My sister had a baby girl at 10.36pm last night! Sinead weighed in at 8lbs 12oz and a full head of black hair. Everyone involved very proud and doing great!

Thanks to all the pilgrims and everyone else who asked Dad and I for news and wished us all the best over the past few weeks!

Whoop!

Startpoint: Villafranca de Bierzo; Endpoint: Hospital da Contesa; Distance walked: 37.5k; Steps taken: 45,579.

The place I’m staying, Hospital Da Contesa, is not actually a hospital. Although the way my feet feel, maybe I should be in one. At 6:00pm this evening, I went for a walk around the village to see what was to see. At 6:02pm, I was back in my guesthouse – I walked slowly because of my sore feet.

It wouldn’t be described as a one-horse town, because there is no horse. There’s a cow. It’s in a shed next door to the guesthouse. I can smell it and hear it from my bedroom. It moos to welcome pilgrims as they pass through and leaves presents all along the high street.

As I ate dinner, they were showing Kommisar Rex on the TV. Kommisar Rex is a German police show where a dog helps the homicide squad solves murders. It appears to be the only show that is improved by being dubbed. I think it’s because they were smart enough not to dub the dog, as he’s the best actor in the show. Two Germans were having dinner near me – they didn’t care for Kommisar Rex either, they were discussing the economics and practicalities of keeping a pet donkey. I doubt a pet donkey is much use in solving crimes.

The landlady seemed to understand me when I told her I was a vegetarian and rattled off a list of things I could eat. I clarified that I didn’t eat fish either and she nodded at this, rattled off a few more things and went away. Apparently what she had understood was that I wanted a giant plate of plane macaroni, with no sauce, but which smelled strongly of fish.

I was eating a Peregrino Menu on my own, I was given a full bottle of wine to myself. I’m afraid I was unable to finish it (having had a few pre-dinner beers), so donated it to some other pilgrims who’d only been given a single bottle to share. Unfortunately, I was not able to donate my plain fish-smelling macaroni to anyone, so it went unfinished.

Today was one of my favourite days of walking so far. Starting in Villafranca, we had a steep climb back up into the mountains. Initially it was damp, cold and misty, but later on in the day, it was only damp, cool and cloudy, so that was a nice improvement.

I spent the morning overtaking people as I climbed up the hill. I had started walking at 8am, so they must have been earlier. I stopped for a coffee at 10.30am and then overtook the same people again. I stopped for lunch at 1pm and then overtook the same people again. One guy got his own back on me by overtaking me, but then he went the wrong direction. I whistled and called and clapped to get his attention before indicating that he’d missed a turn, so then he overtook me again. If I hadn’t alerted him, he might still be lost now, so I feel like I was the real winner. The Camino isn’t a race, everyone moves at their own pace, but it’s a lot of fun when you pretend it is.

I crossed the border into Galicia today. After France, Navarra, Rioja and Castille y Leon, Galicia is the final country/province of the Camino. As we climbed the last hill, one gent (as I passed him out) said “well, at least this is the last hill. Once we reach the top of this, it’s all downhill”. When I got to the top, I could see nothing but mountains all around me – if we’re not going to climb a few of them, I don’t think we’re going to get out of here.

I felt at home walking in the countryside around the Galician border. There was gorse! And heather and brambles and ferns! I haven’t seen ferns since Ireland. the pine trees in the forest looked forlorn and damp. They were smothered in moss, strangled by lichen and bent by the wind and rain into weirdly misshapen poses. Yoga for trees. These were Galician plants. Plants that could survive the constant battering of Atlantic storms, not like the delicate vineyards and tall slender stalks of corn from the past weeks. The fields, where there were fields, were full of grass, with a few cows and sheep. One farmer drove a small herd of cattle down the lane the Camino followed and I was nearly trodden on. A loose horse cantered passed me another time, also coming close to hitting me. For the first time, I missed my walking stick.

Most of the walkers today were just aiming for the top of the hill, a place called O’Cebreiro, the first town within Galicia. When I reached it, I was having such a good time, and it looked like such a tourist trap with Camino-trinkets for sale, busloads of tourists buying walking sticks and Celtic music playing, that I moved on. I patted myself on the back for walking further than most, until I heard a walking stick click-clacking on the path behind me. Cursing my hubris, I turned and saw a man in a clean bright-red fleece behind me. He carried all his gear in a canvas draw-string bag and held a tall curved walking stick shaped like a bishop’s crozier. The stick shone like it was freshly polished. “Peregrino mui nuevos”, I muttered and stumbled on.

