walking – Page 19 – Walking without a donkey

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Travels in Spain

I have just discovered that deleting photos from my media library at WordPress, the people who host these travel blogs, has meant that those deleted photos do not now appear in past blogs. The recent ones are fine.

I had no idea of this and am hoping that WordPress will contact me shortly to offer a solution. In the meantime, you will find blogs (eg about the Camino Frances in 2016) with text but no photos and I apologise for this.

Tamsin 24.7.17

This is a general introduction to my Spanish walking.

‘I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move.” R . L. Stevenson, Travels with a Donkey in the Cevennes

Time spent in Spain: 4.10.16 – 17.12.16; 12.5.17 – 24.5.17.

Some of these blogs were written ‘on the spot’, some soon after the event, and others when I returned to Scotland. What a joy to compile them!

At the 2016 Edinburgh International Book Festival, I heard Jean-Christophe Rufin explain (and these are my own words from the memory of that event), that all the walkers he saw seemed to be scribbling or typing a blog at every stop of the way, but that he decided not to do that and to rely instead on his own memory afterwards. But I am a 53 year old woman who has had 2 kids and has a head which is already very full of experiences, so I didn’t want to rely on mine!

I began to walk the Camino Frances in Pamplona, Spain.

Writing has been a good way to assimilate and integrate my experiences, to make sense of where I have travelled, what I was thinking, and the conversations I had with people. It enabled me to tell my family, friends and colleagues what I was up to (similar to one of those news letters you sometimes receive in Xmas cards!), and, I now realise, to keep the spirit of my wonderful adventures alive.

spain-autumn-2016-phone-886 — Donkey in a temporary street stall, Feria, a Basque county fair.

Origin of the blog name: There is a book by Scottish writer, Robert Louis Stevenson “Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes”, and there is a French Camino named after him which has a personal, family connection for me. Just as it is possible for campers to stay in a site where a tent is provided, ready-erected with a camp-bed in it; so there are many who take treks and have a mule or a person to carry their bags. I walked around Spain with a rucksack on my back (containing what I needed for a 3-month stay, summer – winter), rather than having a donkey carry it for me.

“Whenever I was asked: ‘Why did you go to Santiago?’ I had a hard time answering. How could I explain to those who had not done it that the way has the effect – if not the virtue – to make you forget all reasons that led you to become involved in it in the first place.” Jean-Christophe Rufin, The Santiago Pilgrimage

So I won’t explain here why I decided to do this, although there is some explanation in later blogs.

But I will say that there were two distinct parts to my journey: one where I visited fellow Shiatsu (acupressure massage) and complementary therapy practitioners, giving sessions in return for bed and board. The other where I walked the Camino Frances and part of the Via de la Plata (‘o contrario’, backwards), staying in different hostels and hotels every night.

Burgos, a major town along the Camino Frances, Spain.

The former came out of finding a way to stay in Spain without spending too much money. The latter was inspired by friends Phyllis and Liz, by books, programmes I heard on the radio, and the film, ‘The Way’. It turns out that walking the Camino suits someone like me, a normally busy person, active, and perhaps tending towards being workaholic or at least feeling full of responsibilities. I trained myself years ago to sit and meditate, but it could be that walking is more appropriate to my character.

“that fine intoxication that comes from much motion in the open air, that begins in a sort of dazzle and sluggishness in the brain, and ends in a peace that passes comprehension.” R.L. Stevenson, taken from various blogs (see below in English & French).

Camino: A walk, or track, often trodden for religious and spiritual reasons since the Middle Ages, by ‘peregrinos’ (Spanish for pilgrim). The best known is The Way of St James of Compostelle, or Camino Frances. All paths are signposted by the coquille Saint Jaques shell which walkers also carry to symbolise their journey. ‘The Camino de Santiago comprises a lattice of European pilgrimage itineraries which converge at Santiago de Compostela in north-west Spain.’ (Michael Murray, for ref. see below). They can begin in Jerusalem, Rome, and Paris, famously at Sean-Jean-Pied-de-Port in France; and are travelled across Spain, Portugal, France, England and elsewhere in Europe.

spain-autumn-2016-phone-2732 — The final way marker of the Camino Frances, Finnisterre, Spain.

