Reflections on the Camino

Make friends with yourself before you go especially if you’re going to be walking alone. The Camino Portugese particularly to the Spanish border is quiet and while you meet and join fellow pilgrims throughout the walking days there is a lot of time spent alone. There are very little distractions, though I know some people will do their utmost to create distractions and if that is so well the question is why do you need distractions. Why not stay and be in the here and now? Look around at the beautiful scenery, listen to the birdsong, look at the vibrant colours of the flowers and plants. If you are like me,you will be rewarded with a sense of awe and wonderment at our beautiful world. I am grateful for the beauty that surrounds me.

Enjoy all that the Camino has to offer:-  strange food, stranger experiences, the quirky and idiosyncratic, the ordinary and the shadow side or the frustration of being unable to explain your requirements. It is all part of the experience. Think of it, as experiences to tell the grandchildren or to write in your memoirs.

Gratitude : I had a strong sense of gratitude as I walked, first of all that I had the wherewithal to undertake the walk in the first place and then that I had the ability to stick with it and see it through to the end despite my initial discomfort and the sense of not being well. It is true, this too will pass with perseverance. In some instances it is a matter of just putting one foot in front of the other, over and over until you reach your goal.

Its a bit like life really, some of the path is straight, with no dips or obstacles, in fact relatively easy. Then the path is obscured by fog, or twists and turns, you never know what is around the corner. Then there are the highs and lows, the latter serving to remind us how wonderful the highs are. And the ups that the downs don’t last forever. Then when least expecting it the Camino will throw a curve ball at you and all you can do is take it in your stride just like life. Voltaire believed that God gave us the gift of life, but it is up to us to give ourselves the gift of living. Go on, give it a go, you won’t be sorry.

As with life endings have new beginnings. I look forward to new beginnings. I haven’t a clue what they are but I’m open to receive.

Thank you for joining me on my sojourn and Buen Camino!

 

 

 

 

Two days in Santiago.

I woke early still on Camino time but had a leisurely shower and headed for breakfast. Which was beautifully laid out in the hotel’s cafe bar. Coffee had to be ordered and it was the ubiquitous strong filtered coffee in a pot but at least on this occasion it was served with a pot of hot water.

I strolled around the old town enjoying the sense of its timelessness, then remembered I need to be at the Cathedral an hour before mass began. The squares around the Cathedral were like Henry or Grafton Streets on Christmas Eve. Whoa! Where did all these people come from? Think about it there are at least 16 Caminos not counting the Camino Fatima or another that’s called the secret Camino in Nortern Galicia. That’s where they’ve all come from. Eventually I got into the Cathedral and managed to bag a seat which wasn’t easy. It reminded me of a three ringed circus, there seemed to be so much going on. Yes, its a historical monument but it was also a place of worship though at times it seemed we were serving only mammon. However we were reminded of the service that was to be performed and at least eighteen priests from all corners of the world participated. The congregation were encouraged to join in the sung responses by a tiny nun who had the voice of an angel. I was delighted I took the time to attend the mass.

Again I explored the old town then sat at a cafe to people watch but as more and more pilgrims  or tours  arrived I decided to avoid the crowds had back to the hotel and enjoy a little R & R by the pool. I was grateful that a number of the hotels, quintas and pousadas had pools to enjoy after my days walks.

Later that evening I headed out to look around the shops and ended up as usual in bookshops that all seemed to have an English section with a variety of books and I found an author Elizabeth Strout whose work I previously read, and enjoyed so I purchased “Olive Ketteridge” an engaging tender story of family life.   (I was about to finish the book I was reading).

Again I had a lovely meal as the Spaniards enjoyed their tapas and drinks. Late into the evening fireworks exploded noisily over the Cathedral, it was the feast of Our Lady’s birthday time for a celebration, though it began to become cooler and cooler as the evening wore on. I wondered if we were getting the tail end of one of the hurricanes from the opposite side of the Atlantic or was it just the influence of the Atlantic? I never discovered.

The following morning was definitely cooler a reminder I was heading for Northern Climes later that. Again the fireworks  burst heavenwards over the city. I had a last look around and was rewarded with the views of a procession led by highly adorned horses and riders, these were followed on foot by men and women dressed in highly ornate costumes, who were then followed by characters complete with masks (see photos) carrying balloons that seemed to be made from some sort of bladders. Yet when they were banged together they sounded like a drum being sounded. Many an onlooker ( myself included) had the balloons sounded in our ears. We jumped with fright much to the delight of the characters.

I realised I needed to go back to the hotel, ensure I had everything packed and to wait for transportation to the airport.  I decided I’d have a sandwich in the hotel. I ordered, was taken aback when this tiny morsel of food, a small saucer-full was presented to me with a bowl of crisps and a flourish. Is this it? I’d heard of nouvelle cuisine but this was taking it a bit far. But I needn’t have worried, a very nice sandwich was brought to my table though hardly an auspicious meal to the end of my journey, but in another way it reflected the simple pleasure of walking and being in beautiful countryside.

I had an uneventful flight home and then over the next couple of days the weather really served to remind me that I was back home, living on an island on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean, and more importantly in a temperate climate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Padron to Santiago

The final day of walking in one respect it’d be a relief, but on the other hand I wan’t sure how I’d feel when I reached my destination, it was though a question mark hung in the air.

Many of the Spanish and Portugese groups that I met were practically singing and dancing their way into Santiago, and their relief was obvious, though I noticed many of them had acquired injuries along the way. The count of pilgrims with feet, legs, thighs or hands and arms strapped grew and I gave thanks that I’d only acquired blisters, painful and all as they were I hadn’t required medical attention. An iffy knee had played up but spending time relaxing in the swimming pools along the way had certainly helped it as did the stretching exercises morning and evening.