The first town I came to after O’Cebreiro had a large hotel, so I tried the door, but it didn’t open. I asked in the shop that shared the building about a room for the night, but an angry looking old woman vehemently denied the very existence of a hotel in the town. As I left, the same woman passed through a back way and looked at me leave from a window in the non-existent hotel.

I approached three large Alsatian dogs at the edge of the town. They barked angrily at a passing car shortly before I reached them and I braced myself for an angry attack – a lot of pilgrims tell stories of angry dogs. As I approached, the dogs lay down and wagged their tales, but a small hen ran out from under a gate and charged me! I was so startled I jumped. I hope the grumpy hotel-denier didn’t see me.

The next town I reached was two kilometres further on. It smells of cow-dung.

Buen Camino

Startpoint: Ponferrada; Endpoint: Villafranca del Bierzo; Distance walked: 25.5; Steps taken: 30,924

Leaving Ponferrada this morning, there were more pilgrims than normal on the track. I didn’t recognise a lot of them. I don’t know every pilgrim, but you tend to bump into a lot of the same faces from day to day. It took me a while to figure it out, before I realised that these were new pilgrims, who had only started in Ponferrada. As I passed them by in small scared groups, huddled together for mutual protection, I began to take note of the subtle differences that marked them as newbies.

I first noticed some Peregrinos Neuvos when they loudly greeted me as I passed. They were really far too enthusiastic. “Hel….hola!”, they hailed me, realisinh halfway through that the language had changed. “Where you from?” These were newbie questions, after 27 days of walking, I no longer cared an awful lot where people were from.

Other obvious distinguishing features of Peregrinos Nuevos are the following (all may not apply at the same time):

1. Taking photos of every piece of landscape, building, plant, etc. Particularly noticeable was a couple who took pictures of each other standing in front of a 2-foot wide irrigation canal, hundreds of which I´ve passed in the last week.
2. Stamp collecting. You can collect stamps on your Pilgrim Credential in every hostel, hotel, church, museum, restaurant and bar along the Camino. In the first few days, new pilgrims (me included) go a little stamp mad and grab for stamps wherever they are on offer. One fellow pigrim filled half his credential with stamps from bars before realising after a week, that he was running short on space for the next four weeks of the walk. Today people were queuing up for stamps from an old lady standing beside a large gate wielding something she had carved from a raw potato.
3. Stealing grapes. It´s harvest season in this part of Spain and the grapes are being collected by both farmers and pilgrims. Stealing fresh fruit off the trees is sooo three weeks ago. (I did get tempted at one stage, but a farmer was looking at me, so I skulked off fruitlessly).
4. No clothes. For the past three weeks, every second piilgrim has been drying socks, underwear and towels on the outside of the rucksacks as they walk. You could spot the Peregrinos Nuevos by the lack of damp, worn and greying hiking socks hanging from them.
5. The pilgrim shuffle. Some pilgrims walk fast. Some pilgrims walk slow, but after a week, all of them either lurch, limp, lumber, stumble, shuffle or stagger. We all have a blister, sore toe, tender knee or some reason to walk a little oddly.

I lost something special today. I was feeling peckish at about 11am and went into a small shop, rucksack on my back, walking stick in my hand and ordered a Boccadillo Queso. I left a few minutes later with the largest cheese sandwich I have ever eaten (and it was a small one) and a bar of chocolate. Ten minutes later I was outside the town, carrying only indigestión and wondering why my hands were empty. I left my stick behind and was too lazy to go back and get it. Maybe it will make the first days of some Peregrino Nuevo a bit easier. I think it was worth it though, for that cheese sandwich.

Less tan 200km to go before Santiago now, but we’ll be climbing up into the mountains for the next few days. As I walked through one small town this afternoon, I passed an overweight woman in late middle age as she shaved her legs in a small bucket while sitting on the front steps of her home. As much as I am enjoying the experience, I will also be happy to complete it.

Buen Camino

Startpoint: El Acebo; Endpoint: Ponferrada; Distance walked: 17k, Steps taken: 20,495.

