SoloWalk2024

It’s so nice to hear guys walking in saying, “It was so beautiful today” and “Did the day feel like three parts to you? Downhill in the fog, green and then villages?”

They nailed it.

Knowing there was thick fog, I waited until after sunrise to leave.

I don’t usually have cheesecake for breakfast, but when it is the specialty made with local cheese, and you don’t have time to wait until dinner, what’s a girl to do?

By the time I came out of the bar (where all the locals had been complaining about how cold it was for June – 10 degrees) the fog was starting to lift.

The green was starting to kick in.

And the villages.

Some looked completely abandoned, but then there would be a little sign of life.

A lady in an apron and an old man were standing chatting by these buildings:

Lady went inside and I asked the man how many people live in the village. Six. He’s alone, the lady is also alone and four more old folks. The worst thing for him is that there is no fresh bread – because how can you run a bakery for six people? He told me about two who died recently, who found them, where they were (one in bed and the other I didn’t understand) Actually he talked for a good ten minutes and I didn’t understand most of it, but copied his facial expressions (disappointing, surprised, tut tut, shake head, questioning etc)

And then there was a perfectly tidy house:

The map on my phone wanted me to take a shortcut, which I started, but it was very overgrown and I had already seen these guys…

…and I didn’t want to add snakes to the mix. Besides, as I had climbed the hill I had noticed that the official route seemed to go through a village and I was eager for some food. So I backtracked and hoped there might be a bar. I was in luck. I had a hankering for some croquetas, so asked if they did them. I was in luck again.

The only problem with stopping to eat was that it meant I was pretty certain I would not make it to Samos by the time the bakery closed at 2, so I was getting used to the idea that dinner would be instant soup and cheese. Hold that thought. First we have to do a bit more climbing and the green gets insane.

Right as the monastery bell was tolling two, the monastery came into view. I imagined the baker locking up as I tripped down the hill. Imagine my surprise to stumble across a little shop that was open. It was one of those tiny ones jam-packed with tins of tuna and jars of chickpeas and packets of chips and batteries and washing powder and balls of string and bags of sweets and a box full of lettuces…and as luck would have it, some loaves of bread. I bought the smallest one I could, but knew I would still be eating it tomorrow.

Time to find the albergue’s entrance.

Hmmm. That wasn’t meant to happen. Ah well, Google other accommodations and feel luck really is on your side when the cheapest one is right across the street! In I went and asked if the monastery Albergue would be opening later.

No. If it says it’s closed, it’s closed, the hostel/bar proprietress assured me.

Do you have a free bed?

Yes.

But the conversation went no further as a customer came over and insisted it was not closed and would be opening in a moment. He pulled me by the arm to prove his point, and lo and behold, the hospitalero was just tearing off the closed sign and opening the door.

I decided if I was going to stay in the monastery it would be nice to take the tour. In some ways it was. At the same time there were some very disturbing murals.

Official Tour done, I then took Dutch Kiwi couple for a tour of the accomodation. I was about to tell them that there was room for 30 and it had almost filled up within an hour of opening. Another surprise! It had now almost emptied out. A rumour had started circulating that there were bedbugs here last night and so about twenty pilgrims had gone in search of other lodgings.

My rationale was simple – and may turn out to be flawed! I had already laid my sleeping bag out in the bed so any damage was potentially already done. Also…that the guy had bedbugs bites is not being questioned. That he slept here last night is also true enough. But it is possible those pesky bugs had hitched a ride in his backpack from an earlier Albergue and they might not have stayed here. Fingers crossed.

The tour didn’t take long – one large cold dormitory with bunks, an internal washing line and the kitchen (a microwave, a glass, a plate, a knife and a fork), with four toilets, showers and sinks and a clothes washing sink in a room at one end.

