| 24/06/03 |
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I got up around 7 this morning and discover it's raining outside. Rain or not, on I must go though, so I pack and pay the hotel where I receive a pilgrims discount and get going around 8.10. The way out of Ponferrada is rather easy to find but after 10 minutes or so I have to unleash the Blue Ghost (my gigantic rain poncho). Although the weather is cool due to the rain, I sweat to death in the poncho.
As expected, the road leads past a black burnt stretch of ground where I don't know what is dumped, the only good thing is that, because of the rain, it doesn't smell too much. I pass a park and a chapel and finally leave the suburbs behind me. The road is concrete and leads past some fields, which for once are not planted with grain, and some cosy fermettes. In the mean time, I've walked through Columbrianos where there is nothing except for a closed church. I arrive in Fuentas Nuevas half an hour later. The village has some gorgeous houses with wooden balconies, a pretty little chapel in the middle of the road and a very welcoming bar where I have a nice cafe solo.
The rain has stopped and the sky is clearing ,meaning the temp is rising also. I put my Blue Ghost back in it's bag in the hope it can remain there. I arrive rather quickly in Camponarayo, a pleasant sort of one-street village where prefab houses in 60-70's style seem predominant but are interspersed with a few nice chalets. The prefab is winning. I rest a bit on a bench and as I'm getting a severe muscle ache, I pop an advil....and almost choke on it. These pills are ginormous. It takes me half a bottle of water to get it down. Yuck. A little shaken, I go on and pass the wine coop. I decide against a glass as I still have quite some km to do. I cross the highway via a pedestrians bridge and am lead into the eternal winefields. The road turns into a muddy path through the vineyards. The grapes are led over the ground instead og being tied up high as I've seen in France. Doesn't make the wine any less delicious though.
The road leads through small woods but as there are no arrows, I wonder if I'm going in the right direction. None of the locals I meet say anything about the wrong way so, heartened, I go on. Once I've plodded up a hill, I find a little yellow arrow and take a asphalt road towards Cacabelos. I rest up a bit in a picknick area for 15 minutes but, the show must go on. After another ten minutes I arrive in the large village. I don't quite like it here. It's very pretty, but seems unfriendly to me. I go to the albergue and shudder. It reminds me of swimming pool changing rooms, orange and everything. I ponder for a while if I'm going to stay here or go on. It's noon in the mean time and it's getting hot. After a nice clod soda, I decide to go on anyway.
Unfortunately, the next 5 km or so consist of a yard of gravel right next to the burning carretera. Hardly any shade and cars speeding by. Up a hill to Pieros, where there is a nice view of the valley, then down, back up again and down once more. It's very hot and no breeze to refresh me. I guzzle my Gatorade. Finally, we're led of the road and onto a gravel path past an sculptor's studio. The path winds up a hill again, clouds are slowly moving in and after another km or so the first drops start falling and there is the vague grumple of thunder in the distance. I quicken my pace but refuse to let the Ghost out of it's bag again. I finally, see the first houses of Villafranca and the church of Santiago. The large village is beautifully situated in a bowl in the mountains. It seems to consist of two levels, the highest level holds the massive church and the lowel level the rest of the houses and another cathedral. Wonderful.
I pass a very nice-looking municipal albergue but I have my heart set on the Ave Fenix one which is situated right next to the Santiago church. Jesus Jato welcomes the pilgrims with a smileand leads me to the sleeping area on the top 'floor' of the remarkable building. I have a quick shower and lunch in the village after calling the home front.
The atmosphere back at the refuge is good, Jesus Jato delights us all with guitar music and dancing. What a nice evening.
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| 25/06/03 |
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Around 12.30 at night, I'm crudely jarred from sleep by the snoring from hell. Even pushing my earplugs deeper in my ears does nothing to stop the horrid noise as the snorer is lying in the bed right next to mine. I toy with ideas of vicious murder, throwing socks, water, shoes etc. I cough, whistle, shush but nothing helps. At last, he turns over and the snoring stops. I could weep with happiness but decide to fall asleep in stead.
Up and at them at 6.45 and off around 7.30. Good. The weather is cool and cloudy but yesterdays wine slows me down. The fact that the camino is in fact the road, doesn't really help. My feet let me know they'd much rather prefer a different underground, but I have little choice. I walk on the delimited shoulder of the N6 but there is little traffic as a mastodont of a highway was constructed right next to it and most large trucks prefer that road. It's not really a nice walk.
