Ty Coz
It’s sweltering but there’s a semblance of a breeze. The frangipani in the faux Chinese pottery occasionally, but somewhat listlessly waves it’s pink flower festooned arms. In the background I can hear the bike horns and other bits of traffic noise. I don’t find it disquieting, if anything I like the noise of cities. I’m in a little alleyway off one of Saigon’s more well known streets but you wouldn’t really know it. I’m peering over the balcony and can see into the house down below where a family relaxes in front of a tv. Bikes are parked in an eccentric pattern outside the houses in this little cul de sac. I’m 3 storeys up but look down on most of the buildings around me. In the background skyscrapers built and in the process of being built shine brightly. Not so brightly that you can’t see the soft glow that bounces off the spires of the cathedral that poke above the rooftops behind me.
I am sitting at what has turned into one of my favourite restaurants in Saigon. Ty Coz located down a little alleyway off Pasteur Rd is, like many of Saigon’s gems, hidden away. The antithesis of restaurants back home which go out of their way to boldly advertise, who clung stubbornly to the business maxim, “location, location, location” that I can often be heard spouting in class. Ty Coz is not a restaurant one accidentally stumbles upon. Not unless you’re the type to walk up obscure alleyways like that pictured below.
Ty Coz is eclectic not only in it’s choice of alleyway location. The entrance looks like someone’s house, which indeed it is for Philippe the owner and his wife live here, and it is up to you the diner to know enough to walk up the stairs, past their living room to the third floor dining room or rooftop dining. None of this detracts from the experience it, indeed, adds to it.
The decor is pleasant, casual bistro chic. What it isn’t is interior designed to death. The focus here is on food and such food it is to satisfy even the most jaded pallette. A whiteboard, like that in a classroom is plonked before the diner who, unless schooled in the world of French cuisine, remains none the clearer about what is served. And then Philippe comes across. His love of food and his self professed love of teaching have you, within moments, encased within a world of food. Every dish is fully explained with a passion that has you wanting to eat every dish described only to entranced by the next delicacy he goes onto describe.
– Posted from my phone
I love these unexpected evenings in Saigon
You gotta love this town. On the way home this evening I stopped off at a local haunt when I saw a good friend having a quiet beer there. We chatted for awhile then ordered some of the great food this very local place serves. We’re there for awhile when a guy next too us strikes up a conversation. Now this is not the first time this has happened and, on previous occasions we have found ourselves drinking dubious alcohol or engaged in simplistic conversation and mime but, on this occasion our conversationalist proved to be from the United States.
He introduces himself as being from San Francisco but, for all intents and purposes, appears to be Vietnamese. Both my friend and I are well travelled and neither of us are particularly insensitive so it takes us awhile to ascertain that he is indeed American (which neither of us doubted) but was born in Saigon and is one of those people who escaped from the south in 1975. I say escaped because those are his words and because for him it was, no doubt, an escape. Now this is what I love about this town. I was planning on a quiet night but instead I end up having an experience. Our friend turns out to have been an air traffic controller (hence the photo above) who left the country in 1975 just as South Vietnam was about to fall. He tells us about making a new life in San Francisco, the pre-1975 days and how English and French were widely spoken in the streets of Saigon and how he made it out. We learn about his restaurant business, how he didn’t return to Vietnam until 2005, after Clinton had normalised US/Vietnam relations and how the city had changed so much since he left. We don’t talk politics because that is still a no-no in Vietnam but we do skirt around the edges. We’re fascinated by our newly found friend because he connects us to a Vietnam that we only know of through documentaries. We buy each other drinks, although I think he buys us more drinks than we buy him, share phone numbers and agree to meet up one night in Cholon, the Chinese district which he knows well, at some stage in the future. I love this town. I was just driving home and going to have a quiet night. Instead I lived a little history, not for the first time and, no doubt, not for the last.
Down and out in Paris (with apologies to George Orwell)
A very promising and thoughtful ex-student of mind once gave me a book by George Orwell about his early impoverished days in Paris and London called, appropriately, “Down and Out in Paris and London”. The book was an enjoyable read and quite an insight into the depths of poverty that existed in Europe in the early half of the 20th century.
The title and story came to mind as I walked the tourist embraced streets of Paris. This city of lights has little obvious signs of poverty today. This is not my first time to Paris but here again I found myself wandering the familiar tourist route of the Seine, Notre Dame, Champs Elysee etc. Sights I’ve seen before but I was just enjoying the early morning walk.