This morning we descended into Ponferrada from El Acebo. Despite the stunning mountain views as the sun rose behind us, we moved quickly on the rocky mountain path. I enjoyed the fun of jumping from rock to rock. Also, we had run out of cash, were desperate for a cup of coffee and couldn’t find an ATM.

Arriving in Ponferrada with empty pockets, we first bypassed the Templar Castle to enquire in the Tourist Office about the nearest ATM. We overheard the pilgrims ahead of being told there was a festival on in town, so accommodation was difficult to find. Hearing the word ‘festival’ and knowing the next hostel was another seventeen kilometres, we eagerly added to the accommodation shortage by deciding to stay.

As it happens, the first hotel we passed had rooms available at a reasonable price, the Templar Castle was free, and the festival was actually a public holiday celebrated by driving seven rally cars into the main square and then driving them out again.

When I visited the Templar Castle, I was quite happy that it was free because it wasn’t very good. The original Templar Castle was only a wall anyway, and had been refurbished out of existence during the last 800 years. The inside of the castle was a handful of bare rooms and a few fields of weeds. Definitely a landmark that is better if it is not visited, as it looked quite impressive from the outside.

Because of the 12th October public holiday, the whole town was closed. I found a kiosk and asked if I could buy stamps, but was not allowed to. She had stamps there, beside the cigarettes and magazines, but was not allowed sell them, unlike the cigarettes and magazines. The receptionist in the hotel sold me stamps only reluctantly, as she did not know exactly how much the postage on my envelope would be and was therefore more comfortable selling more nothing at all, rather than selling me the wrong denomination of stamp.

In my hotel, I got all my clothes, as well as my bedclothes washed and dried. There are many rumours of bedbugs on the pilgrim circuit and something has been eating my right arm. I can’t think of any reason why my arm is being attacked and nowhere else, but I decided to not take any chances. Apparently pale white Irish meat is irresistible to the Spanish insect population, which probably helps slightly with losing a little weight while here.

In the late afternoon we passed time in the main square, watching the locals as they watched the small audience who watched the cars. We drank some not-very-nice red wine and decided that the Camino needed a new guidebook which concentrates on the practicalities of everyday life, rather than the personal, spiritual and judgemental reflections of the author. Some of the required chapters include:

1) How to know if your sleeping bag is trying to kill you, either by strangulation, suffocation and/or slow-roasting.
2) Frustrations of Hostel accommodation, including the rustling of multiple plastic bags at five in the morning and the stuffiness of dorm rooms for ninety people and no windows.
3) Going to the loo when there’s no loo to go to, including toilet paper etiquette, poo-phobias, and timing your walks to match your runs.
4) Strategic uses of a Sarong or large scarf: a picnic blanket, privacy divider, bedbug shield and fashion accessory.
5) Using local flowers, herbs and leaves to make your backpack smell less like a damp kennel.

Buen Camino

Startpoint: Santa Catalina de Sonoza; Endpoint: El Acebo; Steps taken: 36,795; Distance walked: 29km.

I named yesterday’s post after a donkey, but forget to say much about it. The donkey we had first seen at a little impromptu coffee shop later reappeared outside our hostel for the night. They wouldn’t let him stay. Today as we walked, we initially wondered what nature of beast had caused the hoof marks on the path and the quite substantial piles of dung blocking the narrow track through the woods. When we realised, we stopped wondering why the donkey hadn’t been allowed stop in our town.

We lost someone today. We don’t know where. They may be ahead of us, or they may be behind us – the previous town had a hostel with no electricity or hot water. If you’re out there somewhere, third musketeer, get back in touch, but have a shower first.

Our morning’s walk today was a long hike up a steep mountain in freezing cold, very thick mist. We were getting cold and all our clothes were wet. After 3 or 4 hours, we reached a small village near the summit. We couldn’t see more than 20metres in any direction, so initially the village looked like a ghost town – just the occasional grey outline of an empty building. After about 500meters we heard music from the side and found a little restaurant. We opened the door, not knowing what to expect.

We were the only people in the place apart from a large bearded man in old-fashioned clothes who stood behind the bar, looking gruff. It was a dimly lit basement, and as we walked down the steps we saw swords hanging together with animal skins and tapestries on the stone walls. The furniture, fixtures and fittings were hand carved out of old bog wood. A hot stove burned in the corner. It looked like that Mongolian bar from Indiana Jones and the Lost Ark.

