Camino Frances Day 10

The albergue I stayed had probably defective heaters (or they turned it off) because it was a bit chilly in the evening. Fortunately I was located toward the far end of the room so it was a bit bearable. My legs got sore again and Jeff was kind enough to give some ointment to apply.

While preparing my stuff that morning I chatted with Teresa, a middle-aged lady who also stayed in the albergue for the night. She reminded me of Laura Dern in Jurassic Park. Her brisk movements belied her age. We were the last two folks in albergue. She decided to stick around a little as she wanted to do some yoga.

I actually thought I had a great morning start. Wanting to end the day early, my pace was faster than usual- the full dinner and a good sleep had me recharged. The close call I had from the night before was now but a distant memory.

Because of my excitement to get on with my day, tragically I actually took the wrong route. I only realised that something wasn't right when after about 2 kilometres I still haven't noticed a single yellow sign or arrow. At that point that my gut feel kicked in. So I had to backtrack. I detested the fact that I lost some precious time and effort. It did not help that my leftmost toe was getting sore and I was developing a blister on my right sole. It was stupid of me to take the wrong route but in my defence I came to the albergue at night and I didn't realize that it was actually located away at a forked road away from the regular pilgrim path.

Regretfully I could not recall much of the walk in the morning because I tried to limit the number of shots I took along the way. I didn't want to run out of battery during sundown just when I needed light in the darkness.

I noticed along the way that some pilgrims left mementos of their dear departed ones behind. Presumably they dedicated their journey to their loved ones. I offered a prayer to my Dad. It now seemed ages since he departed. Although it seemed that I would occasionally feel his presence, like he was just from another town that I could easily reach with a phone call or a text message.

Through the course of my walk I have offered my rosary prayers to my dad, my family, myself and some friends who have shared their petitions to me through instagram. I found that praying the rosary (aside from being a form of petition) can make the travel time much faster. A round of rosary completing its mysteries can take me about 15 minutes or a kilometre walk more or less.

The previous three days had been quite cloudy so I was finally glad to see the sun shine again.

Pilgrim philosophy still abound. This was one of the few ones I had taken for the day.

The walk from Ferreiros, Lugo to Portomarin was rather boring. There weren't many pilgrim-friendly stops along the way. Which was why I was quite thankful to the owner of this place. He built a shed of sorts adjacent to his house. A note was posted " Feel free to use this space, but keep it clean so that the next pilgrim could also enjoy it".

I recall staying in the shed a bit longer because I had to massage my feet. I couldn't recall if I stopped for coffee along this route because I couldn't find a single photo in my camera. Most likely I just took my coffee in the albergue.

I must admit that at this part of the walk, my passion has wavered. I wanted the walk to be over and move on with my life. Why did I embark on this journey? The answer seemed to be crystal clear at the start of the walk. But at this point the harsh realities of the situation has muddled whatever sense of inspiration I’ve had. Admitted I was not in the proper mood for contemplation. This graffiti I saw scribbled on a gray rock wall reminded me to enjoy every bit of the journey despite the pain.

The town of Portomarin was a sight to behold. It appeared to be a island surrounded by a river, although it only created that impression because the body water somewhat snaked around the landmass. I could just imagine the military advantage it had during the times of war in the past. A steep stairway welcomed me as I entered the town. Despite my tiredness I ascended as if to pay homage. I settled in a nearby park after buying some stuff in the supermarket. Watching the view of the river and the town on the other side, I enjoyed my humble lunch- the usual pan and salchichon. I decided to withdraw additional money so I asked for the nearest bank. If not for the Banco Santander which reminded me of my bank in my University in Murcia I would have felt that I was in a different country.

The church of Portomarin looked like a fortress. Its architecture I would learn later on is of Roman influence. It had a simple rose window and and intricate archway, typical of the churches in Spain. I would gladly go back to Portomarin and spend more time exploring the city if given another chance in the future.