After a few km, the camino leads off the road and through the hamlet of Pereje on a gravel path. There's really nothing there except for a closed bar and a teeny refugio. I rest a bit at the fuente and go on to Trabadelo via the N6 again. It's a rather boring day so far. Trabadelo is another tiny village. A dog storm towards me with a big growl, but fortunately its master is close and stops it. I take another breather before heading to Portela where I have to navigate a very busy truck-invested crossroad. I rest a bit at a Santiago statue and get visited by another dog of the sad and stinky but nice type. I pet him, he eats a poppy flower and crawls under the bench.
The weather has cleared but the temp stays acceptable. I walk through Ambasmestas where I count my lucky stars when I find a soda machine. In no time, I get to Vego de Valcarce. I walk past the private albergue and rest up a bit in the church dedicated to Mary Magdalene. There's a sello there for free use, so I stamp my credencial. After a moment's hesitation, I decided to do the last two km to Ruitélan. The road is shaded by trees so there's no need to hurry. I find the private albergue quickly. It's a very pleasant albergue with a clean bathroom. I nap a while after attempting to call home. Unfortunately, I have no cellphone connection.
Dinner is provided by the albergue attendant. It consists of a cold milk and apple soup (which is not really my thing), a mixed saled and spagetthi with pesto, natillas as dessert. Yum.
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| 26/06/03 |
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After a rather unpleasant night, I get up around six due to the bumps to the bed by the other pilgrims. Once I remove my earplugs, I'm pleasently surprised to hear Wagners Ride of the Valkyries piped through the speakers. I pack clamly and head out around seven. It's quite cool and humid but, for me, that's good walking weather. I have a nice tempo and arrive rather quickly in Las Herrerias where I'm startled when a cow suddenly comes around the corner. It's actually lead by an old farmer though who must have laughed at my loud 'Jesus!'. After exchanging a few words in broken french with the farmer, I go on. In the distance I see that Iain and Grunella, last night's roommates, have taken a wrong turn. They're already too far away to catch up with them and they don't hear me shout. I guess they'll figure it out eventually.
I follow the road until I reach a small bridge. On the other side of it, two large dogs are lying in front of a farm, unchained, and I'm scared to pass. I dawdle a while until the man with the cow shows up again. As I figure that in case of a dog attack, he can still help me, I finally cross the bridge. The dogs don't budge an inch. I feel silly. From here on out, the road leads up on barely used asphalt.It's still cloudy and cool but I'm sweating like a horse, to put it bluntly. The road climbs steadily; from time to time a car drives by. Soon, I'm overtaken by a group of Irish pilgrims, whose backpacks have been sent ahead by car. I arrive at the bicycle/carretera - walkers/ravine junction. I take the carretera option on advice of my french guide who are usually pretty adventurous but advice against the ravine option. This means I'm completely on my own until Faba. A car pulls over and the driver tells me I'm taking the longer road. I thank him for his help but go on. I don't plan on climbing down a ravine for no reason (as I'd have to climb out again) just because it's the shorter road. Shorter does not mean easier. Once again I'm followed by a small swarm of flies who must think my grey backpack is some kind of God of the Flies. Or they have a crush on it or it reminds them of their mother. Neither option is very appealing.
After a slow, long climb, I see the first houses of La Faba. A man seems to have taken residence here, offering Indian Massages and herbal teas. I wonder if he does well here and what the conservative, farming locals think of it. I rest a bit at a fuente and chat a bit with Regina (another roomie) who passes by. The village is really tiny and consists of tired-looking houses. The climb out of the village is rather sharp and steep over a distance of 100m or so and levels out on a mountain path. I stop a minutes and get overtaken by Iain and two other pilgrims. I trudge on uphill, it goes rather badly. I have to stop about every 50m to catch my breath. I think it's the height. I walka bit slower with smaller steps but it's still hard going. It's starting to get foggy and after another 15 minutes or so, visibility is down to 20m. Cool. The path climbs higher and I'm getting Scotland flashbacks what with the green pastures enclosed by low walls made of rocks. It takes me an hour to cover the two km to La Laguna. I'm startled once again when a dog appears out of the fog, barking ferociously. Luckily, he's chained up. I rest a bit further in the 5-houses hamlet where another dog also head in my direction. Again, luckily, its mistress will have nothing of it and keeps the dog close. Phew.