That done, DK couple went out in search of food and I decided that in the absence of a mug or bowl, a glass would be quite satisfactory for instant soup. Except that the microwave didn’t work. So I had cheese on bread. Given that monasteries used to give pilgrims soup and bread, and maybe some cheese, I’d have been better off in the Middle Ages…although there wouldn’t have been a hot shower then. (Of course I could have gone out for food, but having bought the bread, I wanted to start eating it – besides, I wanted to give my slightly overworked tendons a rest)

So for me the day was downhill fog, green and villages…plus monastery and one more thing: –

COWS:

The first ones I could hear, but not see through the fog. They sounded very close.

I could smell these ones ^^ before I heard them…and being curious, I had to poke my nose in. It was a complete sensory experience…the bit that surprised me was the warmth that made the air feel like a thick blanket just inside the door

The outside cows seemed much happier

Pictures are not uploading and so no post today. I’ll settle down in a bar with decent wifi in Sarria tomorrow morning and try again.

Total darkness when I left.

The orange glow of street lamps got me through the village, and then I needed the torch on my phone to pick a path through the horse dung in the forest.

Knowing that rain was forecast, I kept looking back to enjoy the views in case they would disappear.

Exactly as I got to O Cebreiro and turned to see where I had come from a bagpiper started to play. And later as I would be leaving the hamlet, the church bells would ring out.

But first I needed breakfast…

…and then there were the pazollas to sketch, but first I nipped across the road to see the other side of the mountain…

…and by the time I had finished my picture (just ten minutes later) most of the green had disappeared as the fog rolled up the valley

O Cebreiro has a very different feel in the early morning to the late afternoon. At 7:30am there are just pilgrims milling about – later, as we found it last time, the place is filled with tourists.

I took a Quick Look at the place where 8-year-old Tessa broke her arm on our first Camino, and then kept moving.

For some reason I had in my mind that the Pilgrim Monument at Alto de San Roque marked the end of the climb, so I was feeling victorious

I had been planning on sketching this guy with the layers of mountains in the background, but there was nothing to be seen!

There was a downhill past meadows full of daisies that lulled me into a false sense of security in my memory

We walked out of the fog and I renewed my hope to see magnificent vistas.

I say “we”. I was not actually walking with anyone, but had some interactions with a Spanish family with two children, two older Spanish guys who untangled my hat which was attached to my pack so I didn’t have to take my pack off, and an American guy…

…we kept taking little breaks at different points so we ended up passing each other frequently.

The dear old Spaniards were so taken with the cows…

…and this little building, which they thought might be for horses, but we all went in it and found some memorial plaques for people who had died.

By now I was certain the fog was behind us, and I was also certain I had misremembered about it all being downhill. There had already been ups and downs, which everyone had been commenting on….and then there was one more

The fog chased us up the hill

While I ate a piece of empanada, it closed in completely.

When I’d finished and was ready to set off, the family with kids and two older gentlemen said goodbyes as if we had been lifelong friends! There was just another 4km to go after this, and it went slowly, because I kept stopping to watch the fog swirling around. It danced up the road.

Visibility dropped to not-very-much-at-all…

…and I picked up my pace as enormous raindrops started to plop around me.

I just beat the rain.

This…

…was the picture online that had lured me in to booking a bed here. I had visions of lounging outside doing my cross stitch, but given that this…

…is how it stayed all afternoon, I ended up here instead:

Not a bad alternative.

And the dinner, just down the hill was amazing.

Is there anything better than a cold fountain at the end of a hot walk?

Your pack is off your back, the cool breeze starts to dry your shirt, your feet sting and then soothe, and you know you don’t have to take any more steps and so you feel a little more energetic than you had climbing the last hill.

It feels like a long time since you were passing through the chestnut groves and negotiating the steep downhill at daybreak.

It was steep enough for one of the girls who came down after me to take a tumble.
I had a different adventure at about the same spot. My legs were a bit wobbly from trying to stay upright when…..
I saw a long brown dead snake lying on the path and was pleased I would actually get a good photo of this one – it was stretched right across the path. As I leant down to get a good angle the jolly thing started slithering towards the plants at the edge of the path. Now I was Really Very Wobbly, but managed to jump back quickly. Simultaneously I decided a bad photo was better than no photo, especially of such a long one, so I ventured a little bit closer:

Let me tell you, it didn’t take me long to get the rest of the way down the hill!