Then I arrived somewhat accidentally at the Louvre. I have never been inside and had not had any intention to do so today. Not because I don’t like art but because it seemed so de rigeur to do so in Paris that I rebelled against the idea that this could be Paris. I had promised myself that Paris was a coffee in a cafe with a newspaper watching the world go around me. I did not need to say I’d been to the Louvre as if somehow that gave me some cachet of art credibility. But then I dissapointed myself. I saw the queue was short and, on a whim, entered. What a mistake. I found myself in a bedlam of cameras, strollers, t-shirts and bumbags.
Jostling and barely having time to view some of the stupendous works around we eventually found ourselves before a glass enclosed, little picture of the woman with the enigmatic smile. The jostling, the cameras, the security, it could almost have been the papparazzi at work with Madonna to the fore.. Quick we must get a photo, stop, study the painting, you, yes you, put your head to the side, ok now you, finger to the chin. Ok done, I think we still have time for the eiffel tower. I wandered around the Louvre for awhile trying to take in the amazing pieces of art that fill it’s every nook and cranny but I left feeling sullied. Like I’d done something just to say I’d done it. It afforded me little pleasure. I felt down and out in this world famous museum.
So I went to a cafe and read my newspaper and watched the colourful world of Paris pass me by. What a delightful, colourful, character filled city. I forgot how much I enjoy the vibrancy of multicultural cities. Saigon is very monocultural and much of the Spain I’d seen (as fantastic as it was) was similarly monocultural. Paris reminded me of Sydney with it’s people of different hues, it’s colour, it’s vibrancy. Now I know why people like Paris.
– Posted from my phone
I went to the end of the world today and burned my clothes
I went to the end of the world today and burned my clothes. My Camino closed as my clothes burned and flames flicked into the air while in front of me I saw nought but ocean. While Santiago de Compostela is the end of the Camino many pilgrims in the past continued to the end of the world, as it was known then. Here, at Finesterre, they would collect a shell, symbol of the peregrino, to show they had been to the end of the world. I’m not sure where the clothes burning comes from but it is a tradition to do so.
I had arrived at Finesterre with a few fellow peregrinos. As we drove out of Santiago I would occasionally catch glimpses of yellow arrows or shells and my body would lurch as my feet and mind willed me to walk. The speeding car scared me a little and it felt a travesty to be travelling so quickly through such beautiful countryside. When we arrived in Finesterre we proceeded to the waymarker and the lighthouse that mark the end of the world. There we symbolically burned some items we had brought with us. I burned my silk sleeping sack brought from Vietnam that symbolized my travels to a different place every night, I also burned my socks as a symbol of the pain I’d had to endure from my blisters to get to the end of my Camino. It was as I watched the flames flicker that I finally felt my Camino coming to an end and, as the last flames finally died, I said a fond farewell to a fantastic, deeply felt experience.
Ps. My last two days in Santiago were bittersweet as I finally said goodbye to many friends I’d made along the way. On the last days just hours before my flight I met up again with my Lithuanian friend. It was great to see her again and my Camino would have felt slightly empty if I hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye to her. We had travelled much of the Camino together and shared many similar experiences. Once again, the Camino delivered when I needed. Even though it was finished.
– Posted from my phone
A night out in Santiago de Compostela after having walked 800km
Santiago de Compostela threw a party for me, or at least that’s what it felt like. July 31st, the day of my arrival, saw the last day of a week of activities celebrating the feast day of Santiago (which falls on July 25th). The town was absolutely buzzing when I went to meet my Spanish travelling companions in front of the Cathedral. Cafe’s bustled into the street, buskers played from every corner and students and peregrinos rubbed shoulders in the dense, worn stone little calles of the old town.
From the Cathedral I walked a little way and fell in love with opera. Round the corner from the cathedral under an arch of fantastic acoustics two buskers performed various arias from Italian opera. I have heard opera and seen opera before but never developed a taste for it. But here in Santiago sitting on dirty stone steps with fellow peregrinos I listened to these stupendous voices boom through this cathedral arch. A crowd formed and we were given a performance of the voice that brought shivers down the spine.
It was to be a night of music. After the opera we watched a Celtic bagpipe band (Galician culture is strongly Celtic influenced), then passed several busking guitarists, a violinist and a rather scary looking clown. Then into a crowded little cafe for beers and the most delicious pinchos (bar food similar to tapas). I ran into many familiar faces as we moved from little crowded pub to little crowded pub in the narrow alleyways. In one place I ate the Spanish delicacy of pig’s ears (much softer and fattier than I’d imagined).
Then onto the concert (with fireworks going off in the background) where some local bands played before a packed audience of peregrinos in sandals and fleeces, students in jeans and t-shirts and touragrinos (tourists who bused it into Santiago) with their polo shirts and bumbags. It was a fantastic night of partying and a great way to cap off our arrival. This old town with it’s old buildings and winding streets of bars and cafes is just alive at night and for once I had no peregrino Albergue curfew to adhere to 
– Posted from my phone
Reflections on my Camino de Santiago
As my Camino ends I think it’s time to look back on it.
