March 31st 2018 10 kms 2. 5 hours then a bus to Béjar and a shared taxi (6.5 euros each) to Calzada de Béhar.
At the large hostal in the centre of the busy town, I had a couple of very interesting conversations with an Irishman, and an Englishman who lives near me in a Fife forest, both of whom are wild campers and walking with tents etc. This is something I have been thinking about for a while as it eliminates the need for finding a free bed every night. (See yesterday’s blog for a good example of how hard it can be unusual but worth knowing about if you are considering walking the Via de la Plata).
The remains of the rain from the day before lay over the mountains.
The dormitories are warm and the kitchen well equipped. It was swarming with peregrinos I had seen before and so was a friendly place to be.
After the escapades of the day before, I set off as usual, walking to Balneario which was all along the road.
Once there, I immediately saw the sign to the terma, the hot baths, and thought that would be a lovely treat but…
I entered a bar to find my companions already partaking of their morning coffee. One said he was staying behind to visit and after telephoning the hostel we were heading for, both for myself and 3 others because I spoke the most Spanish, I decided to stay as well.
The Roman baths were booked up ahead of time (this was the Saturday of Easter weekend and very busy with tourists) but the kind woman at the desk showed us around.
Benito, a German with a propensity for delight in all things.his is the old Roman bathroom, now a museum.
Then we went over the road to the modern baths and took advantage of the Pilgrim Discount (4 euros) for a leisurely swim and laze around on loungers, with a huge blue bathrobe thrown in for good measure. It was a small pool with one fountain and the only others present were a family with 2 young daughters, so reminiscent of my own in days gone by. I had a good sleep and after an hour and a half my feet were barely aching at all. Wonderful. (They are open until lunchtime and then reopen later in the day. )
Modern baths in Balneario.
We had a nice meal back at the bar (he had salad with orange and goats cheese; I had salad with gulas and prawns which turned out, despite my thinking it was a seafood salad by the title on the menu, to be sprinkled with thousands of tiny pieces of bacon which I laboriously separated from every mouthful before I ate it.)
Note to self: always check for the presence of meat before ordering!
The town is beautiful, tucked right in under the mountains and, on account of its height, very windy.
Street art in Balneario.
We managed to find a sunny corner to wait for the bus, before being driven to Béhar (only two buses that day at 12-something and 5pm) – an idea which the Tourist Information adviser had come up with. He said we could walk from there. It was lovely and warm and we wound our way up, higher and higher, through spectacular scenery, to the main town of this region, on the edge of Extremadura.
The centre of Béhar.
Once again we visited the Tourist Information and discovered it was further than we we had been led to believe and, it being close to the evening, my companion suggested we take a taxi – ending what was essentially a rest-day, which after all was day 10 and so a sensible time to take it.
Camino friends had already arrived at the albergue after a very steep climb, and the hospitaleros were most accommodating. There is a a garden overlooking the wonderful scenery, and loud music coming from a closed outbuilding which I was told the next day was where they were training horses to dance.
Albergue, Calzada de Béhar, Spain.
There were two very large sittings for the evening meal which consisted, for us vegetarians, of salad, omelette and flan. The usual, but all cooked on the premises and delicious.
Very sadly I forgot to take my swimming costume off the washing line the next morning.
23rd May 2017. Via de la Plata camino walk, Spain. Day 8: Villafranca de los Barros to Torremejía, in the autonomous community of Extremadura, Badajoz province. 26 kms which should take a minimum of 6 hours with breaks.
One star shone beside the moon (or was it a satellite?)
I left Villfranca at 5.50am and it was darker than ever before. Once I had found my way out of town I was in open scrub land. There was the dawn at the edge of the world; the sky was blue, red and orange. I heard the sound of a lone cockerel, a white horse was just visible, and I smelled the faint odour of farm fertiliser.
There were orange lights already in the distance, and tractors passed me under the tiny, thin crescent moon. The dawn chorus was sounding: Oh, the sweet, sweet feathered melodies!