We walked to the warmth of the stove like adventurers in a rough tavern in some wretched hive of scum and villainy. I removed my soaking hat and hung it on the chimney to dry in the heat, while we ordered two cafe-con-leches. Soon after our coffees arrived, the owner ran over to our table looking stressed and annoyed. My hat had caught fire.

Luckily, he caught it quickly, but now the (once quite nice) baseball cap that has kept both the sun and rain off my bald head has a scorch mark on the front. It’s also a little warped and the leather strap is shrivelled like an out-of-date sun-dried tomato. It’s part of my camino story now, so I’ll keep it.

Today we passed le Cruz de Ferro, the highest point of the Camino. Pilgrims traditionally leave a stone they’ve brought from home to represent something they’ve left behind by walking the pilgrimage. I was carrying a stone from my parents’ garden. It represented 300grams of weight I wouldn’t have to carry any further. As we left the cross and mound of stones, the most lifted and the sun shone for our descent to El Acebo down a rough rocky path. That could have been meaningful or it could have been lucky. I had my sunblock handy, so I’m counting it as lucky. We found a lizard and an odd-looking insect basking in the sun on our descent and pestered them with cameras. For them the change in weather was not lucky.

Coming down the mountain we were greeted with views over the foothills into Ponferrada, which we’ll pass through tomorrow. With the large cooling towers of the power plant pumping steam into the blue sky, it looked a lot like the opening credits to The Simpsons, so I hummed the theme tune as we walked into town. I would have moved onto The Bartman, but we hit town earlier than I expected.

Buen Camino.

Startpoint: Hospital de Orbigo; Endpoint: Santa Catalina De Sonoza; Distance walked: 27k; Steps taken: the pedometer is upstairs – I’ll tell you later.

We left the hostel late this morning. We met a large black dog before we left. Its owner was brining it to Santiago – it was the most enthusiastic pilgrim I’ve seen so far. But it wasn’t wearing any boots or carrying a pack.

We overtook lots of pilgrims in the first few hours. The two of us who were walking together congratulated ourselves on our youth, speed and stamina. As we stopped for loo-breaks, coffee, lunch, loo-breaks, clothes-changes and loo-breaks, they all overtook us again.

The dinner and breakfast in yesterday’s hostel was a donativo, so we could pay whatever we felt like. After donating all my small change after breakfast, we passed a shed at about 11pm where three young shirtless men sold fresh fruit, bread+cheese, juices, and teas and coffees for a donativo. I made myself a little cheese sandwich and washed it down with juice, then begged other pilgrims for enough small coins to ease my guilt. In the end, I only mustered up seventy cents. One of the other pilgrims had a laden donkey. The donkey wasn’t asked for a donation.

We had lunch in Astorga and reformed the little travelling group that had split so regrettably the day before. The three of us who’d met every few nights and walked and talked every few nights discussed other pilgrims we’d met and gossiped about their friendships and cliques.

In the afternoon, we went to visit a reconstructed Maragato village. The Maragato are a ethnic group in this region of Spain for which Wikipedia gives very little information. The town was cobbled, old-fashioned, picturesque and a little bit boring. As we walked through it, a collection of Spanish pensioners passed by us, all with white carrier-bags. The bags contained a bottle of wine and a large bag of (as it turned out), dried chick-peas.

We found the focus-point of the old-town – a courtyard artisan restaurant and artisan shop. The entire establishment was decorated with large bags of dried chick-peas with ‘Do Not Touch’ signs on them. We considered buying some bars of chocolate, but realised that the artisan chocolate was about the same price as a hostel bed for the evening, so decided against it.

As we left, we discussed whether the two kilometre had been worth it. We decided that the extra walk had been worth it just to know that we hadn’t missed anything worthwhile. Maybe if we’d got a bottle of wine and a kilogram bag on untouchable chick-peas to take home, we would have felt different.

As we approached the village where we’d hoped to stay for the night, we were approached by a frail old-man with white hair and a walking stick. In a mixture of broken English and laboured Spanish, he made it clear to use that the municipal hostel had closed down, but that one of the private hostels was very nice and worthy of our custom.