The fog thickens. After a few minutes, I head up another path which is edged on one side by thick ferns and has nothing but a sloping precipice on the other side. The path suddenly climbs very sharply. Bicyclists push their bike by hand up the mountian as the road is too rocky and steep to continue. I huff and puff and finally arrive at the Galicia marker. I rest a bit there and exchange hola's with a group of french cyclists, a polish couple and Grunella. After about 30 minutes of walking à la 'Pilgrims in the Mist' I arrive in Cebreiro. Yay! I'm there! I lose my backpack at a bench and enter the recent but very spartan church. Very nice. I quickly find the albergue and I feel a bit shocked when I recognise the view from the webcam. It's a bit eerie. The albergue only opens at 1pm so I go for a coffee and meet up with Iain again. It's actually rather cold here but as we're drinking coffee, the weather suddenly clears and the sun peeps throught the clouds. I buy a new shirt and some postcards. Iain and Grunella decide to go on so we say goodbye. The view of the valley is breathtaking.
The refugio is mmmm-okay. The showers are moderately clean but the rooms are suffocatingly tiny. After a quick shower, I head to the only restaurant which is full. I decide to have a beer and some pulpo at the bar. Cebreiro is very pretty as the houses are very typical and the views fantastic but it all feels a bit sterile and very touristy. The palloza's are impressive though.
I manage to make a call home and am glad to find out my mom's back problems are better. I call my best friend and tell her to look for a figure with a red shirt on the webcam. She sees me and our conversation veers into the "man, that's weird".
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| 27/06/03 |
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I slept rather well but still woke up a few times last night. In the end, I get up around six and after packing and breakfast get on route around seven. I immidiatly stop and put on my fleece jacket as it's rather cold, my tiny thermometer points at around 11°C. The views are stunning, the entire valley is covered with clouds and behind the mountains, the sun rises pink. Gorgeous but I just now my pictures will be unable to convey the beauty of it all. I follow the rtoad down and my tempo is quite good. There's almost no traffic on the road and my feet are rested enough to take the tarmac. It's a beautiful walk, I can't get over the view of the mountains and the cloudy valley.
The first two hamlets on the road are tiny, the streets covered in cowpats. The only nice thing about them are the micro-churches. After the first hamlet, the camino leads away from the road towards de Alto de San Roque where the magnificent statue of a pilgrims fights against the wind. I pass the second hamlet and the path suddenly climbs steeply towards the Alto de Poio. It's horrendeously steep and I puff my way up the pebbly path. Santiago smiles on me as there is a bar open at the top. I enjoy a large coffee and some crisps and, strengthened, move on after another 10 minutes. The camino is nice amidst woods and hills next to the calm carretera. The sun is out but not too hot and the scenery is very nice. I see large darkly-coloured butterflies and a smallish green sparrow-like bird with a red back. I also see my first tomtit of the road.
It's a rather long walk to Fonfria, which ends up being another cowpat hamlet with too many dogs and a tiny church. The camino leads back on the road for the next few km. Since Cebreiro, the road is dotted every 500m with a marker with the amount of km left to Santiago. It already bugs me as it makes me feel I'm not advancing at all. The camino sends us back on a farmtrack and through fields and pastures which is very pastoral. I'm starting to get tired as my tempo is quite high. After passing a farm and a loose cow, I arrive in Biduela wher I have a soda in the only bar. Unfortunately, the air is rather ripe as a few yards ahead a cesspit is being emptied. I quickly move on. The path slowly descends towards Triacastela which lies at the bottom of a large valley. It's a beautiful walk as we have a magnificent view of the Galician hills. Here and there the path dips a bit more sharply and ofcourse I twist an ankle. As if I didn't hurt enough already. After a few careful steps, it looks as if it's going to be okay after all so I pound down the hill. My knees are crying mercy but down I must go so I try to ignore the pain. The pastures on the left of me slope softly down towards the valley, which is uglified by a large quarry of some kind.
After another half hour or so, the camino leads through another cowpat village. The streets are piled high with manure, it looks as if all stables were emptied on the road. I'm rather glad to be through it. Crossing the road, we're led for the last time through a hamlet. A humogeous tree thrones in the middle of it. it looks as if three or four trees have melted together to form one. Awesome. We finally arrive in Triacastela where the refugio is not all that. It's quite humid and mouldy and the showers are pretty awful. The rooms are okay, bedding four but I cast a wary eye on the spiders on the ceiling. I have lunch in Bar Rio where I'm served caldo gallego, tortilla and a generous slice of Santiago cake. Yummy.