As I found my stride, my state of mind calmed. My pack was extra heavy with provisions, and my feet already hot, but the air was cool and I gave thanks for that. The dusty path was occasionally lit up by one or two red tail lights of farm vehicles. Then it went quiet. The flower buds were tightly shut.
The sky was a bright orange purple and the fiery dome took three minutes or so to appear
The moment when the the sun finally rose was very exciting, and afterwards the opposite sky was a blank in comparison.
‘(Pilgrimage is) … walking in search of something intangible..’ p. 45Wanderlust by Rebecca Solnit.
Some travellers write their blogs after getting back home, after the whole trip has ended, and I can see why; although the trekking itself does not take all day every day, so that you would think there was time enough in the evenings to write, I find that the attention needed to deal with practicalities, together with the attendant tasks of looking after the BodyMind, can take up a surprising amount of time and energy. On this journey I started posting my blogs daily, but gave up part way through.
I recently advised a prospective peregrino to leave books at home. That was partly due to the weight, but also because I do not read much when I am on a pilgrimage, and I do not see others reading around me. Fiction can transport you to another place, and many pilgrims believe that focussing on their spiritual goal is vital and do not want to be distracted.
‘…- and for pilgrims, walking is work.’ p. 45 Wanderlust by Rebecca Solnit.
As I walked, I was reflecting: I could see that I have a tendency to set myself extra and unnecessary tasks. Yesterday I did some work for the business back home (perhaps thinking I was indispensible) and it transpired that it was a needless task. As I put one foot in front of another I could take note of such patterns and habits of mine.
Camino Publico de Chaparral , longitude 3,600 km, Ayuntamiento de Villafranca de los Barros
To the east were hills like different sized piles of manure you will clear up later, whereas the other half of the globe was flat to the horizon, and the vineyards of the Ribeiro region a uniform blue. The arrows were easy to see, the backpack was no bother, but my feet were still calling my attention at times.
Not long after, the sun lit them up and I enjoyed the immaculately ploughed red soil between rows of vines.
The world was in technicolour
Olives, with their stumpy wiggly trunks, stretched into infinity. One patch had solar panels and an extra crop of what might have been green alfalfa between the trees. The cordoned vines had thin little stems, perhaps because the wires were supporting them so they did not need to be stronger. I would like to know why some rows were planted north-south, and some east-west.
The sweet fennel and cow parsley smelled delicious. My skin remained cool, and it was brightening quickly. Other wild flowers competed with the blue of the sky, and there were His Master’s Voice horns of pink, common bindweed by the path.
Bright blue wild flowers competeing with the azure sky
Before I left the hostel, breakfast looked better than usual so I had paid for it, and consequently I was full of sugary energy. On the ground, my shadow was really tall; I thought it must be my alter ego which could reach things down from high shelves in the supermarket!
In the fields, today’s job was trimming the long tendrils, and other than those men working (an occasional conversation reached me), it was me, myself, I as far as the eye could see.
Vast expanses of sky and road
I liked the swirls in the earth at the ends of rows where the tractor had turned; hated the repetitive machinery noise to my left which source I could not see; and blocked my nose from the acrid, chemical smell I had been warned about.
I had also read that there was neither village nor water for the entire 26 kilometers, and I could believe it. I only had one litre of water and so knew that I would have to be careful not to drink too much too soon. Sadly, as I took the signposted turning, the noise got louder.
The tireder I got, the less time had passed since I last looked at my watch! Chemicals smelling like paint were being sprayed, so I tried to pick up pace, but my body had set its own rhythm. Tonight, I thought, I am drinking some wine!
By 8.40am I was no longer alone; there were four Italians in a group and another solitary man on the road. We moved at regular intervals from each other.
The same person I had shared a dormitory with the previous night, with his hat, carrier bag and wooden walking stick
After almost three hours without a break, I was casting ahead for a tree throwing shade, but there was not one until 9.20. After a fifteen minute break, and having eaten my orange because full much needed fluids and was the heaviest (delicious it was), I deduced that we were barmy, the lot of us, walking so far in this heat!