The rest of the day was spent almost exclusively road walking, with a soundtrack made up variously of traffic noise from a nearby (and sometimes far overhead) major highway and babbling brooks-streams-rivers that we repeatedly crossed.

Little villages appeared regularly and provided a spot to sit and rest. If I had realised how hot it was going to get I would probably have not dilly-dallied around quite so much, but it was nice to be totally relaxed and enjoying every step.

I had been planning on buying some pasta at the last village to cook up for dinner….but the shop had drinks and fruit and not much else, so I was stuck having to go out for dinner…which actually turned out to be not quite as good as it sounds as the weather turned to “isolated thunderstorms”, which appeared to be centered right over where we were.

Mountain storms can be quite the adventure! It got so dark, other than the lightning flashes, at 5:30pm, lights were necessary – quite a change from usually still being able to read after 10pm.

Forecast is for more rain tomorrow, but everyone is hoping for clear skies to be able to see where we have come from and where we are going when we get to the top of the mountain.

We won’t be taking these guys who make the trip twice a day, but we saw them as we went to dinner (which, incidentally, we had with their owner):

The place was aptly described as hippy-ish. It’s in a makeshift shelter because the owner’s Refugio burnt to the ground two years ago – he’s rebuilding it, and cooks a vegetarian dinner for up to ten pilgrims each evening. Produce from his garden. Alcohol homemade. Tea brewed with mint, fennel and cayenne pepper from the village.

Tomato with mozzarella and green salad, followed by extremely cheesy pasta topped with chopped nuts and seeds.

Raisin and nut bread with Greek yoghurt, homemade jam and grated chocolate for dessert.

Various drinks to follow!

Immediately after crossing the river you have to choose whether to walk the valley floor beside a road or take the mountain alternative.

I went right. Up.

The path was varied…

As promised in the guidebook, the first couple of kilometres were STEEP. But then, also as promised, it levelled out to a constant gentle uphill. I was so grateful to be able to manage this – six weeks ago I definitely couldn’t have done it without resorting to tiptoe-ing and walking backwards. Today I just kept plodding up. I felt a bit sorry for all the folks taking the lower route, especially when they disappeared under the cloud! They’d have been thinking it was a very grey morning, but up above it was spectacular!

As well as the magnificent distant vistas, something close at hand vied for my attention: the chestnut trees.

The two pilgrims before me took the last two pieces of chestnut cake, but the Albergue/bar owner said she’d bake another. In under an hour and a half she delivered me a piece, warm from the oven.

She would later cook a wonderful dinner….

….with produce from their garden and chooks. I hadn’t known it at the time, but the garden I snapped a picture of on the way in to the pueblo (and there were plenty to choose from), was hers – and there she was working with her husband.

This couple worked hard all day, between gardening and feeding pilgrims, and still had time to stop and chat – both of them would make excellent language learning partners – they could tell when I was looking for the right form of the verb and provided it so we could get in with the conversation, and they gently corrected mistakes. Great learning.

Last night they only had one girl staying with them and tonight I was the only one booked. In fact, if I hadn’t made a booking, I’d have gone on to the next village after a nice break in the shade, because I was feeling fine and it would have shortened tomorrow’s walk.

Instead, I relaxed, fended off an insistent moggy, listened to chickens cackling and a donkey braying nearby, watched the swallows dancing and the next door neighbour pushing a wheelbarrow full of vegetables up the path and then head out with a scythe.

Others came and went through the day….

…an Australian girl turned up intending to stay as per someone’s recommendation, and two sisters from Texas were so charmed by the place that they decided to stop.

They were all young enough to be my kids, but dinner stretched on as we chatted….age is no barrier on the Camino….and then trying to get to bed was like school camps! Lots of laughter.

Grapevines, mountains and road walking sum up today. Admittedly there could have been less road walking, but having not got to sleep until after 3am and then being up at 6, I opted for the shortest route. And I took a nana nap in the afternoon.