To me the Camino was a thing to be done because it sounded physically challenging and a completely different experience from those I’ve had before. It was in a country i knew little about and involved an intriguing history. The Camino certainly was physically challenging. In the beginning my muscles cried out with pain, going up mountains my breath came out as ragged gasps, my shoulders ached at their burden. In the later stages problems with new boots caused blisters that made it feel at times that I was walking on needles. By this stage the rest of my body was strong and could walk for hours on end if need be.
Mentally the Camino was also challenging. Some days it was difficult to get your mind into gear or to stop thinking about your aches and pains or to find the scenery monotonous. It was at these times that mental fortitude became important, the ability not to give up but just to move on. Mental toughness became necessary again when blisters came to play. Early morning starts were especially painful and it took some gritting of teeth to get through this.
The Camino was a journey of inner peace. The beauty of the walks, the simple daily routines brought you to a mental oasis that allowed your thoughts to soar. When your body began to walk automatically your mind began, like a bee flitting from flower to flower, to move from thought to thought in something that resembles dreaming but still being completely cognizant of what’s happening. It reminded me of how my mind used to fly around when sitting in a classroom as a bored pre-teen.
The Camino was about community, as disparate people from disparate age groups, ethnicities and beliefs became, for a brief time, a roving closely knit community, supportive and encouraging of each other. Lost things were returned, food was shared, commiserations given, blisters attended to by others, massages given, wine drunk, stories told, jokes shared, laughter joined and pleasure taken in each others company.
The Camino is for many a life changing experience. I can see how this could be. Everday is the same routine but delivers new surprises and joys. You never know where you’ll sleep or what the town you’re in will be like. You don’t know who you’ll have dinner and drinks with. You do know that it will nonetheless all happen somehow. This creates an inner peace, a confidence in the fact that things always work themselves out. You are someone who has walked 800km, almost a marathon everyday for a month. This is not a small feat. This creates an inner confidence.
I’m not sure if the Camino is life changing for me. Perhaps time and distance will tell me that. What I know is that it is life affirming. People are good, nature is stupendously wonderful, our bodies are remarkable machines and our minds love simple routines so they have time to thrive.
I loved my Camino. An entirely fulfilling experience. At the end of the Camino at the Cathedral Santiago de Compostela the signs for alpha and omega (signifying the beginning and the end) have been reversed signifying that this is a new beginning. It echoes the sentiments of the elderly Spanish gent, whom I walked into Léon with and who gave me a rundown on Camino history, when he said, “the end of the Camino isn’t sad it is happy because it signifies the beginning of something new”.
My personal take on the Camino.. Get up, walk, shower, wash, eat, drink, talk, sleep. These simple things are the Camino. Walk, just walk … the rest of life will take care of itself.
– Posted from my phone
Day 31: Arco do Pino to Santiago de Compostela … 800km in 31 days
Chocolate con churros is a typically Spanish breakfast snack. Donut like sticks encrusted with sugar dipped into thick dark hot chocolate. My last day was much like this favoured snack – bitter sweet.
The last day started, like so many others with a tired body wanting more sleep, zipping bags, strapping of feet and hefting of backpacks onto the back. I headed out, like so many other days, into the dark. I started off by myself but soon found myself walking through the forests with a young german guy who admitted being quite scared of the mist enveloped forests. I guess the Camino delivered me to him to make his journey a bit easier.
The mist was to remain heavy all day right until I walked into the square around the Cathedral in Santiago de Compostela. It was so heavy I couldn’t see more than 50 metres ahead of me. When I walked under trees they rained on me as the mist so heavy it condensed on the leaves and rained from them. It was quite surreal to see the patches under trees all wet and dripping while elsewhere it was dry.
I spent most of the walk wrapped in my thoughts. Thinking back on the Camino I remembered the places I’d stayed at the people I’d met and made friends with, the meals I’d had, the sections of walk I’d enjoyed, the tough days and the joyful ones. My walk was a quiet, reflective stroll. Through it all I kept feeling that today was a good day to finish.
About an hour out of Santiago I ran into someone I hadn’t seen in weeks. We walked most of the way into town before she veered off to go to her Albergue. It was good to run into her but I was happy to walk in by myself. I enjoyed this quiet reflective mood I was in.
I wandered into the old town, down some steps and then, around the corner from the Cathedral I stopped to sit awhile. I wasn’t quite ready for the Camino to end yet. I sat there awhile watching peregrinos pass and listening to buskers play.