The early path of the path was on natural trails but the nearer I got to Santiago,  both the pilgrim and road traffic became heavier and as we entered the suburbs the yellow arrows were lost in the abundance of marketing material that decorated pavements and their edges. As I passed through suburb after suburb I lost my companions and myself and a few hardy souls walked on through the residential areas until we went our respective ways

I found the sign for my hotel before I found the medieval town so I decided to go directly to it and conduct my daily ritual before heading out to explore. The room was very comfortable though the decor a bit dated but it had a full size bath and a pool in the back garden. Yes.

The receptionist kindly gave me directions but I didn’t know what was wrong with me I seemed to be going round in circles. Was this some post Camino  jinx. I felt I was going in the wrong direction which I was physically but the sense I had was more than that.

Deep breath. Think I knew the Cathedral was up on a hill so I had to walk up to the old town and to forget my assumptions regarding a park as I discovered earlier in the week. I knew a parque in Spain was not necessarily the same as a park in Ireland. I  was to walk around a park and cross a square (which I never  found) and then onto Rue Franco a busy, busy street. Eventually I made my way to the Cathedral and could not believe the crowds. It was a bit of a shock. The queue to visit the cathedral snaked across two squares, I’ll wait until the morning and go to the pilgrims mass. I thought there were plenty of places to stop and give thanks but I found myself time and time again over the next couple of days being overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of people in Santiago.

Later that evening I headed back to the old quarter for dinner, but looking at the Spaniards I was far too early as they were enjoying tapas and drinks. I remembered that many of the menus were in Galician so I made sure to find one that had either a Spanish menu or English translation. Oh! there are properly easier ways of finding something to eat but as I discovered from my travels it was far more interesting if one wandered away from the tourists haunts, to eat with locals or from a Spanish or local menu, it does have its drawbacks at times but I’ve usually been rewarded with good tasty food. As I was on this occasion with dorada (gilt-head bream) a salad, unusual boiled potatoes and a copa vino tinto.  Then I retired to bed I was still on Camino time as far as my body was concerned.

 

 

 

 

 

Caldas De Reis t o Padron

The penultimate day of walking. Yet again it was on gentle paths through woodland, by gently flowing rivers and of course to cross them. But these were old, old rivers that had probably flowed  for millennia, well the gentleness of the flow, nor were there deep river gorges. You could be lulled into a wonderful impression of the world but life throws a curve ball on the Camino and I was reminded where there is goodness and light there is also the shadow side and in this case it was opportunists prepared to avail of every opportunity that came their way. I had read that there was more available to the pilgrims in the Alberghues if they so desired, as in no strings attached sex, but its the Camino and we all have to do it in our own way.

However, I witnessed older men preying on much younger women. Regaling and charming them with their tales of trekking in Ecuador, Peru and the Chilean Andes. It neither looked or felt right. The older men on were  alone and succeeded in separating the younger women from their friends. I thought of my younger twenty year old self and how flattered I’d have been to receive the attention of well travelled older men, but as I learnt myself  things are not always what they seem and know I’d have with the wisdom to ask “What do these men want with me?” What indeed. I offered loving kindness particularly for the young women but also for the shadow side, as we all have them.

I resumed my walk and passed many pilgrims bathing their feet, I was tempted to bathe mine but was afraid I wouldn’t get my shoes back on if I took them off. My feet had suffered inordinately this year, as the heat, humidity and initially walking on granite sets for much of the walk through Portugal. (a postcard image gives a good representation of what my poor feet looked like)

The last km or so into Padron was along a wide river bank and I enjoyed watching kayakers and canoeists on the river Sar. My accommodation was approx.  3/4km outside the town but I stopped Church of Santiago to acquire a stamp for my passport and the cool air was welcoming. Legend had it that this is where St. James began his ministry in Spain and where his remains were brought following his martyrdom in Jerusalem, prior to them being later moved to Santiago Cathedral

I was staying in a Pousada wonderful. The main building was built around a courtyard, gardens were laid out in front and then a pool. We were up on a hill and the valley floor stretched out before us but it wasn’t a great view as it seemed to be over the industrial part of the town.  As I was assigned my room it more than made up for that view. I conducted my usual regime and ordered a sandwich for lunch. It was a bit disappointing as it was a toasted cheese sandwich plonked on the centre of the plate. I’d come to expect trimmings as even in some of the humblest cafe the sandwiches would be wrapped decoratively, or accompanied by a little salad or olives or even crisps. I hoped the reputation of the pousada didn’t rely on their snacks particularly when the waiter wanted to know rather enthusiastically if I’d enjoyed my “buen Bocadillo” (good sandwich) I was taken aback and said “Oh, Oh, si”.

I inquired as to whether I needed a reservation for dinner in case I didn’t fancy the walk in or out of the town and one was not required. I spent the afternoon relaxing at the pool, reading.

I decided to stay put for dinner and presented myself for dinner to be met by the waiter of earlier.  He wanted to know if I’d a reservation, no I responded, as I looked around and saw 8 other diners with at least 8 empty tables in the opened area of the restaurant. With that other guests arrived and they did not have reservations either. A heated conversation took place with one of the Spanish couples and I had the sense that he couldn’t rely on  whatever spin he was going to put to me.  Dinner was well worth it even if it was off the menu del dia again. I retired with my book and thought of my final day’s walking.