I didn’t intentionally stay up so late, but sleep did not happen. Our cosy room was like a sauna – in the wee hours we were all awake and dripping and discussed opening the window. The mosquitoes thought it was a grand idea, so it didn’t last long. The Taiwanese lass, confessed to “sweating like a pig” and gathered up her sleeping bag and went downstairs to the dining room floor for the rest of the night. I lay there listening to the buzz and wondering how bitten I would get, given that using any covering was out of the question!

Lack of sleep can cause grumpiness for some people, but in this case everyone was in jovial high spirits when we got up.

I was intrigued to find my Achilles burning as I walked out of town. Coincidence or does rest really aid that much in recovery? Thinking it might, I decided to err on the side of less work and more rest today, before I opt for the hilly route tomorrow.

The morning offered lots of memories…. that church ^^ with the little two person cabins around it delivered a significant dose of bedbug bites to Jaala. On a more pleasant note, I could still see ten-year-old Micaiah holding on to two sticks, one in each hand, and having six-year-old Ella-Rose walk behind him holding the other end of each stick – he was being a train, pulling her up the hill. I felt particularly thankful for how the children support each other still.

I remembered this stretch was the day I missed 5km when adding up the distance…an extra 5km is a long way when you only have little legs and I could still see Rob walking down the street with his backpack on his back and a six-year-old still carrying her big stick on his shoulders. I felt particularly grateful for how he has continued to carry her when she has needed it.

I remembered with a chuckle the man we met, who insisted Rob was an All Black.

At this little rest stop ^^ I met another Kiwi lady and we began another one of those Camino Conversations that lasted all the way to her accommodation, which happened to be the place we stayed in last time. I don’t know if they have replaced the three-tier bunks, but I didn’t want to risk being at the top and so chose somewhere different this time:

It looks pretty grand, but if you look closely, windows are broken, paint is peeling in sheets off the walls, the curtains are falling down, the beds squeak, the showers are mouldy…

I wonder how the other Kiwi lady is getting on. She had expected to come and walk and do lots of thinking, but here we are almost at the end and she is noticing her head has been empty. The only thing she has consciously observed is the value of kindness, and she was feeling like it’s been an awful lot of walking to come up with a trivial truth that she already knew.

This afternoon I played a little game. At 29 degrees I decided it was hot enough for an ice cream. You can buy one in a bar for €2,50, but I spied a little supermarket so bought a box of four for €1,50. Although I momentarily considered eating them all, it was much more fun to zip round the streets trying to find people to give the spares away to. All the Spaniards gave the exact same reply: not at this time. Why you can’t eat ice cream at 3pm beats me when you drink wine at 10 in the morning, but there you have it. Luckily, there was a pilgrim sitting on a park bench and a group of American tourists, who had driven from Santiago this morning and were intrigued to talk to an actual pilgrim, and to get hints about their trip to NZ next year. I admired their picnic spread out on the bench in the rose garden and reminded myself how much I like that kind of travelling too – in fact, whenever I have seen a train or bus or motor home park….

…I have thought wistfully of our Big Trip.

I was sitting outside on the street watching all the 7 o’clockish activity as I ate my bowl of tuna pasta salad when the bells of that church ^^ rang 33 times….and then again. I figured it might mean the church was open and seeing as I’m staying in the attached Albergue’s I figured it would be good to take a look.

Turned out there were already a few people in there praying the rosary, which meant mass would follow.

The dark wooden retablo and painted ceiling kept me occupied through the parts where I got lost, but I find I am understanding more and more.

Sometimes when there is a pilgrims’ blessing it is done after everyone is dismissed, but here it was part of the service – including asking each person where they were from. New Zealand usually gets the kind of response that reminds me just how fortunate I am to be here. We were invited into the sacristy to get a stamp in our credentials, which filled up my page for me and means I can have a relaxing evening!