And then I walked around the corner to the Cathedral, walked until I was in front of it. I looked up. Then I stopped walking. 800 km. I sat on my backpack, like so many other peregrinos around me and looked up at the Cathedral. I felt no excitement or joy, I didn’t want to jump or dance, I felt no sadness, I didn’t want to cry. I felt strangely peaceful. Completely calm, at ease. I breathed in. For many moments I thought nothing, I just was. I don’t think I’ve ever been at such peace.
After awhile I looked around, took photos and videos and then admired this stupendous Cathedral. By far the most stupendous Cathedral I’ve seen, coloured no doubt by the fact that I had to walk 800km to see it I greeted a few familiar faces then wandered through the Cathedral. On wandering out of the Cathedral I saw my Italian travelling companion for many days, she was just about to head out but with an overjoyed shout we hugged each other and exchanged stories. A few other familiar faces came into focus and we all talked awhile. After saying a few painful goodbyes I headed off to the Office of Peregrinos to get my Compostela. The Latin document that certifies I have completed the pilgrimage to the resting place of the disciple James. I attended midday mass and caught up with a few other familiar faces before heading off to my accommodation.
I splurged. The night before I’d found a five star hotel located close to the Cathedral. I’d booked two nights at the Melia Aragauney. I trudged into this five star hotel tired, dirty and smelly. A beautiful little hotel decorated tastefully in a middle eastern style my body thanked me deeply for this gift. I thought it only fair after all I’d asked of it over the last 31 days. Tonight I’ll go out for dinner and drinks with my Spanish friends and, no doubt, run into others I know. The Camino is over, tonight we celebrate our fantastic achievement. We walked 800km, every single step of it.
I’m brought to mind the Proclaimer’s song “I would walk 500 miles”. Today I can say not that I would walk 500 miles but that I did walk 500 miles. I didn’t know if I could do it. Now I know.
– Posted from my phone
Day 30: Arzua to Arca do Pino
Today was a day of sadness and of beauty and richness. I started out the morning by strapping and padding my feet until they looked all lumpy and disjointed. I walked put of town with a slight rolling motion as the padding settled into place. The pain was bearable, I could do 20km on these feet today.
I walked out into the dark and through the forests. When I emerged from the forests I was surprised to see it light already. I walked through farm lands and down beautiful country lanes and then noticed the familiar. The trees were those of back home, I was walking through a forest of eucalyptus trees. Another Camino surprise. I stopped for breakfast (cafe con leche and tarte de Santiago) only to find friends having breakfast. I joined up with them and spent most of the rest of the morning walking and talking with one of them, a history teacher in Barcelona. Our conversation spanned everything from women to school to Spanish culture and food to reminiscing about the early days of the Camino. The waymarkers around us showed 20+ km to go to Santiago, we both remember the days when it was 600km to go and we thought we had achieved a lot.
I parted from my friends who I will catch up with again in Santiago to walk by myself. While I thoroughly enjoy the camaraderie of the Camino I also enjoy the time when I walk by myself. The 20km to go waymarker pounded into my thoughts as I passed it. “780 km these feet have walked”. “My Camino is almost over”. A deep wash of sadness coursed through my body. I could feel my whole body fall into sadness as I spent the last few kilometres thinking about my experiences. This amazing experience will end soon, in just a few hours of walking tomorrow I will be done. I feel like I’m going to say goodbye to a loved one and the sadness is palpable. Nonetheless I look forward to tomorrow’s walk. My mind is enjoying the walk and I look forward to seeing many friends at the end. I may be feeling a bit sad but tomorrow feels like the right day to stop walking. I am ready.
– Posted from my phone.
Day 29: Palas del Rei to Arzua
The day started with zipping noises, crumpling of bags and talking in loud voices. Much like the day ended yesterday. My dorm room was filled with a Spanish group who were clearly only walking for a couple of days and were more involved in their own enjoyment than concerning themselves with others. I miss the pre-Sarria Camino where the sense of camraderie and looking out for others is a big feature. I remember being surprised in the early weeks that there was rarely litter on the Camino, you could walk for hours before seeing any rubbish. Now I can barely walk a 500 metres without seeing a plastic bag or bottle left on the route.
Nonetheless this doesn’t detract too much from the beauty of the post Sarria Camino. Today I walked with friends for awhile before going off at my own pace. I enjoy walking by myself for long stretches, it gives me time to take in the scenery and to let my thoughts float around like a leaf fluttering in the wind never staying still but sometimes returning to it’s starting point.
I walked through some beautiful forests today and then through more of the same type of countryside from yesterday. The landscape reminds me of England with it’s rolling green hills. This area of Galicia looks a bit wealthier than that of the last few days with slightly bigger villages and more modern buildings.