The shell sign alongside the number of km still to travel. This one indicates I have arrived in Santiago de Compostella, November 23rd 2016 after walking from Pamplona.

This is where I went, in the order I visited: October – Downton (New Forest, Hampshire, England), Santander (by boat from Portsmouth), Salinas, Aviles, Oviedo, Bilbao, Egileor, Vitoria Gastiez, Feria, San Sebastian, Pamplona. Camino Frances 1 (Urtega (by bus from Pamplona) to Najera). Cortiguera, Aranjuez (via Madrid). Camino Frances 2 (San Juan de Ortega to Carrion). November – Madrid. Camino Frances 3 (Leon to Santiago de Compostella), Finnisterre, Santiago.

Map showing Santiago de Compostella in north western Spain, the home of the Tomb of St James, final destination of pilgrims from all over the world.

December – Camino Via de la Plata (Santiago to Vilar de Bario). Xinzon, Ourense, Las Matas (via Madrid), Valencia (via Madrid), Olocau and Sierra Calderona, Barcelona, Edinburgh (by aeroplane).

I keep being asked whether I suffered from the walking, and I understand the question because I, too, was very worried about this, and allowed it to put me off starting. I did have a week or so of blisters at the start, but I had researched what to take with me before going, and had plasters, cream and a sewing kit with me (yes, we sew a thread through the part with the fluid and let it drain out over time to stop it getting infected!). The other pilgrims were really helpful and showed me how to look after my feet, so I didn’t have to stop, and my skin hardened up soon enough.

spain-autumn-2016-phone-3179 — Early on the Camino Frances, Spain.

My main concern had been my back and the load. I carried approximately 18kg (which was more than the recommended 5th of your body weight) and although it felt very heavy after 32km, there was no pain. All that yoga before I left, and my daily ‘Salutations to the Sun’ helped. I did have to pay to get it home on the aeroplane at the end, which was a nuisance and might have been avoided. Next time I will take a new-style, light-weight sleeping bag and towel to lighten my pack.

I trained as a professional dancer in my teens and early twenties, and am therefore used to daily class, working through the pain and stiffness of the night and previous day’s exertions. This probably helped me to deal with the numerous small physical difficulties which arose when I walked, especially at the start of the day. I used my Shiatsu and other training to identify the source, relax into the areas I was holding tension, and, lo! they disappeared as quickly as they came.

There were many other people who suffered and some who had to give up. I helped with Shiatsu where I could: feet, hands, ankles, backs etc, in the evenings at the hostels. It was good to meet travellers I had massaged later along the way, and particularly in Santiago on the final day to know they had been able to complete.

spain-2016-001 — Leaving Portsmouth, by sea, October 2016.

Kilometres walked: 700+ (Caminos), not including Sierra Calderona, Egileor, Aviles-Salinas, walking friends’ dogs, walking to school near Valencia, all the cities…

Walking without a donkey – Travels in Spain. Starting with blog 1 in England

The Stevenson Camino blogs I have enjoyed:

http://stevenson.canalblog.com/

http://walkinginfrance.info/short-walks/r-l-stevenson-trail/

Travel stories by Teri White Carns https://roadtripteri.com/2012/10/16/first-day-of-walking-pamplona-to-urtega/

M. Murray’s research into Caminos: https://www.qub.ac.uk/research-centres/TheInstituteofSpatialandEnvironmentalPlanning/Impact/WorkingPapers/FileStore/Filetoupload,432512,en.pdf

https://www.caminodesantiago.me/

Fantastic book: A Philosophy of Walking, Frederic Gros

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Olocau and Sierra Calderona: Part 2, Spain

Olocau, 12-14.12.16. Part 2

We walk in and out of the village taking Theo to school, picking our way over the stepping stones across two streams. I am so hot and sweaty, despite it being so late in the year, that I change into shorts and vest top with sunglasses when we get back. The golden dogs appreciate the shade.

We eat delicious oranges that lie under the tree as we walk. At the local bar we are served bitter local olives, quick-cooked sardines, and peanuts in their shells which they grow in the garden – all free tapas with our beers.

The house sits on the edge of this protected area of natural beauty and the daily T’ai Chi is in the shadow of this marvellous scenery. My host helps me plan the next day’s walking on his GPS which is invaluable once I get used to it.

Duration: 8 hours. I went slowly to eke out the wonderfulness.