I then passed the hat-wearing man sitting on a wee waymarker, and he said he was muy cansado (very tired). He added that we were half way. On I went.
A town with unusual looking farm buildings appeared. Ah! maybe wine vats. It looked like the outside edges of a huge swimming pool and I imagined it was full of grapes with barefooted people trampling around inside it. Do they actually do that these days? I then realised that could of course be sewage, which would be considerably less ‘romantic’.
Luckily, the actual smell was of newly cut branches and very fresh sap.
For some reason I suffered a lot of pains on and off, and I also started to feel the skin on my right arm and leg, the side where the sun was, getting that soon-to-be-burned feeling. To remedy it, I draped my magenta wrap over that side of me – that scarf sure does come in handy. (See my blog on what to pack in your rucksack).
You cannot see from the photo, but the mountain rock strata were clear to the human eye
Swifts zapped flies, zig-zagging across my view. Were those cordoned olives? If they were, then that would make for many more plants per acre than the row system, so it would certainly make financial sense, if the earth could sustain it.
I broke again at 10.45 for lunch under a tree, feet throbbing – it was so very hot. A pylon was crackling like a fire, indeed there was a smell of burning. As I ate I let my crumbs drop for the ants and watched one carry a huge piece away, picturing it arriving back home, saying ‘look what I got!’ When I got up, I noted that it was a messy business for the bottom, sitting on the earth like that. I restarted at 11am and, yes, there were a lot of little inexplicable, smouldering fires alight between the olive trees.
A sea of bleached wheat
Towards the end of the day’s walk I spent a short period, only the second time in the past eight days, talking to someone as we went along. He was from Barcelona and was doing the camino to get away from his demanding family, he said. He assured me that despite the exhaustion, of course he wanted to keep on walking until he reached Salamanca (a further eleven days). Such determination!
At 1pm in a 31 degree heat, and after seven rather than six hours of walking, I arrived in Torremejía. (Put the accent on the final ee: toh-ray-mah-heee-ah).
Privacy – all the other beds were empty
The hostel host owns a bar as well, on Avenida Extremadura, but there was a family issue and it was closed that evening, so I sat in the one opposite and had a beer and wrote my notes.
Useful info: the supermarket on the same street is shut for a long time between lunch and evening.
I did buy that bottle of wine I had promised myself, and I also invited the man in the above photo, plus a Dutch cyclist new on the scene, to join me. We had some surprisingly entertaining conversation, in divers languages, and it was very enjoyable to sit around the table with fellow travellers again, as I had done so often on the Camino Frances.
For some reason the host kindly offered us a free breakfast when his bar reopened the next morning; it provided simple fare with generous portions and friendly service.
Toast for breakfast, with a great deal of butter
Tomorrow would be my last day on this leg of the 1000 kilometer Via de la Plata, so I would have to wait to see Salamanca another time.
For a list of stages of this camino and other information, check out this link:
20.5.17 Monesterio to Fuente de Cantos, on the Via de la Plata Spanish Camino. 22kms – a nice sensible distance to walk after yesterday!
The Sierra Norte are still there, away in the distance as I walk out for day 5.
Last night I had wandered around Monesterio, shopping and having a beer, so I knew my way – or I thought I did. I got to the outskirts of town, stood in the middle of the road and scanned for yellow arrows which I had been following, retraced my steps and met a second solo female traveler, Yvette. It was 7.40am. She said I looked so confident that she had been following me! Together we found our way quickly and for the first time I had a companion.
She told me she was Slovakian, and she spoke good English, which was great as I have no Slovak. We established that we shared interests, chatting about complementary medicine and health-related matters, how the body manages stress, and of course why we were walking alone in Southern Spain. There was a good energy and we endeavoured to be mindful of our own body at the same time as sharing the way.
Dry earth, wild flowers, and masses of blue sky.
There were cows wearing bells, herds of goats and other animals. We walked past beautiful streams, grand trees, and there was a green peace all around us.
She spoke about the luxury of not having another person’s stuff to process. We mused that in the past men went to war and many did not return. Now many of us divorce each other, so either way there are still a lot of women alone at the end of their lives.