I continued on and took another bridge on the way out. In hindsight I should have brought more items in the supermarket because the next stretch was actually 8 kilometres long without any shops along the way. I was actually getting thirsty and madly looking for water source when I bumped upon two pilgrims who were taking a rest perhaps longer than usual. I envied them because they were not pressed by some deadline. For me my deadliest deadline was actually the 14th because I was set to fly out of Madrid on the 15th. I still had a lot of buffer actually but still I wanted to be back to Madrid early. When the pair learned that I was thirsty for the past 2 kilometres they offered water from their bottles. The lady (I believe she's Dutch) offered a blister strip noticing the way I hobbled.

I thanked them and continued on. Every time I stepped with my right foot, I grimaced in pain. The blister was getting unbearable and another one was actually developing on my left sole.

Further on I came finally upon a shop. Two Asian folks came by and they reminded me that they were the ones who took my photo with the colourful field on the background several days back. I knew I just had to have a selfie with them. Regretfully I never got their fb profiles so that was the last time I saw of them.

I had a chat with the bar tender. As I was in my philosophical mood I threw the question to her as to why people had to suffer and do the walk. Her response was the one I was expecting. Nonetheless it felt validating hearing from her.

I asked if she ever did the Camino. "No I haven't" was her somber reply. I could see a tinge of envy in her eyes. All her life she probably just watched the pilgrims stop by at her bar and move on towards their desired destination. "Maybe someday if I find the reason to do the walk, I will", she added with a sense of hope.

I do hope that she would get her reason - be it physical, emotional, spiritual or cultural. Aside from the bar tender in Foncebadon, she would be one of the bar tenders I distinctly recall.

According to the Camino Pilgrim app there should have been a restaurant at Goznar which was the next major stop after PortoMarin, but it was closed.

I tried my luck at Hospital da Cruz which was 3.8 kilometres further. Only the albergue was open and no restaurant was available. As it was already half past 4, I decided to just check in. (There was no one in the albergue at the time I came in so I just helped myself and sent an SMS to the number indicated on the cork board).

Because of the incident the day before I now applied the 4 by 4 rule which was to check in the nearest albergue within 4 kilometre radius by 4 pm.

The two pilgrims who offered me water, checked in that afternoon. They haven't had any good meal since all the restaurants were closed along the way. It was an opportunity for me to repay their kindness. Though I only had a half bar of bread, a handful of salchichons and two apples, it was enough to assuage our hunger for the night.

Teresa the lady from the albergue in Fererreios came in around 8pm. She narrated how she got lost in the dark. It was a good thing a farmer spotted her and brought her to the albergue. I shuddered at the thought of getting lost in the darkness.

Admittedly it had been a relatively tough day for me. Although I was bit hopeful to end the journey on a high note since I only had a little over 80 kilometres left to walk.

Little did I know that the pain brought about by my blister that day was just a preview of the suffering I still had to endure. 

Camino Frances Day 9

Despite its limited capacity, the albergue in Triacastela managed to house several pilgrims from seemingly all walks of life: the German mother and daughter tandem whom I met in Trabadelo, the foursome group from US and UK whom I saw a day earlier at O Cerebro, an athletic Spanish guy with thinning hair who reminded me of Nicholas Cage and a lanky Singaporean who I met for the first time in this albergue.

The daughter of the German tandem I particularly remembered because she had a hard time communicating with the laundrywoman who only spoke in Spanish.  The old lady remembered during my registration that I spoke a bit of Spanish so she asked me if I could translate her thoughts to the German girl. Apparently the woman was telling the girl that their laundry couldn’t be fit in one washing (the downpour gave them a handful of wet clothing) and had to be split in two loads. I felt so proud that despite my Spanish A2 level I finally did a useful translation in real life.

I was fortunate that despite the rain, the clothes inside my bag were spared, thanks to the layer of garbage bag I used to wrap them, a trick I have learned from my mountaineering days.

I don’t recall the exact time I started my walk the following morning but I was one of the last ones to leave. A middle-aged guy was walking just a few steps ahead of me. When he saw me following him after a rather confusing fork, he turned back and told me that he was headed to the longer route. He pointed to the shortcut which was the one on my right. I thanked him. There must be something in the way I carried myself that instinctively told him I would opt for the shorter walk.  I took the short cut obviously.