I don’t know if that old man was genuine and misguided or malicious and on the payroll, but we’re now staying in a fifteen-metre squared sweatbox with ten beds. Three of our roommates left the dinner table at half-past eight to go to bed so they could get up at four in the morning to hit the road early.

As I began writing this post, I was sitting in the bar, drowning my sorrows, watching a Spanish period drama on TV. The year appeared to be around 1850, but as the characters wore period-clothes combined with 21st century make-up, hairstyles, and high-heels, it was a little difficult to tell. As far as I can figure out, the main-character (a 20-year old heiress wearing bangs and Jimmy Choo’s) has just found out that her neck-brace wearing husband has been having an affair with her comatose mother. In a side story, a man in a v-neck t-shirt and goatee has been taking boxing lessons from a sailor.

As I finished writing this post, I was hiding in a bathroom cubicle. It’s the only place I can turn the lights on without people complaining. Outside the door in the bathroom proper, the hand dryer starts blowing periodically as the flies fly beneath the sensor.

Tomorrow we reach Cruz de Ferro, a 600meter climb to where pilgrims traditionally leave a stone from home to symbolise some emotional burden they have brought on the pilgrimage and mean to leave behind. My pack will become 300grams lighter, which is good enough for me.

Bien Camino.

Startpoint: Leon; Endpoint: Hospital de Orbigo; Distance walked: 36k; Steps taken: 45,237.

As I begin to type this, I’m sitting in a hammock, swinging back and forth and watching the sun go down. The yoga class has just finished, and we’ll all be called in for the communal vegetarian dinner very soon.

We were all a little sad leaving Leon, as we’d had a great time and it meant the end of our little group, at least for the time being. As we left, we discussed sweating, being judgemental and breakfast. It was a nice way to leave things.

It was a long walk today, we didn’t stop, and the sun was very hot. I was wearing my new shorts and got a lot of grit and small stones in my walking shoes. We passed fields of tall corn, heavy with ears ripe for harvesting. I spent a lot of time imagining aliens making crop circles and peering out from amongst the stalks. We passed fields of cattle; I commented on the size and whiteness of the cows’ ears. I mooed at one of the cows. The cow did not moo back. The grit in my boots was beginning to bother me and I considered for a while the possibility of a piece of grit being transformed into a beautiful pearl through being coated with layers of bootjuice. After thinking about aliens, mooing at cows and anticipating feetpearls, I realised I should probably find some shade and have a sitdown.

At one stage along the walk, the fella I was travelling with rescued a small insect from a fluffy white dog. We decided it was some form of mantis. The dog looked a bit lost and confused after we took away its toy.

As we walked on, I considered the pilgrims’ relationship with wildlife. Another walking companion had saved a small mouse from being trodden on and now another companion had saved a rare and interest insect from becoming dogfood. I began to wonder when my time would come. I’d saved a wasp from my coke a few days ago, but arguably that was really quite a selfish act. I just wanted to drink my coke and a throwing a half-drowned and angry wasp into the middle of a crowded street where most people are wearing flip-flops and sandals is not particularly responsible.

I thought that my turn to rescue some defenceless animal must come soon. Then as we entered a small town, I heard mewling in a hedge beside me. I was walking alone and seized the opportunity to rescue the poor kitty who’d become stuck in the thorny brambles. In my brand new shorts, showing off my milky white legs, I strode confidently into the bushes, making miaowing noises as I went. ‘Here kitty kitty kitty’, finally I found where the cat had been, but the cat had moved. ‘Poor pussy got confused’, I thought, and scrambled back through more thorns to the new source of the mewling. The cat moved again.

Four times the little furry bastard moved away as I got closer to him. Four times! Then I gave up. Either that cat is a sadistic little furball (and just wanted to watch the scratches on my legs multiply), or it’s beyond hope anyway. My snazzy new expensive walking shorts have tiny tears all over them and my calves and ankles look like a bad imitation of a map of the London underground.

After-dinner note:
The dinner was very tasty. This eco-, yoga-, buddhist-, meditation-hostel doesn’t serve any alcohol, but instead the owner sang us a song of thanks to the whole of existence to bless our meals. The song was in Spanish; some people who don’t speak Spanish closed their eyes, smiled serenely and nodded earnestly in agreement to the lyrics. This is one of the nicest hostels I’ve stayed in on the Camino, but I’m leaving tomorrow.

Buen Camino