Camino de Santiago de Compostella – Page 2

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Camino Francés – Liñares to Triacastela to Sarria, Spain

16.11.16 – 17.11.16 Liñares to Triacastela 18.2 km; Triacastela to Sarria 18.7km

Wonderful views from the top — The cold of the valley cleared in an hour, and there were spectacular views from the top

In my diary I noted that it was 190 km to Santiago de Compostella, and there was a heavy white frost that Wednesday leaving Liñares. That’s only one more week of this Camino – best not to anticipate the sadness. I was already ‘writing’ about today in my head as I made the first climb. I felt very happy.

It was soft in the morning light when I came up to the San Roque statue commemorating all the walkers who have passed this way through the ages.

Pilgrim bronze statue, at the top – Alto de San Roque – he’s holding onto his hat against the wind

‘for the walking body… is just an eddy in the stream of immemorial life.’ p. 6

Because of the height (1,270m) I can see the countryside I will be walking through in the future laid out in front of me.

Moving through Galicia, there are circular buildings of wood, or small grey stones with thatched rooves, for storing grain. So pretty – like miniature Kentish cottages!

We walk through days of tremendous chestnut forests, which of course shed their leaves at this time of year so that my feet shush and shuffle through deep ditches as I walk. In As Pasantes, the locals believe that this tree is 800 years old.

I realise I am walking without a watch now – I barely know the date never mind the time! It is the practice of regularity, of one foot following another, which seems to stop time, or suspend it. And the contemplation of the simple sights is enough, there is no need to check what hour it is.

‘an abundance of beauty that can turn the soul over.’ p.6

Castanea Sativa – sweet chestnut, a substantial, long-lived deciduous tree. It is a valuable cash crop in these parts.

It has been predominantly a downhill sort of a day, and a shorter one than usual. The hostel where I stay the night is on a slight slope, and I have my celebration beer at a table by the roadside next to the wet washing, hoping it will dry while the sun sinks.

‘After a whole day’s walking, the simple relaxation of taking the weight off your legs, satisfying your hunger simply, having a quiet drink and contemplating the declining daylight, the gentle fall of night’ (after Rimbaud). p. 143

It is early afternoon when I arrive at Triacastela

I take a walk around the town, admiring the church and, finding a sheltered corner to sunbathe in, I find some peace and quiet away from the other peregrinos.

Iglesia Romanica de Santiago de Triacastela

‘outside is no longer a transition, but the element in which stability exists’ p. 32

It used to be that I went outside to go from home to work, or from work to the shop. Now the nights inside have become the transitions, different every evening, allowing me to get outside once more when it’s light.

8.30am Triacastela. The special 2016 Autumn moon is still strong at this hour

Today I am aware of the balmy air against my forearms as I climb steeply once again. I watch the butterflies everywhere. I smell the chemical fertiliser and muck. There are white campion flowers, chamomile, lots of types of wild mint, Lords and ladies. Layers, lakes of cloud, hanging above the valley but below the silhouettes of the mountains. There’s a heavy, white dew still lying at noon.

and, in the distance, later in the afternoon too.

Luckily today there was no crisis as feared. Instead, you can see how the day unfolds in this time-line of photos:

as the late year’s light is slow to reach the paths

the water sparkles between sparse banks,

until the whole gentle vista can be seen laid out ahead

We are just two in the dormitory in Sarria, and able to take a delicious nap at 6pm before tea, a well-earned rest after a full day’s activity and fresh air.

‘Tasting one’s own presence in harmony with the world’s’. p.143

All quotes taken from A Philosophy of Walking by Frédéric Gros.

Galicia Guide – your guide to everything Galicia

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Camino Francés – Pieros to Vega de Valcarce to Linares, Spain

14.11.16 – 15.11.16 Pieros to Vega de Valcarce 21.6km; Vega de Valcarce to Liñares 14.7km

The next day I rose even earlier than usual, and performed my T’ai Chi routine through twice. I relished the exercise in the freezing morning air, teetering on the bumpy slope as the sun appeared.

Coming in from the cold, the dining room was cosy, and I was impressed by the healthy and satisfying breakfast. Afterwards, however, I was summarily kissed goodbye, not once, but twice, on the lips, by the ‘friendly’ hospitalier (see blog 20). I think that behaviour was a sort of unwelcome show for the other walkers preparing to leave. It was uninvited, and something which prompted uncomfortable comments for days to come. Walking in the sunshine undoubtedly frees the spirit, and I witnessed all sorts of happy meetings along the way. Despite that, the men I met were chivalrous, except this one who took advantage.

