Ger Moroney

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.

Continue reading →

Day 2. Porto

I discovered an easier route down to the old town of Porto and it took me to a much more prosperous part of Porto, but I wanted to see their Crystal Palace but it was rather disappointing while there was an very identifiable green dome, it was rather unremarkable but the gardens and terraces were much more attractive and led to wonderful vistas of the Rio Duoro. I also discovered pea hen in one of the flower beds and one of them was particularly protective of her young brood. While the peahen does not have the remarkable tail feathers of the peacock she has a ring of iridescent feathers around her neck, which I had never seen or known of before.

There were a number of gardens in the area and I walked in the Garden of Virtues, and  the Romantic Garden , at which point I was drawn to a beautiful view up the river valley and all of a sudden I was reminded of my vertigo as there was a steep drop (which was like a cliff face to the road below).  I quickly moved to the safety of the terraces and decided I would go and finish my exploration of the city. I had heard of the stairs of truth that previously had been known as the stairs of lies. Why? What had happened to change its fortune? Or had it really changed? When I located it, I experienced one of the few times I felt fear in the city but it was not fear of danger but the fear of the past, a reminder of our own impoverished past, we were only a few short years on from the famine yes it was 150 years ago, but that was only three generations back in my only family, we survived it but eventually it led the family from being located in rural Ireland to living in the inner city.  There I was thinking I was exploring another European city yet here I was being confronted by the truth of my family’s past. Yet my great grandfather survived the famine and lived to the ripe old age of late 70s longer than his son my grandfather who died at the age of 66 and by all accounts lived an eventful life. (But that’s another story for another day).

The 20^th century beckoned and I  resumed my exploration of the city. There was a book shop in the old town Livraria Lello, established by two brother in the early 1900s. I succumbed to the marketing hype and decided to book a spot to visit it. Apparently the staircase in the shop inspired J.K.Rowling ideas for the staircase in Hogwarths. What a mistake, it was like a circus I wondered how many of the visitors intent on taking one selfie after another even realised it was art deco inspired or that the stained glass ceiling had an inscription which translates to “Dignity in Work” (Decus in labore in Portugese) looking around me I seriously doubted it, but that was my opinion.   As it was very hot I decided to have something to eat and then found a shady spot in one of the lovely gardens to sit and while a way a couple of hours. Again I was reminded of the past as the shade was provided under relocated olive trees. Beautiful gnarled bark, tangled roots and branches that would bear fruit later in the year,   I could not help but wonder at what stories they could tell. I could only imagine.

As I was to begin my first full day of walking the following day I decided on an early night. Well a return to my hotel, order my day pack and ensure that I was ready for the 24kms walk the following day.

Day 1. Porto

There was so much to see in Porto and so much I wanted to see, I didn’t know where to start, but the area around my hotel seemed like a good spot. I found a monument to the Heroes of the Peninsula War. It celebrates the Potugese & British history against the Napoleonic forces in 1808-1814.  A lion sits atop an imposing column it represents the allies and dominates an eagle or the Napoleonic forces. It’s surrounded by a tree lined garden on a busy roundabout, but I shared it with a few tourists.

Then I found a cemetery with magnificent crypts and vaults yo the dead, it seemed that the necropolis had fared better during the recession than some of the surrounding streets. Beautiful buildings depicting the gothic, baroque, or the fabulous tiled facades seemed down at heel but occasionally I found examples of the different styles  off the beaten track.  I’ve included a couple of photos below.

I continued to explore and found small green parks tucked away in corners of the city away from the tourist areas, but distinct rather unpleasant smells reminded me I was well off the tourist trail yet I was rewarded with the parks, beautiful tiled buildings or churches serving a local communities. A glance up warded as I stopped at traffic lights and I glimpsed a fabulous stained glass cupola on a three storey house but I could find no mention of it anywhere.

Porto architecture

I visited my share of churches including two Carmelite ones,One belongs to the Carmelite monks and the other the Carmelite nuns. They were side by side only separated by the narrowest building you’ve ever seen supposedly a metre wide, as the nuns or monks could not live in adjoining buildings.

The facade of the monks church is typical Porto rococo style but when you look at the side it has an amazing blue and white tiled panel. I’m not sure whether it was deliberate or not but the main altars of both churches were elaborately gilded and one seemed to out do the other with their detailed carvings.

Time for a coffee. Well it was coffee and a pastel a de nata (a custard pie in flaky pastry but it doesn’t have the same ring in English. I had decide to fortify myself as I intended to climb 76 metres to the top of the Torres de Clerigos or the Clergymens tower and there are stunning 360 degree views of the city from the top. It is well worth the climb. I congratulated myself on overcoming my vertigo to see the views.

But then the walkways and stairwells barely allowed for two people to pass each other and much of the time visitors stopped  at turns in the stairwell to allow others to pass up or down.

I thought I could tackle anything so I headed for the Ponte de Luis 1, it is an arched bridge  over the river and a UNESCO World Heritage site. It provides stunning views over the River Duoro, but those views come at a price, there is a long, long drop down to the river from the top tier which spans 392 metres  from side to side (I never discovered the height). The top tier is reserved for pedestrians and the metro. Car drivers and more pedestrians can cross the 174 metre long lower deck (I only discovered that lower route the following day) but I did discover that there was 172 metres between the two decks and there was still a significant drop to the river.  The views are spectacular, of both the river and the city but vertigo overcame me, I had to stop taking photos to make my way across but in doing so I had to return. If only I could find a way down to the riverbank to avail of the river ferry. I did  and it was via a cable car, definitely “no thanks” I thought to myself I’ll take my chances on the bridge.

Part of the fear is the total irrational feeling that I’m going to fall, or some disaster will happen and I’ll be plunged into the river.  I feel sick to my stomach, I break out in a cold sweat, and if I stand still for long enough I’ll begin to shake.

Well I wasn’t going in the cable car and I had to get back across the river so there was nothing to it but eyes down, and then put one foot in front of another until I crossed the bridge. The selfie photo takers didn’t deter me I picked a route between the bridge’s railings and the metro’s bollards and come hell or high water, that was my path. All thoughts of a return visit at sunset were long gone, I’ll buy a photo or large postcard, but I was not under any circumstances crossing the river at that level again, not this trip anyway. I just hoped there wasn’t anything on my must see list that side of the river and there wasn’t, what a relief.

As I reached the  safety of terra firma I noticed that the cliff side was a purple hue, then I recognised the flower as a morning glory, it had escaped domesticity and populated the abandoned buildings and cliffs. I was never as glad to see morning glory’s in my whole life. No wonder I had an iffy stomach for the rest of the day. But what a day.

More to follow with photos.