Dandelion suns growing by the wayside.
In fact she was walking much more slowly than I was as she was not well. I slowed down for a time because of the pleasure of having company, but after an hour and a half or so I went on so she could rest more.
Black winged birds with orange caps, and white throats and undersides were singing beside me. The fragrant shrub I had not managed to identify on the internet last night, so still thought of as a sort of broom, repeatedly attracted my attention with its so-sweet smell.
After two hours the landscape had changed and there were no trees, although luckily there was a breeze. Quite a few lizards I did not quite see, scarpered at my approach.
Fewer large trees at this stage.
I remembered that yesterday when I sat down to eat there was a grasshopper by my left ear. Listening in this quiet place is one of the great pleasures of the Camino. I reflected that as a therapist I am familiar with listening to others When I walk, however, I luxuriate in paying attention to the subtlety of nature and to myself.
I try listening under a tree away from the beating sun, but not for long as my sweaty back gets cold. I eat some sugary cakes to feed my muscles.
It was surprisingly fertile. I did not walk through any villages on the way so there was no chance of a cup of tea.
Even though I tried to avoid squashing insects, the scuttley spiders seemed to change direction just before my foot descended, alerted by the earth moving as I walked towards them. Sadly they were therefore more likely to be stepped on. I spent some time thinking about fear.
I noticed ants going up and down a tree.
I did not take too many photos today, partly because I was walking some of the way with Yvette, and partly because it all looked rather similar.
Both Christ and the Buddha walked and meditated. It seems to be something closely related to religion. I think it must be about contemplating one’s behaviour and the habits of others, the meaning of things.
There are empty husks growing beside me, dry whispering. Are they oats? They rustle and shine white-gold in the sunshine.
Dust blows around me. Over and over again I breathe it in without noticing, until I recognise that it is that which smells, not the other things which we are there simultaneously. It is the same way I can smell snow in the air back home, and people are surprised. I think my father taught me to focus on smelling, as it was something he really appreciated. Despite being a smoker, he really enjoyed sniffing the roses at dusk, or inhaling the gentle scent of a child’s hair.
The grasshoppers were loud, louder, really loud as I got closer, and then their noise subsided and tailed off as I ambled on. It was the opposite and slower version of standing by a motorway as cars zoom past.
I reminded myself that I always know that I will get there eventually. I thought I must still be tired from yesterday if I needed reminding like that.
A tiny bird balanced on one ear of corn.
Where the trees were, I sat with my feet in the water to cool, and I listened and watched. I took my top off for airing. Then, when I was ready to go, Yvette came by and we found we had more things in common. We made plans to meet that evening before I toddled on. What a happy, golden corn, blue sky sort of a day it was.
Entering the town
The last hour was really hard work in the heat, and I stumbled off the edge of a pavement in Fuente de Cantos and twisted an ankle which was not at all like me. But round the corner was a patisserie with its sweet sugar smell, and a few doors up was an ‘oasis’. The building did not look much from the road. It was not the municipal albergue, but one I had seen advertised on the road. In fact I had picked up the last leaflet.
Entrance to El Zaguán de la Plata.See what I mean by ‘oasis’!
I wondered if I was in the right place because it looked like heaven. The door was open so I wandered through the great entrance hall into the courtyard. I sat by the fountain and admired my surroundings. Of course I had started to take photos when out popped a man and offered me a drink. Most kind. So I had a seat (although I was very sweaty, in the 30 degree heat), and heard the water burbling and allowed the flowery aromas to waft around me, and exhaled.
What a find! I was once again the only person there – I had the whole place to myself which included the swimming pool which was great water therapy for my ankle. I had sent my bathing costume home on day 1, so it had to be underwear, but then again there was no-one to see me. Well, only the owner and his dad pottering about the place. Oops!