The path did not have many signs, like the ubiquitous yellow arrow or shell mark, but since it was straight and did not have any forks, I knew that I was on the right path.

I was alone for about an hour, deep in my own thoughts when I got the surprise of my life. Out of nowhere a booming voice came about, “Buen Camino”. I was so immersed in the walk that I failed to notice a biker catching up from behind.

“Buen Camino” I answered back, nonchalant on the surface hiding the fact that he just scared the living daylights out of me.

Further on, what seemed like 2 kilometers, I saw the trail heading to a row of houses- the first sign of civilization after the fork. There was a wooden bench just at the entrance of the village. It was painted green, moist from the early morning drizzle and dew, blending well with a mossy tree beside it. It also served as sort of a fence because behind it was beside a gully traitorously covered by vines. My selfie stick accidentally fell on the clearing while I was getting an apple from my backpack. I crouched beneath the bench and reached out for the stick. A few inches further and it would have been down the deep gully, irretrievable.  I managed to recover it thankfully although my right forearm brushed against a thorny plant. It left some sort of a lump that still remained on the skin to this date.

Though I took a short cut, I failed to realize that the next convenient stop was in the next 7 kilometers. It was twice the usual distance of breaks between stopovers. I felt really disappointed when in one stop over where I was hoping to refill my water bottle, the only available faucet was not working.

Further on, I saw the tallest pile of rocks I have seen in this journey. I picked up a piece of stone and gingerly placed on top adding to its height. It felt like leaving a bit of myself behind. I regretted the fact that I placed a rather curvy stone which would make the attempt of the next pilgrim quite challenging. I won’t be surprised if the next person would accidentally destroy the precarious structure and I somewhat regretted for not thoroughly thinking about my action.

After a long walk through a muddy path and a left turn on a fork (which reminded me of a scene in Camino Portugues) I came upon a donativo stand which was a welcome sight in this part of the walk. I presumed the area used to be a shed for produce. There was ratty couch where two cute kittens were lounging. A chalkboard with writing “ Follow you heart , It is the one true compass” was leaning beside it, as if to remind the pilgrims of some truths that they might have forgotten along the way. Beside it was a small table filled with fruits, a thermos bottle, cups, biscuits and of course a small basket for the donation. I got a piece of banana and dropped a few coins. I was about to leave when Jenny, the owner came about. We chatted a bit. She gladly posed with her wares and then I said my good bye.

For some reason the next part of the walk reminded me of a road in Morong, Bataan,  a narrow dirt path and a private property on both sides mostly grassy fields with trees scattered randomly.

A little further I thought about the Alchemist, a book written by Paulo Coelho who got the inspiration after doing the Camino. No surprise here that the protagonist of the book was named Santiago. The universe somehow read my mind because around a bend I saw the sign of the Alchemist.

I passed by a herd of brown cows grazing on an elevated clearing. One cow was particularly close to the fence- a thin wire actually, am actually surprised how it can contain the cattle when they could easily sneak out if it wanted to. The cow stared at me and I intently stared at her and we had a staring contest that lasted for about a minute. She did not remove her gaze and for a moment I got a bit self-conscious. I saw the number tag on both her ears and somewhat pitied it.

A strange thought occurred. There I was staring at the creature taking a pity on her fate. She will live her life within the confines of the fence, her days determined by her master who one day would just will just randomly pick a number which will turn out to be hers.

I was wondering what was going through her mind.  Maybe she was thinking” Poor creature, another aimless wanderer. He pities me when I in fact pity him for his meaningless existence.”  Perhaps in her own mind I was the poor creature.

The view of the farmlands gave way to a wider clearing. It signaled that I was entering once again the town center. The sight of wide plains appeared as though it welcomed me with open arms, as if it was waiting for my arrival. “What took you so long?” I played the music player on my Samsung phone and the songs shuffled. My spirit got a kick when my favorite Travesuras played. It somewhat brought things to perspective because the song had always reminded me of my one-year study in Spain. A chapter of my life that would soon be coming to a close.