‘..everything recommences, everything sets off once more, and the dawn banishes the past along with the night.’ p. 98.

If possible.

Walking out of the Léon region, I admired the multi-coloured vines lined up neatly in the fertile valley below.

Different grape variation, different hue.

By 10am, rucksack on my back and getting into my stride, I passed through Villafranca del Bierzo, with its round tower.

Villafranca is another town heavily dependent on the Camino de Santiago, and it gets a mention as far back as the Middle Ages (791), for its wine producing monastery. Now it boasts at least 4 churches, 2 palaces and a castle!

In Vega del Valcarce, I was happy to take my night’s rest in a private room, available presumably because there were considerably less pilgrims now the year was drawing to a close. The lady of the house was welcoming and generous, offering us eggs and veg from her garden, and I laughed out loud watching the kittens play and sending photos of them to my daughters.

Huerto = vegetable garden. Huevos = eggs.

In my diary for 15th November, I wrote, simply, ‘A beautiful day in every way’. It was a frozen morning. The sun was rising very late now, and I needed a jacket, gloves and hat to keep me warm.

To wake up with nothing better to do than don the backpack, feed oneself and walk out into this. Wow! Fresh air in the nostrils, cheeks reddening, and the best of companions by my side.

The harvest pumpkins were like great, gleaming gems in the frozen patch.

As the day mellowed, the warm sun conjured the grass smell up out of the undergrowth, and produced….da-dah!…..blue sky.

‘breathe and surrender to a well-being slow as a forest path.’ Rousseau p.72

‘Serenity is the immense sweetness of no longer expecting anything, just walking, just moving on.‘ p.46

‘And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves

Trail with daisies and barley

Down the rivers of the windfall light.‘

Fern Hill, Dylan Thomas

Oh the beautiful views, vistas of violet blue hills and lime green fields, framing the orange slopes and meadows of Galicia!

The guide book said the next place was O Cebreiro, and knowing what was ahead encouraged me to keep going. Stumbling and crawling now, straining thighs, panting up tumbles of rocks, rounding a corner and thinking we were there, no! Passing a woman getting her breath back. And finally, the summit, with noble cross, 9th century church, thatched pallozas (huts), ground-hugging stone and slate buildings, all a mere 150km from the city of Santiago.

Instead of staying in this pretty windswept place, we travelled a little further to Liñares, a very modern hostel of metal and glass with a picture window over the valley at dusk, and another private room. Bliss.

All quotes taken from A Philosophy of Walking by Frédéric Gros.

Other Camino blog http://www.elcaminoasantiago.com/caminos/frances/etapa26.htm

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Camino Francés – Foncebadon to Molinaseca to Pieros, Spain

12.11.16 – 13.11.16 Foncebadon to Molinaseca 19.5km; Molinaseca to Pieros 21.1km

It was a cloudy start from Foncebadon this happy Saturday.

‘Daytime never starts with an act of will: it arises in unworried certainty. To walk in the early morning is to understand the strength of natural beginnings.’ (p.98).

I relished in the green lushness after the rain, which highlighted the autumn reds and orange.

Cruz de Ferro (Hierro) is an important cross marking the highest point of the Camino Frances at 1517m, with its little chapel and enormous pile of meaningful stones, placed by pilgrims over the years. There are no public toilets along the path, and long gaps between bars (where you must buy something in order to use the facilities), so, sadly, there is always white paper behind these charming buildings.

camino-frances-1795 — The highest point of the Camino Frances. The altar could be glimpsed through the bars of the entrance.

It was to be a smaller number of kilometers that day, but a steep ascent to Manjarin, with quite a surprising welcome when we arrived. In fact, quite one of the most unusual situations I have ever been in.

An (almost) abandoned village, Manjarin has one inhabitant, and his abode is decorated with insignia from all over the world, prayer flags, and messages in many languages. He welcomes walkers in to his warm ‘cave’. Leaving the light and moving into the dark, it’s initially impossible to see and there’s a musty scent. Then the passage opens out into a wide room, like something out of Robin Hood, with a rustic, bright fire and circular, wooden table, around which sit two men dressed as Knights with the red Templar cross on their tunics.

We are offered, and I drink, for the first time in perhaps 25 years, a (caffeinated) coffee. There are snacks and as our eyes get accustomed to the dimness, there is plenty to see around the walls. We listen to their chatter as they incongruously show each other photos on their mobile phones.