‘Walking: it (silence) hits you at first like an immense breathing in the ears. You feel the silence as if it were a great fresh wind’. p.59 A Philosophy of Walking, Frederic Gros.

Of course it is not silent really. If it is not birds; insects; leaves hushing, it is my brain’s noticings and internal conversations.

As on the Caminos, it’s not unusual to find small cairns or piles of stones in significant places.

There’s the smell of pine, and it’s a very cold 5 degrees as I start. The only sounds are the very high-pitched, fine bird song; the buzzing of insects; tutting of grasshoppers; and wind in the trees. Later there’s a period of hunters shooting, which seems to go on and on. When I am out of the sun, the cold air penetrates my clothes and hair.

Number of others I encounter: A pair of cyclists who I hear before I see them. Then they pass me and it’s only the birds again. There are only two walkers who happen along when I am lost and help me back onto the right track. My luck hasn’t run out.

As I climb, the Valencian plain comes into view, and I look down the rocky slopes to the mountains, so far in the distance that my phone camera can’t pick them up very well.

I walk along a smooth, wide, red-clay track which changes after a couple of hours to brown, yellow and sometimes gold. I am struck how different the colours are from Northern Spain. All around me are trees and shrubs of grey-silver, yellow-green, spring-green, brown, and a whitish pink.

It is really quiet. Twice I hear a noise which makes me turn, and it’s a red admiral butterfly’s wings moving – truly. I imagine this is how the wilderness might feel. I change into my shorts when it gets too hot and feel like a boy exploring exciting lands when I should be in school.

Great big boulders blocking the path.

I think there might have been recent rock falls, perhaps in the torrential rain I missed last week, because the path was all but blocked with giant boulders at times. I found myself clambering up to the summit, the Pico, on my hands and feet. There’s a little ‘altar’ at the top with a visitors’ book in which I write. I add a small white shell from the beach in Finnistere, which I have in my pocket.

And then it was worse coming down, dangerous, and I often slipped and fell. Later as I rested, I heard rocks falling and saw movement of the undergrowth on the opposite slope. There was a wild boar, a large, heavy, dark animal which I had been often told about – so exciting!

Afterwards I visited the village for a welcome beer and wandered around. A beautiful church, an interestingly decorated house (with Charlie Chaplin), and an alternative zebra / pedestrian crossing, all caught my eye.

I extended my stay an extra day to have one last wonderful walk in the tranquility, and thank my hosts Georgie and Phil for their generous hospitality. I hope the Shiatsu and other help I gave around the house conveyed my gratitude.

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Via de la Plata Camino – Day 8, Spain

Xunqueira de Ambia to Vilar de Barrio 5.12.16 13.4km

Rousseau wrote ‘I have never thought so much, existed so much, lived so much, been so much myself,…as in the journeys which I have made alone and on foot…intoxicated with delicious sensations.’ p. 70, A Philosophy of walking, Frederick Gros.

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Today’s aim: not to assume I know what will happen in the future.

As I have walked, I have thought a lot about the future, and at the moment I have decided that it’s a mistake to assume we know what will happen in 10 years time. Imagine if we were wrong and we don’t live that long, and we had said no to something because we thought we knew. I am still interested in using the present as a way of planning for the future though.

My second important thought for the day concerns the kindness of folk: if Merce hadn’t encouraged me I wouldn’t have left Pamplona and started the Camino; if I hadn’t walked with Alain I wouldn’t know the way of the pilgrim; if I hadn’t followed Clémence I would not have known how to work my way backwards along the Via de la Plata; and if the lovely man from Seville hadn’t let me copy the chemin from his GPS I wouldn’t be here now…

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This morning I am able to go more softly, and the morning is simply wonderful. I climb up and over rocky hills amongst Autumn colours (oak and bracken), and the landscape is stunning, the views breath-taking, and all the small happenings seem to have such value.

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I met a woman as small as me, in a pinny, and with a faint odour of cooking about her. Perhaps she was 20 years older. She wanted to tell me, as I traipsed through her village, that I wasn’t going to Santiago (no, that’s right!). She wanted to know where I came from, to tell me which was the next village and how to get there. And she also checked whether I had something to eat. Bless.