This walk was supposedly a final hurrah to end my journey in Europe. But deep in my heart if I had to be honest I would want to be part of that world.  There was a part of me that wanted the walk to be a bit longer if only to feel the magic of Europe.

I kept on playing the songs on my phone to keep me aware of the distance I have covered so far. I estimated that about fours songs on my list would more or less make me travel a kilometer.

The music gave sort of the push that I was in high spirits the next hour or so. The only downside was that I never took much photos along this path.

I could not recall now how I ate for lunch in Sarria because no photo was registered on my phone from 12:53 PM to 2:23 PM. Maybe I stopped by a Café shop and ordered for Jamon Serrano which had always been my choice whenever I got forced to stop by in a nearest available bar.

Sarria would have been a more interesting town if I had the luxury of time but I was determined to cover as much distance as possible. Roby was no longer in my mind as his distance apart was already a day’s walk worth. At this point I was resigned to the fact that I would probably just catch up with him in Santiago should he opt to stay for a day more upon arrival.

I met the Singapore guy who stayed in the Triacastela albergue. He gladly obliged when I asked him to get a shot of me with a Sarria landmark in the background.

A little half past 3, I was headed out of Sarria. I saw a road sign that said that the next town would be around 8 kilometers away. I figured that in about two hours I would reach an albergue.

This was a wrong assumption. The distance in the road indicated the distance if one travelled by the main road. The pilgrim’s path because it was winding was much much longer. And to my horror, it was already sundown when I realized I still had 3 kilometers to cover before the next albergue.

I was scared because I was alone, my phone was draining and I was walking in a creepy wooded area. I was embarrassed to admit to myself that though I was relatively religious I was still scared of the thought of walking through the woods alone in the dark. It did not help that I kept on hearing a moaning sound (perhaps from pigs and cattle) in the background. In the growing darkness it can assume the form of a hideous monster. I prayed the rosary hastily. I offered a prayer that I get to the next albergue soon. Fortunately I got to see an American couple. I asked if they are stopping at the next albergue and if I could join them. The lady was kind enough to offer an apple. Which was timely because I was getting hungry already. My last shot was at 608 PM of a landmark indicating that Santiago was “merely” 100 km away.

It was dark already when we reached the Calvor O Lugo albergue. I was pretty  sure I would have missed it, if I were alone because it was located 100 meters off the path.  I was thankful to have met the American couple.

The Singaporean guy who was in the Triascastela albergue was one of the occupants of the albergue. I invited him to have dinner together at the adjacent bar. Jeffrey, I finally got to know his name.

It was bit chilly outside but inside the albergue the heater gave us a good place to sleep. I slept in no time. After travelling for 9 days, only a hundred kilomters separate me from my destination.

Camino Frances Day 8

The stop in O Cerebro in hindsight was the most picturesque. I wish I had spent more time basking at the magnificent view from the mountaintop. But I guess at that time the weariness from walking for 7 days had taken its toll; all I wanted was to just rest whenever I could.

I went to the chapel to offer some prayers and bought some post cards. Instead of eating dinner at a bar, I just decided to buy some ready to eat meals from the convenience store. Two packs of cold pasta and hard boiled eggs.

The municipal albergue in O Cerebro would have to be the best in terms of the view and design. The only downside was that its kitchen did not have any utensils - as if sending a message that cooking is not allowed.

The sleeping area was rather spacious and I thought it could probably sleep a hundred. A German pilgrim was looking for a partner to split the cost for his laundry. Fortunately it was my schedule to have my laundry done so I volunteered. The Laundromat required 3 euros for washing and 4 euros for drying - this was the normal rate for all albergues.

I stepped out of the albergue, a few minutes before 8am  the following day. It was a little late than my usual time although I didn't mind because it was still a bit dark.