 

 

 

 

Pontevedra to Caldas de Reis

Much of this stage was along natural pathways with forests of pine, eucalyptus and oak either side. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever seen either an abundance of oak trees or oak laden with acorns as these were. There is a story about the oak tree that it takes three hundred years to reach maturity, then it is fertile for three hundred years, before succumbing to old age when it takes another three hundred years to die. So these trees must have been in either the first two stages of their lives. They were amazing.

The branches were so laden with acorns I thought that they’d snap but occasionally I’d hear a twack, feel a wallop (as I was hit by the falling fruit) or the occasional snap of a branch. When I was hit by the falling acorns or pine cones, it was as though nature was telling me to pay attention, enjoy the walk, the sights and the smells of the here and now. I did and gave thanks for all the beauty that surrounded me on this journey.

There was also a frenzy of activity as the vine growers began to harvest their grapes. Colourful crates were placed strategically under the rows of vine canopies, but it can’t have been that easy to harvest row after row as the harvesters were working overhead. But after many days walking through quiet countryside it was a bit of a shock to hear it come alive with the noise of farm machinery or groups of workers calling to each other in the fields. Another reminder that my walk was coming to a close but I vowed to stay in the here and now and enjoy every moment or as many as I could of the remaining walk.

There was only one short climb of 135m on this stage, a gentle one at that, but it seemed as though the Camino was willing me to the finish. I definitely had the sense that I had hit my stride and really enjoyed the daily walks of the 20+kms. Though as the café or restaurants were scarce I stopped for a café Americano, a teacup of strong coffee in comparison to the tall, grand or large coffees that are on sale here.

As I walked into the town of Caldas de Reis I saw a lot of activity at a water font and it turned out it was from a thermal spring, in fact the town developed as a result of the springs and the water was said to reach 40defgrees for 1,000s of years. Hydro- electricity in Galicia originated in the town also.

I located my hotel, another edifice from the 70s, a section of it was clad in blue ceramic tiles but the inside had been modernised and it had a pool, compensation that it appeared to be on the outskirts of the town in no man’s land. I conducted my usual regime and headed to the pool. On this occasion though, as local schoolchildren availed of the facility the afternoon was interspersed with shrieks of delight, fright and horror as they pushed or appeared to dare each other to jump into the deepest end of the pool. It was a change from the usual but I enjoyed their youthful enthusiasm on being at a swimming pool.

Again a quiet evening, eating reading and then sleep, I had a longer day tomorrow as I had to walk back 700m to the Camino and when I reached Padron, my hotel was also approx, the same distance outside the town so that added an additional 1.5kms to my walk of 22kms.

 

 

Redondela – Pontevedra

The receptionist very kindly gave me a map so thankfully I did not have to go back to the town again to re-join the Camino but it was 1.5kms away well in comparison to the 5kms of the day before it was only a jaunt away.  I couldn’t seem to shake the awful feeling of all not being well. I found local church open, was able to get my passport stamped then I sat for a bit in silence and knew that this too will pass. I re-joined the path and was rewarded with views across the Vigo estuary and it’s iconic modern bridge. As the path opened up to the busy main road, I was sharply reminded that I needed to stay in the present and pay attention as the verge was very narrow this lasted for about .75km then detoured only to emerge again on the busy roadside. An enterprising local set up a stall to provide authorised stamps and you could also buy coffee in the shade of a small copse. The stop was marked by yellow and blue hiking boots. The yellow was for the Camino St. James and the blue for the Fatima Camino which was certainly less travelled or walked than the Camino I was on.

I was a much gentler walk than previous days and the two climbs were of 153m and 145m and they were spread out with a very gentle descent into Pontevedra itself, with another river crossing over the Rio Verdugo. It was over an attractive stone bridge over 200 years old. Apparently the local force routed Napoleon’s forces during their War of Independence. It makes a nice stop as there is a sandy beach and perfect for a picnic as it was also peaceful and quiet.

There was a number of detours marked but I knew if I took a detour it could add a couple of kms to what was an 18km walk at the start of the day, so I thought I’ll stick to the main route and really pay attention. The detour was across a narrow river, the crossing little more than a ford, but it was surrounded by beautiful woodland. I discovered that the detour had now become the main route and it was good to be away from the heavy and often industrial traffic of the national road. It certainly made for an easier and more pleasant walk. Before I knew it I was on the outskirts of Pontevedra which was quite a large town, but it had a beautiful medieval centre to explore. But first I kept to the routine of the day, to get to the hotel, register and get my room. Then a shower or bath change my clothes and some lunch. It was a corporate hotel, very nice efficient, clean but a bit of a disappointment after the often quirky, very individualistic or idiosyncratic accommodation I’d had over the last week. I had a pleasant if rather unremarkable stay there.

O Porrino – Redondela

It was a Sunday morning a beautiful morning and very quiet though I criss-crossed both the motorway and the railway out of the town. In fact other than fellow pilgrims or travellers the route was extremely quiet for about an hour and a half, then all hell broke loose fireworks erupted in the skies while the church bells rang out calling their congregations to prayer. I wondered if it was a feast day or local holiday but on checking later, there was one but it wasn’t until later in the week. But as the week went on I noticed that preparations for the year’s harvest had begun.