What you do see a lot of are Orio’s which, according to my Barcelonan friend with the Galician father, are used for grain storage. The Orio’s look like small, raised, wooden shelters that remind me of children’s playhouses. In some cases the Orio’s are no longer used for grain storage but as a form of decoration. It was interesting to look at the stylistically similar Orio’s made out of different materials.
The morning also saw me go through the town of Melide. This region of Galicia is famous for empanada (a pie’ish type dish) and pulpo (octopus). Melide is particularly well known for it’s octopus. I stopped briefly to eat, drink and chat.
From there the day got hard. Wearing sandals because of my heel blister has caused blisters to open up on the soles of both my feet. The burning sensation, especially after stopping, takes an effort to put aside. About half an hour from my destination, Arzua, I had to stop. Fortuitously as it turned out as I ran into an Italian guy I’d had dinner with a few times but hadn’t seen in a couple of weeks. He also gave me some information about an Italian girl I had been travelling with and some other updates. This is the Camino newspaper and is how information is passed on. If people mention me it’s as the Aussie teacher who works in Vietnam and I often travel with people who have travelled with other people I have travelled with. It’s a small world that has a great community feel to it.
The last half hour into Arzua was painful. Each step burned. The first two Albergues were full so I eventually just took a room in a Pension. My feet appreciated the bath and must now be getting used to being doused in betadine every evening. This evening I fashioned some padding in my socks (looks downright weird) to try to relieve the pain but I’m not looking forward to the start tomorrow. Luckily it’s only 20km tomorrow. I should be able to handle that. I look forward to the walk as I’m finding these last few days to be the time of reflection. I spent much of today thinking about my Camino and what it means for me. I expect tomorrow I will be doing more of this. It’s quite a beautiful mental winding down.
Ps. All along the trail I keep seeing posters for Camino Brazil 
only 500km.
– Posted from my phone
Day 28: Ferreiro to Palas del Rei
Last night was tough going. While I was happy to have a roof over my head and a mattress, no matter how grubby, it did not mean a good night’s sleep was assured. You would think after 40km I’d sleep like a log but the midnight showering woman, the snoring choir and the frightening sight of another male face inches away from mine when I rolled over did, somehow, not induce sleep. This combined with a very cold night meant I slept very little.
I woke up, not grumpy, but not exactly overjoyed at having to walk over 30km today. After having spent nine hours walking yesterday I did not relish another eight today. Nonetheless I got on with it, shouldered my pack, ignored my newly created blisters, thanks to having to wear sandals and just got on with walking. It was eerily dark with shadows cast in all directions by my torchlight searching for yellow arrows. When light eventually arrived it remained filtered through a fog and mist that remained hanging in the air until well after 11am. I trudged on and after awhile my body took over and just began to walk while my mind wandered. I still wasn’t quite into the walk but I was ok.
After a few hours of mist walking and mind wandering I arrived at my breakfast destination of Portomarin. A beautiful river port city graced by a sleek bridge and nice old town it was a perfect breakfast destination. I was happily surprised to see my two Portuguese foot heeling friends there. I joined them for breakfast and thoroughly enjoyed their lively company. This despite the fact that their Camino was over, one of the girls’ bodies had given out and so they were returning to Lisbon tonight. Despite this they remained upbeat. When I left one of them described to me the wealth of emotions she had felt when reaching Santiago in a previous Camino. This, along with their interesting company, left me feeling reinvigorated and looking forward to the rest of the day’s walk. Once again the old saying about the Camino came true – when you need something the Camino delivers. I needed to be sparked back into life and so it was.
I climbed from Portomarin into the hills beyond. I walked through a beautiful forest of slender trees and forest ferns. From there the day slowly wandered beside a main road before crossing through country areas and up, down and around little farms and hamlets. In one such place I ran into some friends and walked with them awhile. Eventually it was just me and the Italian doctor walking together and we spent a pleasant couple of hours wandering into town discussing everything from the Camino, to Australia, to Rome to Silvio Berlusconi.
Eventually arriving in Palas del Rei at about 2:30pm I went to the first of two Albergues in town only to be told it was completo (full) an almost unheard of thing to occur so early in the day. I walked up the street to the other Albergue where I met a friend I hadn’t seen in over a week, we chatted and then I asked for a bed to be told by the hospitalera that I had just been given the very last bed. Whew, two nights in a row I’ve been lucky.
That evening I dined with Korean friends I hadn’t seen in ages. It was nice to see old faces in the sea of new ones. The Camino since Sarria is a far less pleasant experience. Large groups of Spanish people who walk small sections with little day packs and interact very seldomly with other peregrinos makes for a very different experience to the rest of the Camino where people took an active interest in each other. Even my Spanish friends commented on this saying they didn’t like the feel of the Camino since Sarria. It’s a pity but it is still part of the whole experience I guess
Tomorrow another longer day of just over 30km. After that it’ll just be two short days and I’ll be in Santiago de Compostela.