Lots of languages. You get that on the Camino. And this French guy ^^ amazed everyone last night by singing a song from every nationality that was represented. The crowd swelled to more than twenty and he got everyone participating even as he shared his own exceptional skill. NZ, Spain, France, Ireland, Mexico, Romania, Israel, Greece, Australia, Germany, Korea, Croatia, Brazil, England… he had a song for them all. There are usually people going to bed by 8:30, but this group didn’t disband until well after 10. A precious evening of music and laughter.

Thinking about language gives me three things to write about today.

The first, a new word coined this morning by a girl, who speaks four or five languages.

I’m so glad there was no snorking last night!

Don’t you think snork sounds better than snore?

Secondly, Mr Brazil was showing us pictures sent to him today of someone’s arms covered with red welts. He stated the bed bunnies had been hungry. Judging by the size of the marks, the bed bugs may have been as big as bunnies.

Thirdly, when someone said they wished there was some shadow to walk in, their friend corrected them that they should be saying shade. Gave me something to think about as I walked.

I’d have taken shade or shadow, but there was neither.

I did not leave until the afternoon and so I knew it was going to be hot.

It seemed a good idea to follow the straight red line, but I found myself on the longer yellow dotted line, which was the official Camino path. It didn’t bother me to consider “cheating”, because I had already done it today. I had been sitting outside a supermarket (in the shade of a shadow) gathering up strength to step out into the sunlight and checking my map to see how best to get to the camino path. When I looked up I saw an elderly gentleman leading a pilgrim down the street opposite me – I decided he was probably directing him to the camino path and so I followed a few minutes later. At the end of the street was a multi-storey set of stairs….and right beside it was a lift. Did I take the stairs? You bet I didn’t!

There was a camino sign right across the street that pointed me to the river. Right down beside the river was a path and another was up the top in a park. I wanted to walk next to the water, but it was too hot to go looking for stairs to get down to it.

And soon enough the signs left the river and headed straight up here:

I think I said, “Oh no” out loud. Actually it was pretty short, but it would have been much nicer to climb in the cool of the morning!

Shadows that didn’t provide much shade:

My family has been commiserating about how cold it has been, but I keep telling them that it is great for walking. I find it is harder to be interested in what I am walking past when it is hot. But I tried…

It was soooo hot I went into a bar and asked if they had anything cold to drink. Beer…wine – red or white…ice cream….or Coca Cola were the options given. Coffee, too, but that wouldn’t have been cold.

I took note of this for Rob….if he’s going to get a puncture on his camino in September, he would do well to do it here:

A couple of kilometres before the final destination a tall dark Brazilian guy walked up behind me. He was clearly churning out 6km/hour, but kindly slowed to match my pace. We chatted a bit, but mostly just walked in silence. He saw a kite (the fabric kind, not the alive bird sort, although to confuse the story it was in the shape of a bird) on a pole acting as a scarecrow over a garden and he just pointed it out with his walking pole. I nodded. Sometimes there is no need for words. Especially when it is hot.

When we got to the accommodation, Mr Brazil (actually, Dr Brazil) found his words. He told the lady checking us in that he didn’t have a passport. She either didn’t understand or at least didn’t appreciate his joke!
When the four of us, who were checking in at the same time, were taken up to our very cosy room, he told us all he would have epileptic fits while sleeping, but not to worry. When we all played the age guessing game he couldn’t decide between being 23 and 48 years. While the other three ate dinner, I was trying to write this blogpost….I would get one sentence done and distractions in the form of those crazy room mates would…well…distract me.
I asked for permission to mention Dr Brazilian Physiotherapist (with a specialty in neurological disorders) on the blog and he assented on the condition that I pay 50 euros…but in the end his only condition was that it be a selfie.

Ms Taiwan, who is travelling with a hairdryer and shared her face masks with whoever wanted a spruce up this afternoon, wanted to know how he whitens his teeth – how can anyone get any writing done with all that nonsense going on?

I still haven’t told you why I did not leave until so late.

The day started with sketching the castle….