Not many of the cafes/bars were opened as I put kilometre after kilometre underfoot and I knew I faced a steep climb at about 9-10kms so I hoped for coffee before that, though I had read that there would be few cafes on this particular route so I stocked up on fruit for the journey. Though it was a lovely morning I wasn’t feeling great or had I succumbed to one of the pilgrim’s afflictions an upset stomach, may be. At last at the 10kms mark there was a café bar open. There was only a woman serving behind the bar, making sandwiches, teas and coffees or serving the odd libation to the locals. I’ll use the services while I’m waiting I thought and made the mistake of passing the male cooking setting up an outdoor kitchen to prepare and make the local delicacy, “pulpo” or maybe even “pulpo de Galicia”. He had what I can only describe as what we called the ham pot (it was only used at Christmas and Easter in our house to cook the Christmas pudding or the half ham) I’m sure it held at least two or three gallons. Well this cook had such a pot and liquid seemed to be bubbling away on it and then he produced a number of octopus (grey in colour) but as he dipped them in and out of the pot they turned a vivid shade of purple down to the tip of their tentacles. My stomach heaved and I turned quickly back to the shade of the café but in my shock made the mistake of ordering a café solo, it too was industrial strength freshly brewed coffee and a stamp for my pilgrim’s passport. Others ordered sandwiches but I thought I’ll wait a bit.

The steep climb rose from 100m above sea level to 235m in less than a couple of kms. I didn’t find the climb that difficult but the descent seemed to drop away or perhaps it was the fact that I could see how far down I’d need to go. Again on the route the locals left some of their home grown fruit out for the pilgrims, but I desisted as my stomach was not feeling the best, but the lovely views did distract me and the thought of being on the coast and seeing the ocean for the first time since Porto buoyed my spirits.

Though when I reached the outskirts of Redondela I had 5 instead of the 3kms I’d been advised to my hotel. Though the thought of a hot bath, change of clothes and hopefully plain food kept me going. Another climb but it was a gentle climb and then there was the sea and I so looked forward to bathing my feet though a westerly wind had sprung up and I was again reminded that I was in a country whose weather was heavily influenced by the Atlantic. At last the hotel and there it was on the beach what a wonderful sight, but my room wasn’t ready but I was offered coffee. I didn’t know what was wrong with me I ordered a café solo. Ah! I definitely needed to freshen up and have a rest, well I had walked the 20 kms in less than 5 hours. I think I need to slow down.

At last the room was ready and it had a bath but it was only about two and a half feet in length, but it was a bath and it had a shower with plenty of hot water. Bliss. The only thing was my bag hadn’t arrived at that stage, but I did have a change of clothes in my day bag. I decided a lie down might help but was plagued with thoughts that my bag wouldn’t be delivered that the previous hotel (the Fawlty Towers one) had jinxed me somehow or another. What is it about us that we immediately think the worse or picture the worse outcome when there is a hitch? Why would my bag go astray at this stage it had been moved successfully for eight days, so why would it all of a sudden be missing or delivered to another location? Is there a need to create drama? Something in our psyche that makes us consider there’ll be a negative outcome from some action or other instead of a positive one? Drama came to mind again and I thought let’s just stay in the present moment. The saying “All will be well and in all manner of things all will be well” (Attributable to Julian of Norwich) came to mind.

I roused myself and went for a lovely walk along silver sands with only a goose to accompany me on my walk. I wonder why but as I walked along the shoreline I disturbed delicacies for the goose in the shallows and when I slowed down he honked loudly as though to tell me to get on with it. I reached a headland and as I turned I noticed the weather was also turning. I wondered if we were going to get the tail end of storm Harvey. Even the kite surfers began to pack up as the wind picked up. I headed for the hotel and felt quite hungry I managed half a sandwich but the stomach wasn’t the best. I ensured I had plenty of water and retired to my room. Slept again and avoided food though at one stage as the evening meal was being prepared I wished I wasn’t so near what was obviously a popular local’s restaurant.  Feed a cold and starve a fever came to mind a few times as seemed to veer being too hot or too cold during the evening and night.

I woke fresh in the morning or so I thought but I was hungry and keep my intake to very plain food. I didn’t want to tempt fate as I thought whatever I had the previous day had passed, but as I set out on my journey I wasn’t looking forward to the day ahead, or the walk. I was feeling down.

 

Day 8 Tui – O Porrino

A busy start to the day as those wishing to qualify for the traditional certificate of pilgrimage would need to join the Camino at this point, as they must have walked a minimum of 100kms (the last 100kms). Generally over longer distances one stamp on their pilgrims passport is sufficient, but the advice is that all pilgrims obtain two per day during the final 100kms.

Pilgrims of all nationalities in the hotel noisily conveyed their eagerness to commence their walk, but while they were finalising their arrangements I set off, out into the cool daybreak of early September. It was quite a gentle walk through quiet country paths, beautiful woodland that mirrors the flow of the river Luoro. It’s an old valley and excavations in the are revealed both Roman and Visigoth ruins. A medieval bridge crosses the river but the pilgrims do not cross it but cross an earthen ancient path, Via Romana XIX, and we used this path throughout the rest of this Camino. It was a reminder that pilgrims have done this for centuries. It is mentioned in the Irish Annals of the Great Masters written in the 12th Century, another connection to continuity as I had studied this tome while studying genealogy over the last couple of years. Plus la change plus la meme chose. (The more things change the more they stay the same) C’est la vie.

The Camino was definitely busier and their seemed to be a number of groups walking the Camino together. It was quite a gentle meandering path, but I had been advised that the walk took us through the industrial outskirts of O Porrino, not a pretty sight but on locating a pedestrianised street, my hotel was located in a park. Sounds good I thought but our version of a park and the Spanish are very different. I expected, assumed there’d be grass, there’d be trees, flower beds, yes there were trees, seating, a children’s playground, a cafe, bar but no grass or no flower beds. It was definitely a case of leave your assumptions at home.

