walking – Page 20 – Walking without a donkey

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.

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Camino Francés – Palas de Rei to Ribadiso to O Pedrouzo, Spain

20.11.16 Palas de Rei to Ribadiso 25.8 km; 21.11.16 Ribadiso to O Pedrouzo 22.1 km

It’s all about living without knowing what will happen. Whatever it is, walk through it.

Down came the rain and…. . Two hours of heavy downpour in the morning meant very few photos for the rest of the day. However, it was a lovely walk through dark, pine forests, and open lusciously, green countryside, with a great deal of sloshing in the boot department. Plus, dripping sleeves, managing temperature control at the same time as trying to stay dry – one way and another it was a very different sort of a day than I had been used to.

Unexpectedly I stopped for lunch with a friend, and was rarely so pleased to see a pizzeria and drink a warming glass (or 2) of red. The patron was understanding and provided newspaper as I disrobed and slowly stopped shivering. This simple kindness was particularly appreciated.

My feet were actually cosy, even though it was impossible to dodge the puddles, but it was overall more tiring, and so I arrived at the albergue (crossing the ancient 6th century bridge to the other side of the Rio Iso) with weary legs, feet and soul, and in a narky mood. The door was open but no-one was at home, literally. I phoned the number, and the van I had seen leave as I arrived, returned with the hospitalier. There was some confusion as to which hostel, because he had one in town as well, but here I needed to stay.

Of course being so wet, meant that I cooled down quickly, and so I was very pleased to find that the room had efficient heating and a hot shower. There was a communal kitchen, sitting area, and the eternal noise of the TV of course; and here were the two young Canadian girls again. They really had to make conversation this time – we had been sharing dorms, meeting up and separating, re-connecting and overtaking with desultory Buen Camino‘s for several days now. In fact, we even ended up sharing some food, and the presence of other previously wet walkers conspired to improve the atmosphere a little. There’s nothing like moaning about the weather for effective bonding!

I had packed some of the lunch-time newspaper in the bottom of my rucksack, for stuffing my boots at the end of the day. That turned out to be a lucky break, because it had soaked up some of the water which might otherwise have been absorbed by my only change of garments. There was still a great deal of rearranging of sleeping bag, walking clothes, and other soggy items on radiators throughout the evening, but they were all wonderfully dry by morning.

Which is less than can be said for the landscape: what a storm! It rained wildly all night, with thunder and lightening, and I suffered nightmares, wakened time and again, once by my own screaming. Despite being ready to leave by 8.30am, it seemed sensible to wait and see if it might stop before venturing out. It didn’t.

What is the Camino de Saniago de Compostelle like? Often it’s just walking. With a moment when the sun comes out and everything shines. Or you turn a corner and there’s a simple, solid, ancient chapel, right there in the middle of nowhere.

‘During that continuous but automatic effort of the body, the mind is placed at one’s disposal. It is then that thoughts can arise, surface or take shape.’ p. 157

Now I walked beside woods of very unpopular eucalyptus trees with chestnuts dotted amongst them. It was a rather bizarre idea of the Spanish government to plant 1000’s of them for the pulp industry, and they have proved to stop other native species and natural ground cover from growing well.

There were no vultures visible these days (see earlier blogs), only robins (les rouges-gorges); those little gardeners’ friends, hopping very close by the side of the path, fluttering in and out of the wet bushes as if they were following my progress, keeping an eye on me. The rain stopped by midday, and there was an open bar serving hot chocolate, but I felt colder and my feet were like ice.

O Pedrouzo is a largeish town, quite modern in places, and I stayed at a new hostel that evening, Crucero de O Pedrouzo, for 10 euros – all glass frontage and underfloor heating. Delicious! There was a bank with cashpoint, a choice of small supermarkets, and a hard-to-find, but worth-it bakery.

Once again I met with immense kindness. This time it was a woman who welcomed us at the entrance, and she took herself off to get mountains of newspaper and stuffed my boots for me, not just once, but again later, when the first lot had done its job.

The open plan kitchen/sitting/dining area made for easy conversation, and immediate friendships were springing up at many tables as we ate. There was a young, cycling Korean, unusually mixing with other nationalities; 2 men speaking English and playing draughts together, despite the fact that neither had English as their native tongue; the familiar Canadian pair once again keeping to themselves; and a charming Japanese couple. By the end of the night, we were making hilarious conversation in many languages, and we all went to bed with smiles on our faces.

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

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

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