I'm tired but rather pleased with myself as I covered the 21 km in 5 1/2 hours.
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| 28/06/03 |
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Slept really badly, perhaps four hours in total. Even though I took advil and voltaren for the pain in my knees and feet, sleep would not come. Bah. I get up around 6.30 and leave an hour or so later. It's cool and foggy this morning so I wear my fleece for a while. I take the junction in the direction of Samos and decide to walk the entire way along the carretera instead of taking the endless detours through the tiny dog-infested hamlets. The walk is beautiful amidst the rockface and beautiful countryside. The birds are raising a racket and a bird of prey swoops over, screeching loudly before heading up to its nest in the craggy rocks. Wonderful. Above the fog, I can see the mountaintops in the sun. From time to time a car passes by but I hardly see 20 of them on the next 9 km. As I pass by about 5 hamlets that are not indicated on my map, I worry a bit about the direction.
I'm startled once again. As I'm passing past a hamlet, I keep my eye open for Cujo's. I spot one that is chained up, as I round a bend in the road, a cow suddenly appears out of nowhere. I nearly have a heartattack and so does the cow. I swear, the cows are out to get me. A whole herd of them plus goats and sheep are being driven towards a pasture by a farmer. I walk on calmly but after a while, my feet start to hurt. I arrive in Renche, meaning I was headed in the right direction after all, and rest up a bit while nearly choking on an advil once again. I take a picture of the church, evade a chained-up dog and go on. The road leads through impressive scenery and even though I'm utterly alone, I'm not at all bored. The sky cleared out completely and it's starting to get warmer but it's still significantly cooler than the last few weeks. After a 7% steep descent (poor knees), I arrive in Samos. The monasterio is gigantic in comparison with the small village. It's a colossal building next to the river and has been completely restored after a terrible fire in 1951 in which the entire interior was lost.
I walk past the closed 11th century chapel and decide to find a hotel as it's 10.30 and the albergue only open at 15.30. I buy some lunch fixings and after a nice hot shower and laundry, decide to do pretty much nothing for a few hours. I rest till 17.30 when I take the guided tour of the monastery. The interior of the monastery has been decorated with fresco's by three different artists. Unfortunately, all three of them paint rather on the kitschy side and I think that the androgyne angels and Sophia Loren-type nuns must distract the monks from time to time. The garden and the galleries themselves are very sober and feel original. I buy some postcards and get a sello in the souvenir shop. We're invited to attend the vespers which is very nice although some monks' gregorian chant is a bit off-key. This is followed by a rather tedious mass.
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| 29/06/03 |
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I only leave the hotel around 10 past 8. The sky is cloudy but it's not cold. Again, I decide to walk the entire way next to the carretera as it's about 4km shorter. The road is not as interesting as yesterday although I pass past a hamlet which boasts a beautiful chapel. Considering it's sunday, thee's actually quite a lot of traffic. After an hour or so, the clouds are beginning to look threathening, I take advantage of the fact it's not yet raining to rest 10 minutes. A few pilgrims bike past, two of them in a recumbant cycle, one on a normal one. Buen Caminos are exchanged in passing. I only manage to walk another 500m when it starts to rain, or better, to pour. I wrestle in my poncho and walk the next hour in the downpour. Then it starts to clear out a bit but I manage to twist my ankle again on the wet grass. It rains of and on until I arrive at Sarria some 2 1/2 hours later. The ablergue is still closed, so I go for a coffee and tortilla in the bar on the other side of the street. It starts raining harder again and after calling my sister, I declare this rest of the day useless.
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| 30/06/03 |
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In the famous words of one Blair Sandburg "Cold and wet is my world". 22km in the pouring rain and freezing wind, yet I'm having a ball.
I leave the albergue around 7.15 after a restless night for a 13.5km trip to Ferreiros. As it hadn't really stopped raining since yesterday, I let loose the Blue Ghost. The road takes us rather quickly out of Sarria via a rotten little steep path downhill. Immediately, my knees lodge a complaint and will filibuster for the rest of the day. We're immediately surrounded by woods, the ground is boggy yet doable. The feathered violence is out and proud, which is great fun. I quickly lose sight of the other flapping ponchos so I go on on my own. After crossing another railroad, I suddenly have a Roncevalles flashback: woods, mud and hills. My heartrate goes up and I huff and puff like a steamengine but manage to climb up anyway. I'm now on the ridge of a hill and walk through fields demarcated with scottisch-like stone walls. It's still very cloudy and wet but the sky is clearing out in the distance.