But that was not all I found the hotel and thought I’d stumbled on the original inspiration for Fawlty Towers. I went to reception, it was deserted, 15 minutes later it was still deserted but I did locate the chef who was not impressed that I was wandering the ground floor of the hotel. She was on the phone at the time, having a heated conversation, but she asked if I had a room, I said no, but I did have a reservation. But I took her response to be no room, no use of the services but at this stage I needed the loo. When I returned she picked up where she left off. I thought “No Habla Espanol” ( I don’t speak Spanish) would help but She continued both her conversations with me and the person on the other end of the phone in Galician. I can only imagine what the tower of Babbel was like.

At this stage the receptionist appeared and wanted to know if I had a reservation with a look on her face when she saw my state, as if she’d stood in or on a turd. Yes I have a reservation, (Would I be here if I didn’t). Eventually I registered, she showed me where my bag was and the lift without saying more than a 3 further words. The room did have a bath one of the smallest I’d ever seen but it was a bath.

I decided to go elsewhere for lunch apart from the reception the decor looked like something from “Only Fools and Horses”, then the other staff members began to appear and looked like something from Benny Hill of the 80s. Two waiters appeared intermittently during my stay, one had a gormless appearance, and when asked a question responded with the Spanish “que” which means, who, which or what, but it sounded like “ok” but that was the end of the response.

As he glided across the room, his trouser ends flapped around his ankles, while the waistband was tucked under his chest. The rest of his attire was hidden by a heavy blue cotton apron, the strings wrapped round and round his waist. He looked as though someone had started to fold him in two, and then forgot about it. I decided to have as little interaction with the hotel staff as possible.

I did discover breakfast was at 7.30 in the dining room and I presented myself shortly after that. The Benny Hill character was there but thankfully it was a very pleasant waitress serving me. There was no buffet, as there’d been in most of the other hotels. I was served a very large portion of juice,(I thought 1/2 a litre, no joke as couples got a litre jug between them). Rustic bread, cheese, ham and sponge cakes were served as was industrial strength coffee in a stainless steel jug. I like strong coffee but this was industrial strength. That was the breakfast fare and I heard another pilgrim raise the issue of his special diet, the response was “Que” time to go.

There was not one item of marketing material, no menus, no notices about numbers for reception, room service or even material advertising tours or points of interest in the area, but as I left I found one sign, stating that customer complaint forms were available from reception. Hmmm! Yet the pleasant waitress offered to stamp my pilgrims passport and wished me a Buen Camino! With that I tripped as I went through the door, but found the way markers for the Camino, I set off turned around expecting that the hotel would have disappeared back to the sitcom archives of 70s or 80s. But the brown and orange ceramic tiles of the hotel seemed to wink in the sunlight. Time to get back onto the Camino and onto my next stop.

Day 6/7: Two Days in Tui/Valenca

I had decided this year to have a break in all the walking plus I was walking twice the distance I had walked on the Camino Frances last year. I wanted to try and get a sense of the places I visited and soak up some of the atmosphere. Though it was a gentler walk than last year, most of the climbs were up and down hills (a bit like the Dublin and Wicklow mountains) though there were a couple at 405m and a very sharp incline to 250m on another occasion, but overall much gentler, which made it a lot easier on the legs but the feet suffered quite a bit, as a lot of the pathways in Northern Portugal were on granite sets, they look lovely and very decorative in gardens but walking on them constantly for 4-5 hours every day it took its toll.

Though there were plenty of distractions, the walks were along vineyards or cornfields, or a mixture of both, the vines were planted around the edges of the fields while the corn or cereal grew in the centre of the fields.   Occasionally courgettes, tomatoes or squashes were planted beneath the vines as well, the smallest of dwellings appeared to have a vegetables growing in their gardens, I believe it was a case of needs must, it was obvious that this part of the country had suffered and was still suffering from the last recession. Particularly in the larger towns and cities where homelessness is very evident, just like in Ireland. I think we’d have to question the reliance on market forces to provide housing, especially social housing when the weak and vulnerable suffer the worst.  I choose to do this walk and at the end of each day, I had somewhere warm, dry to stay with bathing, washing facilities and the wherewithal to buy a nice meal. I felt humbled when I reached my accommodation in Tui and had access to BBC world news. I saw the devastating effects of storm Harvey and I’d complained and moaned earlier in the week when I spent a day walking in the rain. I gave thanks for my blessings and vowed to give thanks for the walks each day and the opportunity to have these experiences.

Two medieval towns either side of the river Minho (Portugese) and Mino (Spanish). The river acted as a border between the two countries and it wasn’t hard to see why they were established as defensive strongholds when the two countries were constantly at war with each other but now as they are both members of the EU there isn’t even an international border though the river acted as a natural divide. At one time the only means of crossing the river was by ferry and the song “Don’t pay the ferryman, don’t even fix the price, don’t pay the ferryman, until he gets you to the other side”, (Don’t Pay the Ferryman, Chris de Burgh) came to mind and the myth of the ferryman and his task of transporting the recently departed to the afterlife. Usually their loved ones would include a coin to pay for their safe passage, (it was still in use up to the 20th Century) those who had not received a proper burial and were without a coin were left to wander the shores of the river Styx for eternity. Much like the old fashioned belief in Catholicism of the unbaptised wandering in limbo for all eternity, thankfully that appears to have been dropped.

As I thought about it, I also thought of the symbolism of bridges in mythology and for some reason or another symbolism and mythology kept coming to mind, particularly as I seemed to be crossing as many rivers, as in the myth of the River Styx which is said to separate the river of the living from the dead. Though there were five altogether, including the river of forgetfulness, lethargy and one called the River of woes, Acheron and it’s an actual river in North West Greece. Flowing through deep gorges and going underground at times and we all know that Greece is the home of mythology. I thought I’ll look or do some research on Celtic mythology on my return home as I’m sure we have an equivalent in our own folklore.