In the interests of getting this blogpost written tonight, I’ll just tell you that one of my kids likes to tell his friends I am an author, and now I will copy and paste the message I sent them this morning on our family chat:

Something else for Micki to skite to his mates about – I am drawing the Ponferrada castle and a man came up to me and asked to take a photo. He works in the castle for the council and wants to share people enjoying their castle! He then gave me the full interview! Who are you? Where are you from? Are you walking to Santiago?…when I told him it’s my sixth time, he said “Peregrina fatal”!!! Anything else you can tell me? Mama to eight children. So Micki, now you are famous too!

Next up was a walk through some pretty narrow streets….

….to a date at Churrería Alba….

…where I introduced my new DutchKiwi friends to chocolate con churros

It was the sort of chocolate that the churros stand up in

The reason for the date was twofold – we are actually friends now and friends do stuff together AND (here is a nice story…) the other night Mrs DutchKiwi had expected to be cold after our freezing night in the tipi and so I gave her my blanket as my sleeping bag was going to be sufficient for me. In the morning when she put the blanket back on my bed, she noticed my little plastic box of earplugs and so she picked them up and decided to try to meet up again. When she messaged me I suggested a churros meeting and it turned out to be very close to their accommodation. We compared notes of our plans for the next few days and both of us have made some little tweaks so that we will end up at the same places some nights – after so many weeks of meeting new people every day, it will be nice to see some familiar faces.

We then headed to the castle together – it didn’t open until 10, hence the late start. (And we took our time – no rushing at all. Lots of pretending to be Romeo and Juliet and Rapunzel, and working out why things were made the way they were – later in the evening I would meet another Kiwi bloke, who was underwhelmed at the castle, but he clearly had not spent his time there with us!)

There is one more thing to tell you about Mr DutchKiwi, but it is going to have to wait for another day….it is to do with identity and a therapy session…and has been a recurring theme on this camino, but I keep NOT writing about it…

PS when I finally got up to the room after writing this post, I tiptoed in thinking everyone would be asleep, but there were three screens lighting up the room….that did not stop Dr Brazil from hissing Ssssssssh……so I rattled my plastic bags extra loudly…..and now while the last pictures try to upload for the umpteenth time we are playing kill-the-mosquito.

When I left New Zealand I told myself I would be happy if I made it from Pamplona to Ponferrada. There’s some nice alliteration going on and if my Achilles had not got strong enough to tackle the hill that is coming up, this was a satisfactory spot to bail out. I’d have been disappointed, but accepting, if I had not made it this far, but I did hope to. So I am ever so grateful to have got here…especially considering the Achilles management, the daily toe pain at 5km, the food poisoning episode, the lost voice for four days, the three weeks of toothache, the backtracking to Burgos for root canal and recovery, the side effects of the antibiotics, the hayfever episode, the glute/back/upper leg pain (which seems to be settling) and the cough, which has been a constant companion, but one I only notice whenever someone rings from home, because they comment on it. It’s been a rough road.

Did someone say rough road? That would be the walk from Riegos de Ambrós to Molinaseca this morning. It’s so hard to capture in photos just how steep and rocky the path is.

And the town appears (still got a bit of downhill to go at this point!)

More than once the road was visible and it struck me as a particularly exhilarating ride, probably as much of an adventure on a bike as the trail on foot:

The walking path climbed higher than the road. Which would you take on a bike?

Half a dozen people passed me, even the ones going slowly, because I was going Extremely Slowly – my knees had not recovered from yesterday!

Being a largely single file track, we exchanged pleasantries, but kept walking solo.

Thankfully the Achilles had coped well with the very uneven terrain – definite progress for which I am thankful.

Molinaseca is a cute little town, not least of all because it has a bar with this right on the far side of the Roman bridge:

I had done my usual trick of walking downstream of the bridge to get a good view:

And then across it…

I had been thinking I might sketch something here, but couldn’t settle on a spot…

On the outskirts of the town was a garden surrounding a house. Fruit trees, rows of vegetables, flowers, some serious growing. Actually there were many gardens, but this one in particular caught my attention:

A woman poked her head out of one of the windows and I asked if I could buy some…

“How much do you want? Half a kilo?”

“That’s too much. Can I give you one euro?”