I did walk out later to get some messages ( a word used in Scotland to mean shopping) and it was a dusty and extremely hot walk to the edge of town to the supermercado. I visited the convent turned hostel which the others were staying in, both to see it and meet Yvette, but unfortunately she was nowhere to be seen and I never saw her again. I did bump into the English cyclist who I had passed yesterday. He was looking for the post office to send his guitar home. He said he did not find that he had a need for it.
Shots of the town.
A glass or two of wine; the view from where I stayed; a lovely Madonna tile; and not everywhere was as smart.
There was a museum at the albergue, full of baskets, old farm machinery, and knick knacks. Fascinating.
Places to rest and recuperate as the temperature slowly cooled.
The downstairs bathroom and ceiling of the dormitory – all really attractively decorated.
Fuente de Cantos was the home of Francisco de Zurbarán (1598-1664), so I visited the museum. It was not my cup of tea, but what a cutting figure he made!
19.5.17 day 4 Almaden de la Plata, through El Real, to Monesterio, on the Via de la Plata Spanish Camino. 35kms – crazy!
View of Almaden de la Plata the afternoon before.It was dark when I departed the following morning.
The Christmas lights were on in Almaden as I left the town after an over-confident decision to make a double day’s walking. It had actually been cold in the night and was cooler than normal as I walked out this morning. I wondered if it was because of the altitude.
Christmas decorations in May?It is the little touches that make a hostel attractive.
So, in my last blog I noted that the east-west route for today was clear from the top of the hill, and I knew which side of me the sun should be. But, I was distracted by the goats and made a major mistake, the worst I have ever made in terms of time spent going in the wrong direction. I did not take the option on the left. If it is dark, fellow walkers, be careful! Note to self: I have to be extra watchful in mornings.
Not as if it wasn’t sign posted!On the other hand I would not have otherwise seen the sun starting to illuminate this amazing landscape.And I have since read other blogs and I was not the only one to make this error.Some people went much further in the wrong direction than I did, poor things.
I had wanted to get a head-start: uncomfortably my competitve streak seemed to be coming out. I was walking towards the rising sun. The little voice inside my head had to get very loud before I stopped and retraced my steps. It is something I have always hated doing, going back on myself, perhaps because of the time and energy lost
The mist was coming off the glassy water just as if it was an Enid Blyton magical pool.
Having reset my course, I continued on through this area of outstanding natural beauty, heading towards the Sierra Norte. There were sheep bells tinkling all around me (idyllic, I know). I saw one of those huge black and white birds standing as still as if it was waiting until it understood what the world was all about.
Fancy living right in the middle of this haven of nature, as if it was their back garden.
When you walk alone you get the autonomy but no support.
Beautiful, black twisted trunks.
The same birds as yesterday went ‘boh boh’, answering each other across the path in the early morning sunshine.
Walking is all about doing the work of sorting things out. The same themes of loneliness and relationships were on my mind this morning.
The sun was not yet high enough to light up the water.My shadow, now I was going west as I should have been all along!
There were a whole lot more animals here than I had seen on the rest of the journey put together. Curly horned goats were eating voraciously, and pigs, sheep, chickens and even one lone peregrino.
I was giving myself a hard time for impetuous and mind-less. It was interesting that it happened on a day when I had decided to do twice as many kilometers as usual.
I was going slowly, and without a doubt the smell had changed as the sun warmed the world up. There was more to sniff overall – the beasts were pungent!
The rich, deep orange, red, and brown soil was so hard and so full of rocks than the drought had made great cleaves in it.
Rocksy ground and chickens.
Time: there is simply getting through it, and then there is racing. This walk is supposed to be about sampling every moment and being in the world, being in place, so to speak, so that I can see what is around me in glorious technicolor. That is what I have given myself the opportunity to do.
From stage left, out of the scrub, came the first solo peregrina, a woman also walking on her own. I nodded hello and gt no response so I left her to herself.
Immediately I came across a huge flock of goats, tucked against the fence guarded by one, no, two dogs. All was peaceful munching, dozing, and baa-ing. I moved through the throng, and was about to do the right thing and close the gate, when I picked up a change in energy and heard the goats starting to bleat. It was then I saw that the dogs were on their feet. I looked up and the female walker behind me was obviously scared. Her fear was transmitting to the animals – she was frozen.