I actually remember a ferryman bringing people from the south side of the Liffey to the North side as a child. My grandfather worked in a printing works called Cherry and Smallridge on the North Wall and he would use the ferry morning and evening to get to the printing works. Then there’s  the traghettos in Venice , they are small boats that ferry people across the Grand canal in Venice, they are a fast easy way of making the crossing without having to go either up or down to one of the eight bridges on the Grand Canal. I have to admit I did not dare use the traghettos on any of the occasions I was in Venice. There I   go again another mention of bridges. I think I’ll also have to look into that on my return to Ireland.

I enjoyed my rest day moving between the two fortified towns there was some beautiful scenery and though I dreaded crossing the bridge if I wanted to sightsee well then I had to bite the bullet. I was glad I had, as I was rewarded with beautiful views and in Valenca it was like stepping back in time. Most of the shops were very quaint some even sold towels by the kilo. But there was one that on stepping into it, I felt I stepped back in time as it had floor to ceiling wooden shelves an electric cash register and it sold everything from a needle not quite to the haystack but to any manual household implements. There were two shop assistants and how they managed to reach the top shelves I don’t know as there didn’t seem to be a ladder. It was definitely opened in a time before health and safety took over.

I took a walk along the ramparts and found a restaurant that had a menu del dia (menu of the day) with enough choices to satisfy even the pickiest of eaters. A starter, main course, desert, and a drink for Euro12. It wasn’t gourmet food but I don’t think there could be any complaints as there was plenty of it and it was freshly cooked, and service was good.  While there was no complaint with the food the waiter seemed to charm his customers into the restaurant and out on to the terrace. He was affable and pleasant throughout the service but then he turned to the waiter from hell when it came time to pay the bill. I watched as he argued repeatedly with customers over their bills and the payment. He returned to a couple of tables with what looked like itemised versions of the bill written in longhand and seemed to take perverse pleasure when they threw their hands up in the air and paid their bill. Of course I’m surmising a lot as two of the conversations were in Portugese and another, which was a mixture of Portugese and english was a bit too far away for me to hear the ins and outs.  I bit the bullet and asked for my bill, he came solicitously and we went through what I had, off he went comes back with the bill and started to argue with me and I hadn’t said anything about the bill. If I hadn’t seen the earlier engagements over bill paying I’d have wondered what the hell was going on. I picked up the bill checked and items and it was ok, which I told him and paid. He seemed disappointed as he was spoiling for a fight, I had spoiled it by paying up. It was the first of many Fawlty Tower moments over the next couple of days.

Valenca had quietened considerably as it was well into siesta time at this stage and it was quite warm. I returned to my hotel, cobbled together a sunbathing outfit from sports underwear. At first I was very self- conscious lounging on the sunbeds with all the beautiful bodies that surrounded me. Then I thought who cares, needs must and in the overall scheme of things did it really matter what anyone thought of me or my outfit? Not a whit. I bathed my feet and legs, then lay on the sunbed reading my book. It was a lovely restful end to the required day’s rest. Later in the evening I found a place that catered for the Peregrinos every need, and it also had a little café bar, I had a delicious salad, tasty hummus, a copa vino tinto and watched the world go by. I had enjoyed my day and gave thanks for the rest.  I headed back to the hotel to the promise of sleep.

 

Day 5: Rubaies to Valenca/ Tui (Spain)

Breakfast in the Quinta arrived in a basket. Coffee, different fresh breads, cheese, jams and fruit from the garden. A feast and just my type of feast. Fernando , Zezuihe’s husband arrived back from Porto and wanted to ensure I enjoyed my stay. I assured him that his wife was more than hospitable and I had a wonderful stay in their home.

It turned out the Taoiseach Leo Varadkar had stayed there in 2014, when he did the Portugese Camino. I signed the guestbook in the little Irish I could muster and was delighted to be given a parting gift of a lavender sachet. It was a lovely place and if you’re in that part of northern Portugal do give them a call and see if it’s possible to stay there.

Back onto the Camino and the onward journey to the Spanish border. This section of the walk took me through forests and along vineyards or cornfields. There was also a lot of fruit growing, apples peaches, pears, and apricots. I thought it an awful shame that a lot of the windfall was allowed to rot on the ground though many growers left fruit on plates for the passing peregrinos. I enjoyed, as many others did this generosity and I gave thanks.

There were times though it was obvious that land had been abandoned, as families left it for easier work in the cities, or when the landowner died intestate, family disagreements, feuds or sibling rivalry saw hereditary issues dragging on for years and the land became neglected and once valuable vines or trees would add another level of work to whoever took on the task of making it viable again.

I also noticed wonderful sweet smells, but yet I could not see any recognisable scented plants, until  I brushed off a particular tall plant and it reminded me of the fennel I grow at home, yes it was a hedgerow of wild fennel, and at times it was replaced by a sweeter smell but the plant was lower growing and I didn’t recognise the flower, a pale pink spike, when I rubbed the leaves between my fingers it released a mild mint smell. Yes the leaves though smaller, did look like the leaves on the mint I had growing in tubs. A tip don’t plant mint in the ground or it will send out runners and quickly populate borders and swamp other plants.

The old city of Valenca opened up before me, a medieval city built on an elevated site over the river Minho, to protect the land from marauding forces of its neighbours Spain who’s own city of Tui was built at the same time in an equally elevated position over the river Mino, same river different spellings, but now with EU there was no longer even an international border crossing and the Guarda Civil in Spain had a sign on their office door stating that they did not stamp pilgrims passports so do not ask.