On the way out, we are invited to join a ceremony at the altar containing a statue of the Virgin and lots of Camino shells, and I am given a flag to hold, while one man reads a moving prayer (in Spanish) for peace and harmony amongst all peoples.

We descend almost 500m that afternoon, mist swirling around, with breath-taking views, through the mountain village of El Acebo de San Miguel (means, Saint Michael’s holly) in upper El Bierzo, and down to Molinaseca. I can smell the damp, decaying landscape, and feel the droplets on my face as I tramp. There’s the dry shush of copper leaves as I keep to the softer edges to avoid the tarmac. My feet have become so sensitised that I fancy I can feel each stone through my soles, but at least after all this time my feet have hardened and are blister-free. Most of the trees have lost their leaves at this altitude, although withered blackberries remain on the brambles.

There were trees with silver lichen and scarlet, rotund seed heads; and dry, beige grasses reminiscent of the Scottish hills. Village streets wound round stone dwellings with sturdy wooden balconies, seemingly deserted except for, here and there, washing hanging out to dry in the grey day. Even without the sun, the wooded slopes of the valleys were spectacular as the clouds hung among them.

Molinaseca has a comparatively large population of 800, surprising after the day’s rural walk, with it’s handsome church and bridge, and where we stayed at the municipal dormitory as usual, with its bunks, wooden floor and steel beams.

The sky cleared as we slept, revealing a blue morning.

And an hour later we entered Ponferada, on the river Sil, with its imposing monastery, castellated and turreted. It’s the official end of the Camino Frances and the start of the Camino Santiago, but you would not know that as you walked through.

The road continued through yellow glades, over ancient stone bridges, and past single storey, white stone, one-room buildings with dark grey slate rooves. There were more cranes nests on top of council-erected poles, and ‘authentic’ murals showing monks and pilgrims striding out. The path widened and flattened, and the mountains were once again in the distance. We passed through Cacabelos without stopping, the end of the day’s trek now nearby, and up another very steep incline, to Pieros.

This tiny hostel Casa Sol y Luna was an alternative to the norm, with it’s meditation room upstairs and cosy dining room down. The hospitalier was most attentive, drying my knickers in front of the stove, and accompanying me to see the massive harvest moon I had seen heralded on Facebook (but impossible to photograph with a mere phone camera)!

The walls of the small dorm were like outdoors indoors, where you can see the grouting between the stones. We spent time gossiping over which enthusiastic youths lived here, who was sleeping with whom (was she creeping off in the middle of the night to avoid the snoring, or for a tryst with the lascivious gentleman?), and I translated the gushing messages in the visitor’s book for the owner (all about stars and angels – it was that kind of place). We had a delicious vegan meal with wine in situ as it was a Sunday (no shops open), and there was much warmth, song and laughter at the table that night.

Hostal Casa Sol y Luna, Pieros. View from the garden.

All quotes taken from A Philosophy of Walking by Frédéric Gros.

Thanks to Alain for taking beautiful photos.

A fellow walker’s blog

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Walking without a donkey 15: Camino Francés (Burgos to Castrojerez).

30.10.16 – 31.10.16 Burgos to Hornillos to Castrojerez

camino-frances-1557

This photo looks as if it was taken in the countryside, but is part of Burgos. I visited a number of places where the local councils have provided beautiful pathways in and/or out of their cities, and after 28kms walking from San Juan de Ortega, it eased the weary end-of-day-feeling.

The next morning, it didn’t take so long to get out of the urban environment I had spent the night in, and thankfully I was back into the countryside before too long, even if there were a few wrong turns to start with! It’s lucky that a friendly walker always seems to be there just as I am standing around looking bewildered, viewing first one, then a second possible turning, and somehow missing the yellow arrow.

Not long afterwards I started traversing km after km beside fields of dead sunflowers. They were a bit creepy, and sad. Maybe, I ponder, the seeds will be harvested later rather than all going to waste? But I discover through research on the web when I get home, that there are situations where this is not the case. Due to EU subsidies the farmers do not actually need the crop. What a dreadful waste.

We walk through villages where the Camino is their main livelihood, and so some decorate their houses in blue and yellow with the familiar logo, making sure we walkers feel welcome, and presumably encouraging us to spend money in the bars.