I went back and accompanied her out. I tried various languages to communicate, but she seemed to speak none of them, so I left her to her own pace and went on.
I reflected that this walking lark is a test of how I cope with thinking on my feet, how I deal with obstacles such as metal gates, goats or water blocking the way.
Oh the glorious blue!
Pools of unfathomable beauty were reflective and languid. They made me want to stop and sit for ever.
In the middle of the park was the village of El Real, at 11am. It was a short stage of 15.5 kilometers, but tricky, especially if you get lost, are older, or have blisters.
Here is the albergue I did not stay in.
I stopped for a green tea (some of you will not be surprised), and some of my pack lunch, and the group of Italians I had originally been ahead of, and who obviously did not get lost, were there too.
The little village had a good array of shops, and I was able to buy bread and a few other things I needed. It was a necessary and welcome hiatus.
So pretty!
Then I was off again, up the steep hill and back into open country. There was a little queue of us, well spread out, and it was already very hot.
Walls not fences. And over one wall was a river and I saw a turtle.
And a ruined castle with the same massive (avian) cranes nesting on it which I had seen in Almaden.
It was a long arduous climb, one that would have been at the beginning of the day rather than the hot middle if I had slept at that place. Yesterday there was a short but very steep hill and I was aware of my breathing as I climbed. Today’s went on longer and I could feel my heart beating too.
I fancied I could see the Buddha all around me sitting under trees as he was reputed to do.
The name of the private house I walked past: Estrella, the star.
The buzzing of a spaghetti junction of pylons as I walked under it helped raise my Ki at the acupressure point called Governing Vessel 20. If it happened for too long, I reckoned the Yin would turn to Yang.
Then a different type of buzzing: frogs. I was told theywwere grenouille by a French man imparting knowledge as he happened to pass by. He was going so fast he would not have noticed if I had not stopped him and his wife to delightedly point out the noise. I had been sitting silently having my snack and listening to their songs.
The long hot road ahead.
On through the Sierra Norte I walked, finding it hard without a guidebook to help me on my way. Looking down, I realised that, in this part of the world, even ants have shadows. I thought I would make that the name of my travel book if I ever write one.
I move through a landscape of trees, wild flowers, and a mountain herd of cows, all a rich brown with horns and swishing tails. There were calves and two men on horseback herding them through. It seemed a peculiarly Spanish scene.
There was bullfighting on the tv in the cafe where I sat the night before last. In front of dignitaries, the waistcoats of the matadors were splendid, and their magenta swathes of swash-buckling cloaks were no doubt admired, but I had to leave because I found it devastating to watch.
I gave thanks for the wind.
I passed the man who ate tinned peas and carrots for tea and tinned fruit salad for breakfast as he sat by the roadside contemplating an empty can. I thought how it must be so heavy to carry them all.
Kilometer after kilometer I trekked, the yellow fragrant broom-type plant making my path fragrant.
I crouched under what was actually a bush, for the little shade it offered while I rested my tired feet.A rare building just on the outskirts of a rather yukky industrial area.
After the lovely Sierras the air is full of industrial noise, an acrid smell in my nose, and what with the searing heat and dust, and the fact that the Extremadura Road sign tells me I have a further 10kms to go, I am somewhat down-hearted.
Then there was a twisty path through plane trees which captured what breeze there was AND offered some dappled shade.
How much better than the motorway, though still I have to admit it was really hard going.
There are little signposted paths, but you must look hard for some of them and there are almost dangerous parts, presumably to avoid the motorway. It was so very hot by now, and I took frequent tiny breaks. I think one of them was where I left my water bottle 😦
Why did I choose to do this long etape? I inevitably asked myself.
And then, at last, I was at the first roundabout of what turned out to be a largeish town: Monesterio.
It is something worth noting that if you do not have a book and are unable to use the internet, you do not know whence you are heading, and it is therefore always a surprise when you get there – in my case always a good surprise!