I walked through the medieval town of Valenca and vowed to return the following day, my rest day, but I had to cross that river over a metal bridge hundreds of feet in the air. Prior to the bridge a ferryman took travellers from one side of the bridge t o the other. What happened to the ferryman I wondered? Replaced by progress, I’d have been more than happy to use the old fashioned method closer to the ground.

 

 

I located my modern hotel as directed again a bit of a disappointment after the Quinta but I was in a town and had time to do a bit of exploring as I had arranged a day of rest. With hindsight if I ‘d known how lovely the Quinta was and the kindness of the couple I’d have preferred to stay on there. In some respects more could be gleaned from people, their attitudes and openness to visitors. Zezuihe and her husband were so welcoming, so interesting and kind to their guests, I felt they were genuinely interested in me and my opinions, as we discussed Brexit, Trump, homelessness and the importance of both agri-tourism and the benefit that the pilgrims bring to their economy. We agreed that there were two faces to tourism, the boost to our economies while posing challenges to our homelessness. I had noticed the homelessness problems in the larger towns of Portugal and Spain, much like home, yet there are many idle and near abandoned buildings and sites. To my mind there is a valid need to prevent land hoarding to prevent a crises situation becoming an epidemic. I was a pilgrim I didn’t need to think about these things or did I? But if I didn’t take this opportunity or time out to think about serious matters when would I? Possibly never, I didn’t have all the answers but I could show my concern and interest.

 

Day 4: Ponte de Lima to Rubaies. A mere 18kms!

I woke to a grey, overcast day.waves of mist drifted off the river. It wasn’t supposed to rain until later in the day or in fact not until later that night. So what’s that in the air, liquid sunshine, while the receptionist had good English my sarcasm was lost on her. It’s the influence of the river, and I’ll have to cross one or other of the bridges across it later. Breakfast as usual was self service from the buffet, with plenty of my favourites, fruit, melon, peaches kiwi and did I mention melon! Water, galia and honey dew, yum! I was reluctant to leave and venture out into the damp air again. But when I went beyond the tree lined avenue the mist was indeed burning off the river.

As I was staying in a Quinta I decided to get some money from a bank machine only to discover I’d no card, the last time I had it was Dublin Airport, I had the receipt to prove it but no card. I didn’t panic found a seat and went through my back systematically starting with the front pocket it has only 3. Not in the first didn’t think so. Pocket 2: It has a ziplock bag with my itinerary, my passport my card wallet & cash wallet and at the bottom was my bankers card. Alleluia! Where was the church so that I could give thanks, but I found a nice cafe bar and had a very nice coffee. I Journaled for a bit and allowed a thought to formulate in my mind that I could make this as easy or as difficult as possible. I could have a day off, a day off? Unthinkable, the Spanish view of walking the Camino, had penetrated last year, and that was if you were walking the Camino well then you had to walk the Camino, step by step but I wasn’t in Spain, I was Portugal, I allowed my legs to feel wooden, to refuse to carry me beyond the medieval bridge, I turned around as a jack hammer launched into its task.

The thought of a day off became increasingly appealing, particularly after I went into a supermarket or what I thought was a supermarket and it was of sorts, but in reality a cross between an old fashioned grocers, haberdashers and fishmongers. There was this skin (as I thought) stretched on the counter, it was salt cod a delicacy in Portugal, it has a very distinctive smell. Needless to remark I beat a hasty retreat. Quaint shops aren’t always what they seem, just quaint, they served as a reminder that life isn’t always neatly packaged, it has an underside I need to be able to take the bad with the good, it’s a reminder that I need to be grateful for all that is good in my life.

Between my Portugese phrase book and an online translation I arranged transportation to my next stop. Believe and its that easy or ask and its given. We often over complicate things, when matters are a lot simpler, it seems that we believe it has to be difficult, it doesn’t.

A twenty minute drive and I was at my accommodation. Again it was a restored Quinta, I was to have the casita to myself as the other pilgrims decided to spend a second night in Ponte de Lima and the owners lived in the modern house away from the casita. I had a kitchen, living room and lounge to myself on the ground floor, and a quaint. A Bedroom with two iron bedsteads and an adjoining bathroom, with a granite shower tray. Dinner could also be provided if requested. Yes, I’m requesting dinner, if it made my life easier yes please.

A rest on the bed turned into a two hour sleep and then a bit of sunbathing in the garden followed by a lovely dinner, home made soup a traditional cod dish, wine, desert and coffee. Now this was the way to be a pilgrim, and so to bed.

 

Day 3. Barcelos to Ponte de Lima. 34kms

A shrill persistent ring woke me from my sleep. What the hell is that? I thought, only to realise that it was a landline’s shrill sound. I wondered what the hell time it was? 7.20 am, I answered it with a curt yes, I wasn’t impressed at being woken after a disturbed night’s sleep, particularly, to be told I had a visitor. I definitely was not impressed. I dressed quickly and headed for reception. I was met with “good morning”, the pilgrim thought that we could again accompany each other particularly as it was a long walk that day. I was a bit taken aback, (it was too early in the morning) and I hadn’t had my coffee. We’ll get coffee on the way, there’s lots of coffee shops opened, it’s no problem, dead right it was no problem. I was having my breakfast here in the hotel and when I was good and ready, I’d began the day’s walk alone. Eventually the penny dropped. I found it hard to offer a ‘Buen Camino’ but I did. Needless to remark I lingered longer than normal over breakfast and realised that the threatened rainfall of the day before had become a downfall. Ah!

The humidity actually reached 90+%, so that my rain gear was trapping my perspiration, I was sodden inside and out. Could the day get any worse? The Camino had a few tricks up her sleeves yet. I chanced upon the Portugese pilgrim of the day before and I discovered he too had let it be known that his Camino was also a very individual one. Was he trying to tell me something? No, he didn’t need to, I realised yes, some company on the Camino was welcome, but be careful what you wish for.