The howling of the winds which might be normal in the area reminded of the typhoons back in my country.  The path was quite easy to follow as it just snaked through the woods and slowly descending.

It was still foggy in the morning and once again the lake scene of the Friday 13^th came to me playful mind.

A cloud of fog came rolling though the hillside, I wish I had taken a video of it.  It was furiously streaming down the hill, like water cascading through a waterfall.

The scene from the mountainside was reminiscent of the path from the day before. Up in the distance I saw fields of green and brown.  

An hour of walking later I came upon a clearing with a prominent statue of an old man his right hand clutching a walking stick and the other hand holding the brim of his hat on the head. The pose was such to depict of a pilgrim battling the strong force of the wind. I was in Alto de San Roque, one of the highest points of the walk. The howling of the wings seemed like a storm was raging. I lingered a bit longer than usual just admiring the view - and took more photos than usual.

Along the way I saw an unusual sign. I was not sure if there actually was a place called “Sexo” (it means sex in Spanish). Probably a place for the nymphos? I chuckled. Or maybe the place was actualled called Seixo and the vandals did a convincing job by erasing the "I".

I stopped upon a coffee shop where a group of americans and British where also having their dose of hot coffee for the day. I recall the group staying in the same albergue in O Cerebro. Lo and behold I got to see O ren again, the Irish guy whom I first encountered in the albergue in Rabanal del Camino. I asked for a shot for posterity. He seemed like an interesting fellow. But sadly that was the last time I ever saw of him in the Camino. Maybe he finished it early. Maybe he chickened out. Or maybe he stayed a couple of days in one of the stop. But I pray that whatever purpose he had for the walk, he got to achieve it.

An hour of walk later the weather had turned bad. It was almost zero visibility and there was a heavy downpour that I was forced to take shelter in a bar by the mountainside. I recall this part because I was having some sort of a tiff with someone in WhatsApp.

The rain petered down after about ten minutes. I walked again, my feet was now soaked from the rain. Although I brought an umbrella with it was no match for the strong rain. My pants were already wet. I was now ruing the fact that I did not bring waterproof boots for the walk. The rubber shoes I brought worked fo me in the Camino Portugues, but it did not give comfort in this rainy scenario.  This was one of the most uncomfortable walks I have on this Camino.

Further I saw this Romanian girl ( I can’t recall in which part of the walk I first met her actually) but she said in a mocking tone. “People told me the camino should be fun. Well with this rain, fun it is”. There was hint of resignation in her voice but I knew and she knew that the only way to get through this undesirable situation was to get going and finish the walk.

I saw a sign indicating I had still 140 kilometers to walk. I don't recall already the sights along the way. Maybe because I had to hold my umbrella the whole time hence I was not able to take many pictures. The path would occasionally turn muddy and I abhorred it when I slosh my shoes across the mud. I recalled the advice of Christian (the pilgrim I met on my first night) to avoid getting my feet wet at all times. Oh well it was too late to worry about it now.

We have a saying in the Philippies “basing sisw”, wet chick and that was how I exactly felt.

I did not encounter any bars along the way that I finally had my lunch at half past 2. I ordered a hot serving of pasta Bolognese. Oh God that was perhaps one of the best pasta I have tasted. Or maybe it was just that feeling of being secure inside a warm bar while the rain was hammering outside.

If I had it my way I would have wanted to stay longer in the bar but then I knew I had to get going.  Around 3:18 PM I was along a steep sloping path when the winds have grown to its full might. It was so strong my umbrella was almost twisted by the its strength. It was no longer wise to have the umbrella open lest it would be mangled by the wind. So instead I made a makeshift raincoat by tearng holes on the garbage bag I brought, it was my most unglamorous moment but then at that time it was the only way not to get drenched. That had been my firsthand experience of the harsh Galician climate. Now I truly understand what they meant.

Fortunately at 4 PM I came upon Triacastela. Because I was so wet I decided to stay in a  private abergue. 

That was the worst walk for this camino.

Around 447 PM I saw a rainbow outside my Albergue. Perhaps it was an indication that the worst part was over.