– Posted from my phone
Day 27: Triacastela to Ferreiros via Samos
I arrived exhausted. It’s been many weeks since I’ve been so tired I just have to sit on my bed for fifteen minutes or so before I even take off my shoes. Today I just ended a 40km walk. I hadn’t intended for it to he quite so long but such are the vagaries of life. By the end of the day the dirty mattress in a room full of matresses lying on the floor like some kindergarten sleeping room became an absolutely welcome sight.
The day started off with a plan to head to the town of Sarria taking the shorter route. However I unintentionally took the longer route via the monastery at Samos. I was not unhappy about this as the route took me through the narrow defiles and valleys of the forest covered mountain slopes and within a few hours I was looking down on this magnificent monastery at Samos.
From there the day turned English. A drizzle set in and cloud covered the sky, not an unpleasant way to enjoy a slowly meandering walk down the mountains. I walked through little hamlets, alongside gurgling rivers and along narrow roads covered in sheep and cow dung. The scenery included cornfields squeezed into narrow valleys and cow pastures perched on mountain hillsides. I drank my second morning coffee at a little mountain village as I watched twittering birds take part in mating dances on the village road.
In the town of Sarria I stopped for awhile to take a break and chat to a fellow peregrino. We talked for simetime but with only 26km under my belt my day wasn’t done yet. In Sarria things got busy. This is a common starting spot for the Camino as it is just over 100km from Santiago and the pilgrimage compostela (certificate) is only given to those who have walked at least 100km.
I can see why this part of the walk is popular. It is a gentle undulating walk through small little farmlands. Most of the walk is on country roads or lanes often surrounded by short, moss covered rocky walls. The last section of the road was over stones poured over hot tarmac an unpleasant walking track. In the distance I heard gunshots most probably from the local hunting club who’s trophy shots I saw hanging on a pub wall that night. By this time of day my legs were going fine but another blister was developing and my back was beginning to ache from a back weighed down with my boots. My body was telling me to stop.
I eventually arrived at my destination, the little hamlet of Ferrerios only to find the solitary Albergue full. This is the first time this has occurred to me but is something I’ll have to plan for now since so many peregrinos have joined since Sarria. Luckily a little further on a local restaurant had a sign out the front “dormit gratis” … was I happy. It turned out it was just a dirty stained mattress on a floor in one big room with many others but for me it was fantastic.
The place is full with many others like me who have been surprised by the Sarria joiners ability to fill up Albergues quickly. From now on my plans will ensure that I have nearby backup towns to go to if an Albergue is full or just to go to major towns. The afternoon was spent chatting over beers and the world’s largest bocadillo (baguette sandwich) which was the size of my forearm. Tomorrow my day is either 26km or 33km, depending on accommodation. A good day’s walk, I feel like I earned my stripes today.
– Posted from my phone.
Day 25: Villafranca del Bierzo to O Cebreiro and into the province of Galicia (the home stretch)
The day started cold and misty as we slowly made our way through the mountains. Today is the dreaded walk to O Cebreiro the steepest mountain climb since the Pyrenees, the last real physical challenge before the home stretch (150km) to Santiago. It was also my most favourite walk to date.
It was cold and the mist hung off the mountain sides. Peregrinos thrust hands into flimsy fleece jackets and walked steadily upward. Every hour or so a mountain town, made of rocky stone houses clinging to mountain sides, would appear and we would inevitably stop for a warming cup of cafe con leche or morning croissant. The little towns reminded me a lot of Darjeeling, all mountain towns seem to have a similar character.
On the walk we were joined by many new walkers and the path, in parts, looked almost crowded. Passing cars, of which there were many, would often toot horns and I wondered why so many people were around. It took a look at my watch to tell me it was a Saturday and the reason for all the busyness. I wouldn’t have had a clue what the day of the week was otherwise. I know dates because I started July 1st and each day of July corresponds to the equivalent number of days I have travelled for. I don’t know days. It’s a great feeling of freedom not to know or care what day it is.
The walk wound up, like a corkscrew, into the mountains steadily getting higher but not proving too onerous. The sun began to break through the mist and soon enough a clear blue sky and warm sun took over the day.
