me and I replied
MON 12/07/04 9.11am Didn't understand any of that message. I got put out of my digs on return. Hope to nights ok.
Maisie = (was it cos u back sloshed u got put out of digs? Re my mes, hav g pigs 4 1 week from wensdy, jsal will b on hols. Got it now?)
MON 12/07/04 9.14am I understand now.
Clear as mud ain’t it?!!!! My translation of all that was = Was it because you got back sloshed (drunk) that you got put out of your digs (accommodation)? Regarding my message, I have the guinea pigs to look after for one week from Wednesday, Josie ,Simon, Alex and Lizzie will be on holiday.
MON 12/07/04 9.25am No she supposedly double booked. I got it cheap and don't spend in bar. Maisie = (I expect you’ll get a room somewhere. Only 4 more sleeps 2 go till u home.
Careful 2 morrow, Tues 13th, unlucky in Spain.)
I searched the town for presents and bought the kids a little peregrino doll each and some small silver bits for the women of the family and just badges for the lads. I knew it wasn’t much, but the cash had disappeared too easily over the last two and a half months. I went out again at seven to get the last present and ate once again in my little bar at the bottom of the hill. For the first time I saw a man thrown out of a bar in Spain. A drunk came in and the old chap behind the bar wouldn’t serve him and the customer became abusive and was turned out, he returned again threatening to bash the barman if he’d come outside, but eventually he was made to leave again and he trotted off down the road.
13th July
Santiago de Compostela
Nine thirty-five am I’m awake and up and know I’ve got a boring day till I catch the train tonight. As I packed I thought I’d try to leave my bag in the café, but on vacating the room I knew it would feel funny if my old familiar bags was not there on my shoulders, like a snail without a shell. So I kept it with me, even though it must now again weigh some twenty kilos with the tent and other bits in it.
To pass some time I had a coffee in the posh parador and got some strange stares from one posh git as I went in the magnificent entrance. I asked where the coffee bar was from a staff member and was shown through to a comfortable coffee lounge and here I stacked my rucksack and sticks against the wall and sat in one of the comfortable arm chairs (fake antiques I noted smugly to myself!) I ordered and drank a nice coffee and cognac and gave the waiter a twenty Euro note and without looking at it, I pocketed the change. Posh place big tip I reasoned and gave him a Euro! Damned if he hadn’t cheated me out of four Euro in my change, I noted on checking it outside in the square. I should have gone back in but Maisie had pointed out yesterday in her text, today’s ‘Tuesday the thirteenth’ a very unlucky day in Spain, not Friday as it is in our culture.
I looked for an email café but they were packed with peregrinos emailing home and while I could waste time in one there was nowhere comfortable to sit and wait. Strolling round the town with other peregrinos gazing at the superb silver I spotted a small silver teaspoon, just the thing for a granddad to buy for a new grandchild that was due in December. I went in, in great fear that I would turn round in the crowded shop and knock something flying with my pack, or my sticks would fall busting something. Only yesterday I had walked into a shop, without this cumbersome pack, and all the pretty china thimbles on a little rack hit the deck and scattered across the floor. I tried to collect as many as I could and put them back, the rack tipped again! The pretty young shop girl holding a handful of broken pieces said
“No! Its alright that often happens” and she wouldn’t let me pay for them!
I paid .50e for a tiny hat badge and left quickly. I’m always doing such things! It’s so damn embarrassing. Today I was lucky I escaped the silver jewellers with my silver ……. without smashing a thing. That done I thought I’d go for a coffee and sit and while away a bit of time.