Again the cafes were few and far between on this stage and I knew there was one at around the 22km mark, a cafe called Viana, the last chance to buy food or drink before Ponte de Lima (12kms away). (There was supposed to be a supermarket attached – it was closed) That didn’t auger well, but I needed something to eat anything, fuel for the rest of the journey ahead, with a 160m climb before the descent.

The waitress announced she was closed but would offer a choice of 5 (pre cooked meals) including spaghetti carbonara, some form of cannelloni and a lasagne made with pork mince, as I’d seen one of the other customers eating a pale grey spaghetti meal, I presumed that was the carbonara, I was hungry but not that hungry. I opted for the pork lasagne. It didn’t taste of pork, it had a savoury tomatoe meaty sauce, but I needed something to eat, so I ate it.

Thankfully the climb and descent wasn’t too bad and I met a fellow Irishwoman who was suffering from blisters on her feet. I could relate to that. Despite the ominous start to the day, I’d recovered sufficiently to offer a couple of my blister plasters to her and explained how to use them.

The rain finally stopped, I had changed into my third and final dry top at cafe Viana, but I was nearly there or so I thought. I had been advised that my accommodation was on the Camino just before you entered the village. What village it’s a town with a large tourist industry, even larger waterway sports and the Shannon (our largest river a mere stream beside this). Yes the accommodation was just off the Camino but there was no pedestrian access. In had to climb a hill and it turned out that the two words in the hotel name were in fact one. I just wanted this day to be over.

The hotel was very bright, light contemporary, in fact some of their interiors looked decidedly similar to that of a Swedish store. However, though the restaurant was closed until later, they would serve me a light meal. There was a God afterall, freshly homemade vegetable soup never tasted as good, with thick slices of rustic pan, followed by a freshly cooked chicken fillet salad. I gave thanks, went to bed and slept peacefully.

 

 

 

Day 2. Arcos to Barcelos. 22 kms.

The day started quiet enough as the earlier part of the walk was through woodland and not too many fellow pilgrims, it was certainly a quieter route than Camino Frances. A couple of kms brought me to San Pedro Rates church, it was originally built for the order of Cluny in the 11th century, on the site of an earlier pagan/Roman site of worship. I couldn’t but help notice the simplicity of the church’s decor. It was in sharp contrast to that of the two Carmelite churches I’d seen in Porto. This church was devoted to prayer, with nothing to detract the faithful from that goal.

I discovered that there were fewer cafes or rest stops on this Camino, so I made sure to see where they were on the route so that When I stopped, I took refreshments and sustenance. When I reached a hamlet called Pedro Furada I had lunch as the  next cafe was 4kms away and at this stage it 12.30pm I’d walked 11kms. Plus there was a steep climb of  295m before the descent to Barcelos.

I had company from two fellow pilgrims, Portugese and Polish, both veteran pilgrims, I was the newbie in the group. Following a pleasant stop we resumed our journey. We lost one of the company as that pilgrim found an alberghue to stay. As my accommodation was pre-booked in Barcelos I headed for there. Suddenly the air became quite still, and it became very quiet, dark clouds gathered and threatened, I hoped we’d get to Barcelos before the rain, but warm heavy drops began to fall intermittentedly at first, until it became a downpour. Thankfully we were on the outskirts of Barcelos. My companion remained doggedly at my side though I did state that we were each doing the Camino for our own reasons, and we had to do it on our own, and in our own way. At the end of the day it’s an individual’s journey.

The rain dried up and we parted company for the night. It began to rain again so I had dinner in the hotel’s restaurant which I discovered was one of the better ones in town. It was a very nice meal and I noticed a few other pilgrims enjoyed the fare on offer there.

My room was a disappointment following the room in the Quinta but, it had a bath and was a single room. But I didn’t sleep that well it was very thundery and very humid during the night. I tossed and turned and eventually slept.

 

 

 

Day 1. Porto to Arcos

I actually commenced my walk in a little village called Vilar de Pinheiro, outside of Porto thereby avoiding industrial estates, motorway  and rail crossings, great I thought a pleasanter way to start my journey, unfortunately I was directed to an alternative quiet route through hills and also the way markings, very necessary on one of the quieter Caminos. These alternative routes often add 6-7 kms to your journey and though the scenery may be lovely, over a couple of days those kms add up and take their toll. I definitely knew by day 2 there were to be no alternative routes as 22kms became 29kms and I realised much and all as I enjoy walking, I didn’t enjoy it that much.

The weather was lovely and warm but the high humidity took its toll, as it was between 78/88% for the first couple of days another reason not to expend unnecessary energy. Thankfully there was only one climb that day of 125m.  The guide book warned that there was plenty to test the pilgrims muscles, but after the couple of days I’d spent climbing Porto’s hills, they didn’t seem to be taxing at all.

A short stop in Vilharino and onto my hotel for the night, it was in a lovely restored Quinta actually on the Camino. I practically had a wing to myself as I accessed my room through a living come dining room and my bedroom was the only one off it.

There was a swimming pool in the garden surrounded by vines, kiwis and an orchard. Bliss, sheer bliss. I bathed then got ready for dinner as it was available in the Quinta, with the salads, vegetables & fruit home grown. It was delicious, I thought I died and gone to heaven, but the Camino had a few tricks in store for me, after all it was only day 1.

I slept well strolled around the gardens after a tasty breakfast, again the fruit was all home grown. I got a stamp for my pilgrims passport and bade farewell to my hosts.  (photos to follow)