I walked past flowing rivers, listening to cowbells ring and watching butterflies grace the air before me. One town, La Faba, proved a hard slog to get to as the path suddenly turned steep and rocky. An hour of this saw me gulp down my Aquarius when I arrived at La Faba whilst enjoying the goings on of the hippy commune opposite. From La Faba it was more of the steep rocky ground and I stopped for another drink at the little pub playing Celtic music. A short, sharp walk later and we were standing before the outstanding views of O Cebreiro. Stupendous, magnificent, looking into the valleys below with winding pathways, little villages and farmland being worked on. The town itself is a delightful little touristy mountain village with a mixture of weekenders, cyclists, a wedding party in all their finery and peregrinos in their grubby overwork, underwashed walking gear.
Today’s walk was picturesque, varied and, at times, challenging and overall one of the finest walks of the Camino. I’m glad I didn’t miss it and my blistered foot still let me make the walk.
The Albergue, though big, is clean and efficient and has the best view in town. I sat down outside worried that my heel that was beginning to look quite bad and it was beginning to concern me when two Portuguese girls came to my rescue. Psychologists working in an intensive care unit of a hospital they took one look at my heel and declared a course of action. Dousing my foot in some red solution purloined from a hospital they had soon set my mind at rest as infection, not pain, was my biggest cause of concern with my heel. They also give me some anti inflammatories and we exchanged peregrino chit chat as these two confident, friendly and efficient women fixed my foot. I was grateful for their concern, help and confidence. I’m not sure what I’ll do tomorrow in terms of covering the wound but for now I’m much more relaxed about the problem.
– Posted from my phone
Day 26: O Cebreiro to Triacastela
I walked today, at different times, with a French priest and a Dutch rugby player. It is one of the priceless joys of the Camino, the camaraderie that walking the same walk inspires in such disparate groups of people. The French priest and I can barely find a language in common but we travel roughly the same etapas (stages) and so have found ways to communicate. The Dutch guy I have spoken to on a few occasions and today we had an enjoyable discussion about rugby as we walked the last 8km or so of the day.
At 23km today’s walk was almost effortless. I know it was 23km because, here in Galicia (pronounce that Ga-ly-thee-ah) they have big stone way markers every 500 metres that count us down to Santiago. I hate them. I don’t want a countdown, every kilometer closer is my Camino coming closer to an end. Who would have thought that after over 650km I would still be enjoying the walking so much?
Today had a couple of short, sharp hikes but mostly just undulating hills through spectacular mountain scenery. Just a beautiful day’s walk. It started with a spectacular sunrise with the sky glowing orange behind pitch black mountains slowly bringing to light mountain tops that poked through shrouds of mist making them look like islands in the sea. From there the day meandered alongside fields of heather, paths made of shale and quartz and views spectacular enough to entertain anyone. We stopped several times for coffee and to enjoy the spectacularly beautiful walk. It was the last day my Lithuanian friend and I will walk together as she slows down to meet a friend and I speed up a little to get to Santiago by the 31st. I’ll miss her company as her intelligence and good nature made for a great walking companion.
When we arrived at our destination, the small, but longish, town of Triacastela, we were directed to a great Albergue by the French priest (spotless, spacious – at the end of town) which made for a nice end to the walking day. After obligatory washing duties we went out for a lunch to a cafe at the start of the town to see if we could see people we knew coming in. We were missing familiar faces with all the newcomers on the trail 
Within half an hour we’d greeted a friend from Barcelona that we’d travelled with for awhile, my two Portuguese foot heeling friends from yesterday, an Italian friend, another friend from Valencia and ended up making a new friend in an Italian doctor. Camino friendships are easily made and are one of the many reasons it is a special type of holiday.
I spent the afternoon chatting over wine and beer with friends. The Italian doctor noticed my foot and kindly examined it, after a bit of poking, peering and prodding at it he assured me it was not infected or likely to become infected so that’s taken away my main concern with the foot. Walking on sandals has proven reasonably comfortable and the blister doesn’t impinge on my day’s enjoyment. Tonight I’ll meet with my friends again and we’ll have a few vino tintos or cañas. As I see the end of the Camino draw nearer I am trying to ensure I appreciate these last few days as much as I can.
This afternoon the French priest gave me an English copy of a speech the local parish priest had put together about the Camino. I think the French priest is well aware I’m not religious but felt I would enjoy some aspects of the local parish priest’s take on the Camino. He was right, I did. I was particularly taken with the following which encapsulates a core part of the Camino;
“The Pilgrimage to Santiago is a journey Universality [sic], in which we all feel as one and each feels a part of a small travelling universe, beyond the confines of nationalism.”
– Posted from my phone
Day 26: O Cebreiro to Triacastela
I walked today, at different times, with a French priest and a Dutch rugby player. It is one of the priceless joys of the Camino, the camaraderie that walking the same walk inspires in such disparate groups of people. The French priest and I can barely find a language in common but we travel roughly the same etapas (stages) and so have found ways to communicate. The Dutch guy I have spoken to on a few occasions and today we had an enjoyable discussion about rugby as we walked the last 8km or so of the day.