I sat at a little café in the shade of a blue and white sunshade in a narrow old street. Opposite me was a ancient church entrance and I was amusing myself, wondering at what angle I might just take a photo of the small statues carved over the doorway without getting the wrought iron light blocking the picture. I’d seen two people try without success. My rucksack was leaning against the shop window adjoining my chair. I’d finished my coffee. Three times I’d turned and pulled the straps together, they insisted on finding their way across the doorway of the adjacent shop. I’d have to move before someone fell over them I thought and called the waiter and paid my bill. I looked up just as a young woman fell! She landed with an audible slap in the road having fallen from the pavement opposite and had obviously twisted her ankle. She sat up and twisted round and sat on the curb, the pain clearly showing on her face as she clung to the hurting limb. Her mother had rushed to her aide immediately and was clearly worried about her, a young boy about twelve seemed to be with them too. Sensibly the woman never tried to rise for a moment as there was no traffic. I was unsure whether to rush over to help as it might embarrass her to get up before getting her breath back. But as she still never stood up I went across and said could I help in Spanish then English. The attractive lady smiled a second at my English words so I continued in English
“Can I help? I have some cream that might help. I’m a pilgrim and I’ve been walking and I always carry a first aid kit. My bag is just over there” I explained, pointing.
She nodded and said she would be grateful. I went back and grabbed the rucksack and came back and leaned it against the church and rummaged through it to find my kit. By the time I had it and the tube of anti-inflammatory cream out, she with the aide of her Mum had hopped across the road to a chair at the café and sat down. I walked across and offered the tube. She held the offending leg towards me to use the cream on it. As much as I would have liked to I thought such a gesture of smoothing the ointment over such an attractive ankle would be a little too forward and I offered her the tube again. She smiled and smoothed on the cream. They ordered a coffee and one for me and we chatted. Fabienne had been travelling across Portugal and Spain with her mother and her son by car. She was born a French Polynesian but her mother now lives in France. They had stopped in Santiago and knew a little about the Camino but not much and I told them what I had done, my walk and about the service in the cathedral. She told me she wanted her son to study English in an English speaking country maybe an exchange. The boy could speak more than his mother I think but he was shy of using it. I said Australia might be a good choice and offered to try to find somewhere if she contacted me by Email sometime.
We swapped addresses and I offered to show them round the cathedral and tell them what I knew about the ritual. They all agreed and said it would be nice. Fabienne now accepted my offer of an elastic bandage to help her walk and bound it round her ankle. They paid the bill and we left. I enjoyed talking to them about everything, the head banging, grasping the pillar, giving Santo a hug. It passed a lot of time for me. As we went round the cathedral and I was able to inform them about things that they may never have found out on their own. We came out of the cathedral via the church shop. It’s filled with post cards, books about the caminos and souvenirs of every description. Here they said they would like to buy a bible in Spanish for a friend. I asked the assistant if they had a Spanish bible and was quite amazed to be told I would probably have to go to a bookshop in town to get one!We took some photos at the rear of the cathedral and I said goodbye and parted from them hoping they would one day contact me by email. I now killed a lot of time sitting in the park, watching the crowds of young and old wander by. I found a plaque in the park commemorating the twinning of the two cities of Cordoba and Santiago and noted the date was the fifth of July this year, the day I’d left Fisterra and also my sons birthday.
I took a photo of it thinking how very appropriate for me that the two towns should be joined that day. That was the day I could first say I had walked the ‘Vía del Plata’ from Cordoba through Santiago to the end of the known world of ancient times.
For the last time I wandered off towards the station and ate a few ‘tapas’ in a bar on the way down the hill . I went in to wait in the crowded waiting room amongst the shouting children and tourists all dangerously waving long staffs with water gourds flapping on the tops. Many young and old wearing felt copies of the brown peregrino hats of old, and with clamshells dangling round their necks on leather thongs adorned with red painted Templa crosses.
Just before the train arrived, I strolled out onto the platform and stood breathing in the cool evening air. On showing my ticket to a platform attendant, I was directed a little distance along the platform. Sure enough when the train pulled in I was opposite the correct numbered carriage and soon squashed into a four-berth sleeper compartment, and here I settled down to travel all night to Madrid. I found it hard to realise that it was all over, I would soon leave this wonderful country and its charming people. Back soon to my loving family and old friends. I mused this would all seem like a dream in a few days. There were some parts of my adventure that even I was have trouble believing they had really happened. What is reality? I questioned. Had I, a sixty-four year old man, really done those crazy things? Had I walked all that way, thirteen hundred kilometres, carrying that massive bag that was now propped in the corner, had I really met all those wonderful people and then the big-Why? The rumbling wheels and the rocking of the carriage numbed my tired brain as the train slowly rocked me off to sleep as I started my long journey home.