Once again, there was a long walk to the municipal albergue, an ex-convent, and it was not at all straightforward. Up half of the cowboy-film-style main street I went – the sign directed me to the left – and through the small streets I wound, asking people if I saw any, although it was all but deserted at this hour, tracing and retracing my steps until I arrived.
It is huge, and joy, I therefore have a room to myself.
The lone Italian woman was next door. We shared a bathroom, which flooded at the easiest opportunity, and she was not happy with any of it.
There was a large courtyard at the back, I really mean huge, which as far as I could tell belonged to another building. At the top of a tower which I could see from my bedroom, there was a gigantic nest, but there were no birds visible.
You can get a sense of the size of the courtyard in this photo.An unusual art-deco style tower.
In the kitchen there was a machine which dispensed tea bags. I had nver seen anything like it before. It even had green tea!
23.11.16 Monte do Gozo to Santiago 4.7 – yes, readers, I got there!
On leaving Monto do Gozo, the roads lead by a sculptor’s garden and workshop: some whole and in tact, others eroded by the seasons and attractively aged.
And a little further on it was a relief to see that the corn had finally been collected in. I had walked through so many fields of maize during the past weeks, and seen it looking daily more bedraggled and sorry for itself. I wondered if it was all going to waste, one of those cash crops which farmers sow for the subsidies. So I was glad to glimpse the shining yellow kernels hanging up for winter storeage.
Then we arrived! On the roundabout at the edge of town is this sign, inexplicably decorated at that time with the French flag, but appropriate seeing as I had walked beside a Frenchman and spoken that tongue for well over a month.
It was not far now to the centre of Santiago de Compostella, but somehow we got lost on the outskirts and so it took a while to find the Cathedral. Having both been there before, perhaps we did not really want to arrive and face the end. We trudged up steep streets and found the bus station (which was unnecessary!), and wound our way back down through the busy metropolis with very uncharacteristic bad temper.
Although I had never planned to get here, and the process was infinitely more satisfying than the end, there was some inevitable elation at standing in the atmospheric, grand square with a few fellow walkers, at this glorified place so many had striven to reach since the Middle Ages.
Mid morning, but the sun is low at the end of November, slanting over my head and throwing a shadow many times taller than me
Alain in front of the Cathedral which is covered in scaffolding
With my raggedy piece of paper, stamped at every hostal I had visited along the way, I went to the credentials office and got the final seal and certificate.
Then found the delightful lodgings (pre-booked).
And attended the Pilgrim’s Mass.
Before taking our seats, we queued to kiss the statue currently situated behind the altar. I was very hungry (a noon service), and it was cold in the cavernous interior. Like the outside, it was in the process of rennovation, and for some reason the enormous incense ball was not swung, so it was all less impressive than it might have been.
After a warming and celebratory meal, followed by a nap, there were streets to walk, shops to visit, familiar and first-met backpackers to greet. A lengthy but spacious re-visit of the Cathedral with its golden altar, and many side chapels, where worshippers chanted and prayed, seemed apt.
What did I get out of walking the Camino Frances? Untold amounts of glorious things.
Physically, I was feeling so much stronger and leaner. I used to say that I only liked flat walks alongside rivers or canals, but now I could manage the climbs and rejoice in the views that my friends used to tell me about!
I reflected (so much wonderful time for reflection!), that the on-going walking forwards gave me an unexpected sense of achievement. It has always been hard for me to believe I have achieved much, hard to stop towards the end of a project, look back and be pleased with what has taken place. But here on the Camino, walking, the simple effort affords pleasure in achievement, of reaching the evening’s destination, of covering the kilometres, of managing the carrying and the impact.
‘When you set off for the day, and know that it will take so many hours to reach the next stage, there’s nothing left to do but walk, and follow the road.’
‘Serenity…a steady balance in the soul. Walking leads to it, quietly, gradually, through the very alternation of rest and movement. …Serenity comes from simply following the path’.
Pages 145, 146 ‘A Philosophy of Walking’, Frederic Gros
Walking without a donkey 