I really just wanted a handful…

…but ended up with 350g!

These were the sweetest juiciest cherries I have ever eaten. I thought the light coloured ones might be a bit sour, but not at all.

A couple of pilgrims caught me up and I sent them on their way with a handful each. An Australian lady fell into step beside me and we had one of those long Camino talks, the one that included the common question, “I’m not religious, what about you?”

In fact, I was asked the very same question just yesterday morning and the lady had gone on to tell me, “I was brought up Anglican, but my parents separated when I was twelve and so then I didn’t have to go to church any more. I had sh*tty teenage years and decided if a God could allow that kind of stuff, I really wasn’t interested.” I was keen to talk further with this lady, but I also needed to take a break and we had just arrived in a village, so I said I was going to stop – she kept walking.

Today’s conversation went on much longer. Maybe it was the cherries. We sat on the steps of an abandoned house and ate and spit the stones. Whenever someone passed – whether a pilgrim or a local resident I offered them a handful – it seemed the bag would never empty!

Last time we were in this Albergue Jesus bought us a bottle of wine made by his grandfather. This time it was my turn to share. S from Croatia didn’t have the energy to go out to get food and she was Very Reluctant to accept my leftover eggs, tortillas, lettuce and mayonnaise – but in the end she did.

Did that sharing somehow open our hearts? Who knows, but we cried together as she shared her story of losing her husband, who she dearly loved and had a great relationship with, suddenly ten years ago (at only 50), leaving her to raise three kids on her own. She lost her mum six months later and had lost her dad when she was 15. Having to be strong for her children saved her life, but they have all now flown the nest and she is feeling truly alone. She is also aware she hasn’t grieved and carries deep sorrow within herself. At the same time as feeling joy at being alive, she has no hope for the future. Walking the Camino is one of the things she and her husband had been going to do together. How hard to be doing it alone. Now that her children have gone, she is asking what next?

That two hour chat is the reason the blog post is late!

PS

On a much less serious note (although it felt Very Serious at 1am), I received this message today (obviously I forget to check WhatsApp every day):

So tomorrow morning I’m meeting up with new friends at a Churrería and being reunited with my earplugs, which I left behind in my hurry to get to the Iron Cross. My deep regret last night has been alleviated.

That photo ^^ feels an age ago! In reality it was at 7:32 this morning (and I am writing at 16:37)

I had intended to get up early to be up at the iron cross by sunrise, but all was quiet in the dormitory and I didn’t wake until 6:30. Sunrise was at 6:50 so I knew I wouldn’t make it, but I jumped out of bed, gathered all my stuff and stealthily left the dorm, disturbing no one. Fastest pack ever and I stepped outside to a winking moon:

It promised to be a spectacular sunrise.

Climbing…

Pop, the moment you felt the light behind you change:

7:15 I made it to the Cruz de Ferro

Tradition is that you bring a stone from home and leave it here, symbolising some burden you want to be freed from. I didn’t bring a stone, and didn’t intend to participate in this ritual, but yesterday I spotted a stone that I picked up and will carry home. As I snapped a pic I realised I wanted to leave the doubt about whether love really can conquer.

The next nine and a half kilometres included a little bit more of a climb and then it was all downhill to El Acebo. Downhill, easy right? Wrong!

I only saw one cyclist braving this path. All the rest – and a good number of walkers too – took the road

Every so often it was worth stopping to look up

And finally you see the village you are going to – it is not very far away but it IS very far down, which means the path is about to get really steep…

It’s always a pleasure to turn up in a place that is having a festival…

I left the procession with its drum, wooden pipe and castanets parading up through the village while the bell ringer kept banging the bells and I headed down out of the village.

On reflection, I might have done well to sit down and watch the festivities for an hour or so to give my knees a break. But I had forgotten just how much of a downhill was still to come! I really felt for the French man who was climbing up the hill! He had walked from France to Santiago and was now on his way back home.

I hobbled into Riego de Ambrós, dumped my pack in what must be the tightest room yet….