**A blurred picture, but you can see the flags and colours of the Way of St James.**

We pass delightful churches. Many are very simple with a single tower and entrance, charming in their structural naivety, and so attractive against the blue sky. They are not usually open, and when there is a long way to walk, we don’t often stop and view the interiors. They contribute to the overall spiritual atmosphere, reminding us that we tread in the footsteps of pilgrims through the ages. Their presence encourages silence.

A largeish town, Hornillos del Camino (see that the name reflects its dependence on the Path), is in the region of Burgos, Castille y León. It is a well-kept and sturdy town, with wide streets of grey/yellow local stone, a Catholic church tower, and wooden balconies, and will be full of travellers in the summer months.

DSC_1158 (360x640)

The atmosphere was convivial that evening at the albergue: I shared a ‘pilgrim menu’ (3 courses with wine for 10 euros) with the others, and a good time was had by all!

Hornillos has a backdrop of hills, which does not prepare you for the meseta, the flat and open countryside which follows for several days. Not having to watch for boulders or strive uphill does mean that one km merges into another, and that releases the Mind.

‘Think while walking, walk while thinking, and let writing be but the light pause, as the body on a walk rests in contemplation of wide open spaces.’ p.20 A Philosophy of walking, Frédéric Gros

I only just get used to being able to see my destination an hour ahead, when something very unexpected happens: The sign to the ruins of the Convento de San Antón is unasssuming, suggesting to me that it will be another small religious building. But there is the sound of heavenly music, and it gets louder and louder, until I round a corner to be faced with astonishing flying buttresses right across the pathway.

It is an architectural spectacle! I have to stop and gaze at the most detailed and highly carved archway, replete with stone figures many of whose heads are missing due to the ravages of time, and there, there’s a donkey (or is it a camel?).

In addition, on the right is a courtyard from which I discover the music emanates, together with familiar faces enjoying drinks and a toilet break. It turns out to be one of those amusing tourist interludes where the barman produces a ‘bag’ with a long, thin spout, full of wine, that you hold up high and pour into your mouth (or all over your face if you aren’t careful!).

After these antics, we once again split into various groupings, and make off on the trail to Castrojerez with its idiosyncratic signage, and large shared dormitory for another night of snoring!

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Thanks to Randall St. Germain for sharing the Castrojerez website

A camino blog I recommend

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Walking without a donkey 14: Camino Frances, San Juan to Burgos

29.10.16 San Juan de Ortega to Burgos, on foot

camino-frances-1532 — San Juan de Ortega

Why did I come back to the Camino? I think I had already fallen in love! Walking out into a day like this, who would not?

Certainly the world had that glow about it.

camino frances 1543.JPG

The simplicity of walking out at dawn with only the immediate to think about. Holding hands with the landscape, falling into step with the climate, walking alongside the smells and tastes of each region as I passed through. Sharing only the necessary things of life: food, sleep, moving forwards.

Kissing the colours of Autumn, embracing the opportunities that waited for me; arriving in a new place, and exploring the unfamiliar streets, churches, shops and cafes; resting on my bunk simultaneously listening to music; exchanging stories in unfamiliar tongues. The looked-for love affair that took me out of myself, and at the same time dropped me right into the essence of my being.

As well as resting places, the many crosses and cairns (the Scottish word for a pile of stones often found in the hills and along paths), serve as locations for carefully selected rocks, placed by walkers to mark the spot. We give thanks for what has come to us. That we are still on our feet and continuing to walk the beautiful Camino.

spain-autumn-2016-phone-1213

In Scotland, in summer, we often say to each other how lovely that the warmth brings people out of their houses, out of their thick, protective clothing, and liberates their chatter and laughter. Here I was in a seemingly perpetual summer, sun on my bare arms and legs, with the energy flowing up from the ground I was pacing, liberating me, and lightening my heart.

‘..the call of the great outdoors…the need to provoke…transgressions, to give substance at last to folly and dreams’. p.5 A Philosophy of Walking, Frederic Gros.

(Such a contrast to walking in Edinburgh in January! No-one smiles or gives a cheery ‘Buen Camino’ as I stride past. My nostrils are full of exhaust fumes so I can barely notice the smells of the hedges and herbs in the gardens I walk past. If it wasn’t for last night’s snow highlighting the fields and hills of Fife over the water, which I can thankfully see through the skeleton trees at the end of the road, there would only be cars and rushing people.)

As I have seen Burgos, which is today’s destination, twice already, I walk through and out towards the other side. This way I avoid the crowds in the centre, and sashay along the glorious river bank, discovering the outskirts later that evening.

spain-autumn-2016-phone-1160

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