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The second half was all very flat and rather monotonous. I somehow managed to get lost, despite being able to see where I was going miles ahead, and stopping lots of farm and heavy goods vehicles to ask the way. I clambered up and down river banks getting scratched by brambles whilst trying to find a way across. I retraced my steps, and generally got a little downhearted.

Annoyances: Clouds of midges. How do they get right inside my clothes like that?

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It was a series of long, long straight paths crossed by equally dead-straight roads for several hours, and the chocolate and bread I ate as I went along sat heavily in my stomach (the Spanish diet contains so much wheat!) I found that it was much harder to walk in this type of landscape, than on the gorgeous hillsides of the morning.

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I arrived in Vilar de Barrio at 3.15pm after walking 6 hours from where I started, and rather stupidly with no break. No wonder I felt exhausted, and had tired feet and middle back! For the first time it felt a bit of a strain, yet another new place after 8 straight days of hiking. However an ultra high-speed hot shower hit the right spot, and it wasn’t long before I was sitting with a cold beer and this fountain view.

I had had hot sun all day and it was 16 degrees in the shade outside the bar. Given I was sitting in a t-shirt and flip-flops on 5th December it wasn’t at all bad.

By 4.30pm the clouds were looming over the hill and I needed to eat. The supermarket was about to open but once again the hostel had no utensils and I still didn’t have a pan, so I decided to treat myself to cafe food, the first time on my own.

Unfortunately the woman who cooked at the cafe went into hospital unexpectedly, so I had to wait until 8pm for the restaurant to open. Run by a much older couple, and with a verbal menu, I told her (in Spanish of course) about my vegetarian and fish diet and was offered verduras soup and tortilla. Ideal! In fact the former had chunks of mutton in it (though I didn’t have the heart to send it back so it was probably the first meat I’ve knowingly eaten in 30 years). The latter was the best I’ve ever tasted AND she wrapped the leftovers up for my lunch for the next day. Another much appreciated kindness.

There followed a further night alone in the hostel, this time with underfloor heating, which was lovely for doing barefoot T’ai chi on in the light of the following morning’s sunrise.

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Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Finnisterre, Spain

Finnisterre / Fistera (by bus) / Santiago de Compostella 24 – 28.11.17

The bus from Santiago de Compostella to Fisterra in the O Coruña province of Galicia, Spain, takes 3+ hours. We drove through torrential rain, along a really beautiful coast which was often shrouded in mist, arriving in the dull damp, with rucksacks and immediately wet shoes. Happily, the bus stops in the centre of the town and the accommodation was only a short walk away.

Oh it was dreadful! Booking.com did not come up trumps, and, later, a complaint had to be made. It was surely the dirtiest kitchen and coldest set of rooms imaginable, without wifi. The only thing going for it was the hot baths.

But look what happened! The next day the sun was shining, and Spain was its usual, stunning self.

The final part of the long ‘chemin’, the Camino path, is to the fin de la terre that gives the area its name, the ‘end of the earth’. It’s a slow hour’s 3 kms wander, uphill out of the town, and past the final milestone.

The road passes a church.

DSC_1597 (640x360) — Parroquial de Santa Maria da Vila de Finsterra

There are glorious views to gawp at!

Here’s the last of the grand pilgrim statues.

There is a small group of buildings at the point – a hotel, gift shop and the lighthouse.

And, oh, there was the Atlantic Ocean, and it was a wonderful sight to behold.

I sat and contemplated the expanse of water.

Taking photos of more walking-related statues.

While I sat, two men arrived. They had obviously walked the last part of the Camino de Francés, and they undressed and danced and whooped with joy. I wouldn’t be surprised if they went on to burn their boots ceremoniously, as many do. Too wasteful for me!

On the way back down, there were still nasturtiums even though it was the end of November!

And other vibrantly coloured flowers growing by the roadside.

The harbour is full of fishing and pleasure boats, and there’s lots to see at all times of the year, even when it is out of season.

There are several supermarkets, one gift shop, a post office and banks, but it’s a sparse town with an air of bewilderment at the wacky backpackers pouring in and out every day. There are also dogs just running around the streets, with cars swerving dangerously to avoid them.