…and went in search of food. I have become so relaxed I forgot about it being Sunday, but I didn’t need to worry. While there wasn’t a shop, there was one bar and it was both open and full of locals.

I sat under the grapevines, which didn’t offer much shade and got a burnt nose!

I probably should have gone straight back to the albergue and put my aching Achilles up for the afternoon, but I took a little wander first.

On the way back to the albergue I met this fellow on the road. He didn’t talk as much as the four Spanish men I met this morning having a “relaxing Camino”

When they caught up to me taking pictures of the path, they were concerned something was wrong. I explained my husband is doing the Camino with a friend in September on bicycles and I want to show him the path. They urged me to make it look as bad as possible! Actually, that wasn’t hard to do today.

When I had reached my destination for the day I bumped into a lady, who had been at the same place as me yesterday. I had thought she was having a hard day (the sun was too hot, the tipis were going to be too cold, the blankets were smelly…you get the idea) I tend to err on the side of glass-half-full (or even overflowing), and I didn’t doubt for a moment she would join my enthusiasm for what a beautiful walk we had experienced today. She had just three words for me, “Oh the mud” and I realised some people must enjoy being miserable!

Conversation with one of them when she caught up with me:

Her: Hi, where are you from?

Me: New Zealand

Her: Oh, you too?

Me: Are you from New Zealand? I’d have picked you as South African.

Her: Yeah I was. Emigrated over thirty years ago.

Me: Do you live on the North Shore?

Her: No, Eastern suburbs. You?

Me: Titirangi, out west. Are you walking alone?

Her: Yes, I think it’s the best way to do a Camino, you really need to do it on your own.

And with that she either took some photos, or pretended to – either way, I didn’t see her again!

The path to Rabanal was a little single-file affair twelve years ago. You can see a little of what’s left of it up there ^^ on the right. To the left is the new track that has been bulldozed through the forest.

It is easier to walk on, but has lost some of the charm. A bit like the camino in general. “Progress” comes at a cost. You can have your bag transported each day, and book private rooms and buy fruit smoothies…it all makes it easier, but it also makes it a different experience….but then I wonder what the pilgrims of yore would have thought of those of us with hiking poles and backpacks and an albergue with bunks whenever we get tired.
The changes can be positive for the pueblos…a decade ago the pueblo where I have stopped today was a tumbledown almost-ghost-town. We went into the only bar, hoping to get some food and bought ALL the oranges and cupcakes that were available for purchase – which amounted to about half each. Today´s daytime menu:

There are still some crumbling buildings here…

…but there are also now six albergues and a few other eateries too. You can even buy souvenirs here (if you want to carry them!)

All afternoon the whole village was humming with pilgrims.

I imagine the village before this one, Rabanal, would be similar. It has had a transformation on a similar scale.
It still has a fence about a kilometre long full of crosses leading up to it:

And it still has a Benedictine monastery with a church that was not only open, but celebrating mass as I passed.

The path between the two villages was just like it used to be:

I had stopped to put my camera away and a Spanish girl came up behind me. Conversation (in Spanish):

Her: Do you need help?
Me: No, but thank you. I am good.
Her: Good.
Me: What a beautiful day!
Her: A spectacular day!
Me: And a beautiful view
Her: Precious

And it was! I struggle to understand how someone could focus on the mud.

Suddenly the village was in view and someone was calling my name from behind me. It was the Kiwi-Dutch couple who know my neighbour. We walked the last kilometre together enjoying a lot of laughs…

…they stopped at the first Albergue where they had a booking (they usually book private rooms, but everything was full so they settled for this place) and I continued on to the last one, where I was planning to stay…

…but it was closed today, so I zipped back to join the other two, hoping there would be a bed. I was in luck, unlike the hordes who dropped in during the afternoon.

Lots more joy.

And music outside all afternoon

And hilarious dinner together…three kiwis (one of them deaf), two South Koreans, one American and one French without English, who I ended up translating for despite speaking no French. As I say, hilarious. And we only resorted to Google translate once.

Not only hilarious, though. Also deep conversation about language and mental illness. A very satisfying evening.