At 23km today’s walk was almost effortless. I know it was 23km because, here in Galicia (pronounce that Ga-ly-thee-ah) they have big stone way markers every 500 metres that count us down to Santiago. I hate them. I don’t want a countdown, every kilometer closer is my Camino coming closer to an end. Who would have thought that after over 650km I would still be enjoying the walking so much?
Today had a couple of short, sharp hikes but mostly just undulating hills through spectacular mountain scenery. Just a beautiful day’s walk. It started with a spectacular sunrise with the sky glowing orange behind pitch black mountains slowly bringing to light mountain tops that poked through shrouds of mist making them look like islands in the sea. From there the day meandered alongside fields of heather, paths made of shale and quartz and views spectacular enough to entertain anyone. We stopped several times for coffee and to enjoy the spectacularly beautiful walk. It was the last day my Lithuanian friend and I will walk together as she slows down to meet a friend and I speed up a little to get to Santiago by the 31st. I’ll miss her company as her intelligence and good nature made for a great walking companion.
When we arrived at our destination, the small, but longish, town of Triacastela, we were directed to a great Albergue by the French priest (spotless, spacious – at the end of town) which made for a nice end to the walking day. After obligatory washing duties we went out for a lunch to a cafe at the start of the town to see if we could see people we knew coming in. We were missing familiar faces with all the newcomers on the trail
Within half an hour we’d greeted a friend from Barcelona that we’d travelled with for awhile, my two Portuguese foot heeling friends from yesterday, an Italian friend, another friend from Valencia and ended up making a new friend in an Italian doctor. Camino friendships are easily made and are one of the many reasons it is a special type of holiday.
I spent the afternoon chatting over wine and beer with friends. The Italian doctor noticed my foot and kindly examined it, after a bit of poking, peering and prodding at it he assured me it was not infected or likely to become infected so that’s taken away my main concern with the foot. Walking on sandals has proven reasonably comfortable and the blister doesn’t impinge on my day’s enjoyment. Tonight I’ll meet with my friends again and we’ll have a few vino tintos or cañas. As I see the end of the Camino draw nearer I am trying to ensure I appreciate these last few days as much as I can.
This afternoon the French priest gave me an English copy of a speech the local parish priest had put together about the Camino. I think the French priest is well aware I’m not religious but felt I would enjoy some aspects of the local parish priest’s take on the Camino. He was right, I did. I was particularly taken with the following which encapsulates a core part of the Camino;
“The Pilgrimage to Santiago is a journey Universality [sic], in which we all feel as one and each feels a part of a small travelling universe, beyond the confines of nationalism.”
– Posted from my phone
Day 24: Ponferrada to Villafranca del Bierzo
Crush. My feet bore down on the berries and cherries lying on the road. Dyed red the cherry berry road was just one of the many highlights of today’s walk. I hobbled out of Ponderrada in the early morning. My blister causing me some pain. Not enough to make give up walking unlike the poor Italian girl we met going through town who fifteen minutes into the day realised her body had given out and her Camino was over. She was, understandably, distressed.
The day proved a beautiful one, weather perfect and the scenery providing enough variety to keep even the jaded walker happy. We walked through Apple orchards, wound our way around vineyards and strolled through lively, lovely towns. The wine town of Cocobelos provided some great views of vineyards and some of the friendliest locals around. I got given more “buen Camino’s” in that town than any other.
From there it was a walk to test the legs as the trail rose and fell as it slowly worked it’s way towards the mountain town of Villafranca del Bierzo. The walk was hot and dusty but enjoyable as I worked my through beautiful tendered vineyards. I arrived in Villafranca del Bierzo and decided to stay at a smallish private Albergue at the end of town. Owned by a young couple this place was a delight, best showers on the Camino thus far, friendly people, good breakfast – the ideal Albergue even if slightly more expensive at €8 per night.
That evening a motley crew of peregrinos from Italy, France, Lithuania, Sweden and Korea joined together for an evening meal in the Plaza Major. It was nice to catch up with friends again although the nature of the Camino is changing. Earlier on we would recognize many faces on the walk. Since Leon and Burgos however new faces join the walk everyday. Mostly groups of younger Spanish people. It’s changing the nature of the walk for us and we miss the days when we knew almost every face in the Albergue. From Sarria (about 100km from Santiago) the trail is expected to get even busier and us old hands will be horribly outnumbered.
Heel update: in quite a bad state as the boot re-opened the wound and pushed all the bandaging off. I may need to walk in my sandals for awhile so the boots stop aggravating the wound.
– Posted from my phone