Thr houses here are cottage-like and sometimes have a brick horreo next to them. The camino leads past a dozen or so hamlets which consist of nothing more than a farm or two on a cement road guarded by a dozen chained-up dogs. The famous markers are finally starting to show smaller numbers and I keep a lookout for the 100km mark. In the mean time, the rain has started up again and although I'm wearing the poncho, I'm wet. Plastic really doesn't breathe. The rain comes in showers, not too violent nor too horizontal. I rest up for a while at the Peregrino fuente and refill my bottles. Suddenly, the sun breaks through the clouds and the sky finally clears. I wrestle out of the poncho and McGuyver it in such a way around my backpack that I simply have to pull to put it back on. I'm run nearly off my socks when crossing a large road, even though there's a largish group of us. Damn drivers.
The area I'm walking through is very beautiful; pastures, fields, woodland and an occasional farm. Snails cross the path in large numbers, they're as thick as my finger and as long as my hand. Birds are making a lot of noise and I spot the occasional courageous robin. From time to time, the path is flooded which is why 'correidos' of large dark stone have been placed on one side, keeping pilgrim feet dry and comfy. In a hamlet, while I'm petting a dog, the rain starts up again and I pull my poncho over my head. The dog startles and hesitates now to approach Blue Ghost Barbara. I can't say I blame him. I go on, accompanies by a group of wannabe backpack-less pilgrims in nice sportshoes and stylish clothing. Each of us looks at the other slightly disparagingly and I decide to rest a bit so they can go on and I can walk alone and in peace again. It rains harder, the sog mecomes mud and the stones are slippery. By the time it eases a bit, I pass a bar full to the gills and a little chapel filled with messages from and to pilgrims. The Xunta has attempted to create a path for us. Gravel with a line of slightly higher stones in the middle, which lie to far apart to step from one to the other without having to make a little jump. Hm. The path climbs again up to Ferreiros. I follow the arrows towards the albergue only to find it very closed by what I decipher to be the Health Inspection. Oh dear. I rest a while, have a soda and decide to head on to Portomarin.
After about 500m, of which 100m steeply downhill (my knees weep), I arrive in the next hamlet (church, graveyard, 2 houses and a bar) and have a nice hot coffee and a kitkat. I gratefully use the facilities and bind up the loudest of my knees. Outside it's Noah's flood, it's raining cats and dogs. As it doesn't ease up at all, I put the backpack back on, wrestle in my Ghost with the help of the very kind lady barkeeper who pats my head in the meantime. How sad must I look? As it's cold outside, I'm in triple ghost: fleece, k-way and poncho. Yeah baby, sexy! There's a strong wind and the rain is diagonal, my trouserlegs are soaking. On we go, through fields and paths and hamlets and tons of cowdung. My tempo is still high and I overtake some other pilgrims (we of the poncho-people). I'm glad I spent the money on a large strong poncho when I see the sad little pieces of plastic some people wear. It's good to pay attention to the path right now as the mud lies thick and an accident can quickly happen. I fear to stumble and hurt my knees.
After clambering up another hill, we arrive on a plateau where the wind does its best to push me over. The rain reaches the horizontal. Funnily enough, the song that pops in my head is "And I had the time of my life and I never felt this way before..." I find the entire situation rather amusing and I feel great even though my knees hurt, my feet weep and my back is letting me know it's there. I see Portomarin in the distance, it sits there looking ugly, modern and white. I cover the rest of the road rather quickly, the rain eases and I manage to negotiate the downhill path without too much pain. The bridge into Portomarin is very long and the wind blows hard. The water is very dark and the though that an entire village lies submerged beneath it, is rather creepy. Once the bridge crossed, it's time to climb some stairs into the village, cross an old bridge and up to the albergue. It's fortunately not full yet, so I pick a spot, have a shower and dress in dry clothes. It's raining hard again, the albergue is cold and humid and the beds have a clammy feel to them. I doubt my clothes will be dry in the morning.
After lunch, I wander about a little but it's a cold town with a very artificial feel. Even the deplaced old whurch has lost all magic.
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