The view from the balcony of accommodation #2 was gorgeous. I enjoyed my sunset sangria and snacks of mussels in spicy sauce ‘en escabeche’. These were slow, peaceful days after the long trek, spent mostly in the open air because it’s a habit that is hard to break. We breakfasted and supped on the terrace, grand meals prepared in the spotless self-catering kitchen. It was, however, slightly less private, what with the loudly copulating couple in the room above.

It is almost obligatory to beach comb in Finnisterre, reputedly the home of the coquille Saint Jaques shells. At that time of year the strand is totally deserted, almost rivalling our Scottish ones, but that suited the end-of-the-road mood. It was good paddling weather!

Reminds me of Claigan Coral beach on Skye, Scotland

The only complete shell found that day, and one half of a matching pair

Being away from the city of Santiago, the cafés are cheaper, with free wifi, cake and biscuits, and no-one takes any notice of how long you sit there, or if you simply pop in to use the toilet.

DSC_1631 (640x360) — I only bought the coffee, the rest was gratis.

On the 27th it was back to Santiago and getting to know the attractive wee streets and gift shops some more. There was a delicious final meal of paella, including my first taste of razor fish, and much happy on-street greetings of friends previously met along the way.

After several brandies, I danced in a jazz bar with C. (Although I didn’t know her name then, she was someone I was to meet unexpectedly the next day, on the Via de la Plata (see later blog https://wordpress.com/post/shiatsutamsin.wordpress.com/687).

Europe was made on the pilgrim road to Compostella.

It was an early morning farewell to Alain, my walking companion of the previous weeks, on 28th, and afterwards I wandered around Santiago feeling somewhat lost (and hung over). Then, well, then of course, I set off walking again.

Thoreau, Gros writes, ‘… we store when walking vivid feelings and sunny memories for winter evenings’. From A Philosophy of Walking, Frederic Gros

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Camino Francés Camino – O Pedrouzo to Monte Gozo, Spain

22.11.16 O Pedrouzo to Monte Gozo 15.4 km

Despite the previous night’s rain, it was beautiful in the morning misty light

Unfortunately my boots were still damp by morning, but this was a short stage because part way between O Pedrouzo and Santiago is Monte do Gozo. Monte do Gozo is a massive complex of pilgrim accommodation (1200 beds), built at the behest of the Pope, and Alain, my walking companion and I, wanted to see what all the fuss was about. On the way we stopped for a hot chocolate and Santiago Tart (delicious almond sweet) to warm the cockles. There was not much conversation as we neared the end of the long journey and reflected on that with sadness.

There is a tradition, amongst the Camino trapisers, where boots, clothes and other accoutrements which are no longer necessary, are ceremoniously draped around and arranged at a particular country dell. It didn’t attract me at all, indeed, it was all a bit of a mess. Plus, autumn was moving into winter now and a decidedly melancholy atmosphere was all around.

I have never seen such a place as Monte Gozo. It reminded me of a student campus or unimaginative caravan park, with its concrete masses in a gorgeous rural setting, and, as it was out of season, there was nothing but the wind blowing food wrappers around deserted walkways.

On top of a hill, there are views for contemplation, and somehow self-satisfied statues of walkers. So I turned my back on those arrested, oxidised striders, and sat in the warm sun in silence. It was starting to dawn on me that this wonderful Camino journey was nearly at its end.

The man who booked us in was very friendly and we were able to ask questions and find out about the place. Apparently it is full to heaving in the summer, although I still didn’t get a spiritual sense about what goes on there. There were one or two others in the hostel block and an adequate kitchen where we had our pack lunch. And there was blessed privacy for giving Shiatsu.

A thoughtful figure amongst the concrete

Later, there were no cafes or bars open, so we walked into the village in the pitch black, under a starry night sky, and it was freezing. We searched, gave up, started again, and eventually found somewhere to eat the familiar traveller’s menu. I do not recommend visiting at this time of year, and was glad to leave the next morning to walk the final 5 kilometres into the city of Santiago de Compostella where St James’ remains are interred.

‘When I walk I soon become two. My body and me: a couple, an old story. Truly the soul is the body’s witness. An active, vigilant witness. It must follow the other’s rhythm, accompany its efforts: when you rest on the leg during steep ascents, when you feel its weight at the knee. You push on and the mind punctuates each step: ‘good, good, good’. The soul is the body’s pride. When I am walking, I accompany myself.’ p. 57

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

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