14th July
I arrive Madrid in am. Visit park. 4 pm and. I go to the airport
WED 14/07/04 11.56am Sitting in park I will waste day then nite in airport xxx
Maisie = Hope u have good trip home luv xxxx)
WED 14/07/04 5.51pm Same uncomfortable airport floor. Remember
WED 14/07/04 10.55pm Give me an alarm ring at 8am my time please.
15th July
Madrid and later in the air
THUR 15/07/04 8.13am Bag checked in, I'm in lounge. Can get through gate now. Still want me back?
Maisie = Chuckle! Bit late now 2 say no! Course I do. xxx.
THUR 15/07/04 I should be able to board now
Maisie = Ok. Hope u hav a good safe journey xxx
FRI 16/07/04 8.40am U must be in Singapore now with just a short wait! C u soon xx
FRI 16/07/04 9.13am Singapore boarding now
Maisie = Safe journey xxxx
16th July
Perth
I Arrive at Perth
I collected my bags, cleared customs and Maisie was waiting in the arrival hall.
She snapped a photo of me as I came through the gate and we hugged each other, My! We’d been an awful long time apart.
Maisie received an email a month or two after I’d returned home and was busy writing. It was from a friend and she gave it to me to read. I have no idea who wrote it.
It read:
People come into your life for a reason,
a season or a lifetime
When you know which one it is you will know what to do for that person.
When someone is in your life for a REASON, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed.
They have come to assist you through a difficulty, to provide you with guidance and support, to aid you physically, emotionally, or spiritually. They may seem like a godsend and they are. They are there for a reason, you need them to be. Then, without any wrongdoing on your part or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end. Sometimes they die. Sometimes they just walk away.
Sometimes they act up and force you to take a stand. What we must realise is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled, their work is done, the prayer you sent up has been answered and now it is time to move on.
Some people come into your life for a SEASON, because your turn has come to share, grow or learn. They bring you an experience of peace or make you laugh. They may teach you something you have never done. They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy. Believe it, it is real. But for a season.
LIFETIME relationships teach you lifetime lessons, things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation. Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person and put what you have learned to use in all relationships and areas of life. It is said love is blind but friendship is clairvoyant.
I thank all of those people I met for being part of my life, whether you were a reason, a season or a lifetime. I thank you all.
The 5 leaf clover I found and thought I’d lost, had been sent to my daughter, and so came back to me on Friday 15/10/04!
Santiago Compostela
One fine day
Santiago Compostela
You’re going to meet this ‘fella,’
I’ll be standing there before you one fine day.
I know you’ll try to beat me,
But still you won’t defeat me.
I know you’re going to see me one fine day.
And I’ll let you do the talking,
While I’ll just keep on walking,
I could even meet my maker on the way.
You’ll try turning up the heat,
But you’ll never get me beat.
Yes! I know you’re sure to try to make me pay.
Oh! The blisters keep on coming,
And I’ve given up the running,
but still you’re going to see me one fine day.
I’ll just rest and let them mend.
I will beat you in the end!
I’m sure your going to see me one fine day.
See! I passed through fire and flood,
And I’m giving you a hug.
There!
I told you I would see you one fine day.
© Michael Davey 19/08/2004, English version started in May on the ‘Vía del Plata’ Spain. This poem and my photo was included in the 14th Bulletin ‘Mundicamino.com’
The End
****Other books of Caminos I have walked will soon be in print so if you enjoyed this book look out for:
Via del Plata Camino Experience to Santiago Compostela
and others
By Mike Davey
