Camino de Santiago. Leon - Santiago (Frances)

I found that I did not feel inspiration to write as I began the Camino de Santiago. When words normally bubble in my brain in need of outlet, these two weeks were a peaceful quiet. The walk so full of other people that small conversation emptied out the words. People are the Way.

The walk itself was not spectacular. The Camino is increadibly comfortable. Easy days, light pack, daily showers, and cooked food. A lot of it on roads, all on very well trod paths, (though some parts were exceeding beautiful including the lovely sunrises). But the nature of it induces reflection, reverence, and community.

From the first time I heard ‘Buen Camino’ from an old lady passed on the street, I realised this wasn’t simply a popular walk. The nature of it as pilgrimage means a great deal both to the perigenos and to the locals also. They had a respect and welcome towards pilgrims -at least before Sarria - that I had not expected for such a popular and touristic route.

The first few days I walked fast and far. I had some really pleasant interactions, and some beautiful alburgues,  but nothing deep and felt separate from those who had walked the whole way from Saint-Jean (I began at the 300km mark halfway in Lèon). It was a halfway day when I met Keira and Willy ( the fantastically chatty Irishman who knew everyone and turned up everywhere!) at the chestnut cafe after a detour up a hill following some faded signs and had proper conversation that things shifted and I felt so happy and alive from the welcoming friendship of strangers. The next day, by good luck, I stayed in the most beautiful albergue, danced Tarentella with Italians, cooked with new young friends and and then spent a day walking with Romain. We spent two hours in a eco, hippy, donativo, meditating while the rain fell, and stayed in albergue full of young people. I knew contentedness. But then I ran off early and walked alone for theeee days, in slight fear of social burden. On the third I passed under a bridge, graffitied as was common with inspirational sayings,  opaque sayings, and tags, but one - a phrase I had read long ago - stuck me:

Go fast, you go alone.

Go Together, you go far.

That evening I stopped early in a municipal Galician albergue (normally cold and soulless but not this one) by the river. It was an ancient pilgrim hostel, with 500 years of history, and properly talked to Desy and Lisa for the first time, who I had bumped into repetitively, and Jim the bubbling joy filled American so desperately friendly and generous. The sun was high and hot and I jumped in the river, the others following with laughter, happy to be incited. We waved to all our friends as they passed over the Roman bridge onwards to the next town (including Willy of course). Then Jim bought us drinks and we chatted till after sunset.

I walked only twenty km for each of the final three days, and they were delightful, because I was matching the timings of new friends and spent the final trail evening socialising till late with nearly all the young people I had met - the Taiwanese, Desy & Lisa, Hervé Romain Anna, Parick, Åsmund and more, over a shared meal cooked. My lesson learnt: the Camino is not about the walk. The People are the Way.

The final day I walk the last 20km into Santiago together with Desi Lisa Romain Hervé Åsmend and Patrick. Slowly, with many stops, and wandering talk, cats and jokes under a blue sky. It is novel for me to walk in a group, asking for a patience I rarely have.

There had been many mutterings that Santiago is not fulfilling, an anticlimax to the journey, but I remember the poem Ithaka, once read aloud in a school assembly:

“

…

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.

Arriving there is what you’re destined for.

But don’t hurry the journey at all.

Better if it lasts for years,

so you’re old by the time you reach the island,

wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way,

not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.

Without her you wouldn't have set out.

She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.

Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,

you’ll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

“

Far from being ‘just a city’, Santiago grew more and more beautiful as we approached the centre, glittering stone buildings and grand facades until the final steps down into the cathedral square. I was skipping to the tunes of a Galician bagpiper. The square was full of familiar faces and smiles. Willy was there of course! And both groups of Italians, the American ladies. Photos and lying in the sun.

We received our compostella certificates and parted. That evening I showered well in my pleasant hostel, attended the pilgrim mass (my first time at a Catholic service- can’t say I was overawed, it was a bit gaudy, though pleasant to attend), and joined some of my new friends at a bar. The next day I had a thoroughly pleasant time pottering. I found a wonderful gluten free stall, run by a lady with a Cockney-Spanish accent, in the vibrant stone market, full of locals getting their fish and meat and veg. I sat for two hours in a cafe with a yoghurt bowl. I wandered over a hill with views and sat in squares, listening to music, writing this, and greeting pilgrims from the walk. Anna walked by and we went to the Cathedral to see the statue, and then the pilgrim museum, free for peregrinos. I returned to the main square watching reunions and happy pilgrims taking their photos. A quaint bookshop contained reflective  books on the camino, and one quote hung with me:

The real camino begins after Santiago.

Day  by day reflection:

17th and 18th

UK> Paris> Narbonne > Hendaye> Irun > Vitoria > Leon

- Albergue de peregrinos de las Benedictinas (Carbajalas)

Booking all the  trains was a nightmare with nearly everything booked. I had to work out the only possible routes but managed (hopefully, way back may not be so smooth!). Was moved onto an earlier Eurostar but had my penknife confiscated.  Spent the dusk hours wandering Paris, so grand in glimmering  lights in the drizzle. The sleeper train was a delight though they closed the window blind sadly.   I’d thought I’d have a seat but got a full bunk which was luxurious. Arrived in Bayone, train to Hendaye in the dark, and walked across the border in the rain to Irun in Spain. Without much Spanish, I google translate and guestueres arranged me the train tickets at the office, but the way was very confusing. I was adopted by an old lady on the first train who helped me with the two changes thought the day as she was following the same route despite is not understanding a word of each other. I wandered round Vitoria at one stop admiring how civilised Spain is, with beautiful streets and buildings teaming with happy life and cafes. And I watched the landscape  fly, trundle, and creep bye as the sun finally came out leaving a blue sky.

I arrived in Leon with the crowds and followed a pair to my first albergue, feeling out how they worked: bunk room full of tired pilgrims while I was fresh. The city was stunning and ancient as I walked around  in the evening.

19th

Léon to Hospital de Orbigo

• Albergue Parroquial Karl Leisner

Started in the dark, after breakfast. Had a pleasant interaction. I tried to find an atm without fees in town. The sun had risen by the time I left the outskirts. I chose the alternative route adding a few more km but away from the road. It involved some very straight plods on very long roads. Hard work for the brain. Met an Australian and American at a lunch stop and plodded on. Did at least 36km by hospital de orbige and had sore feet crossing the ancient bridge through the town. But the albergue when I arrived was an utter delight with a beautiful painted courtyard and flowers and kind gentle hospiteleros. I shooed and cooked pasta and beans again, and chatted with a French girl who’d walked from home as I did my washing. Very pilgrimy place. Sat in the gorgeous. courtyard reading as the rain fell.

20th

Hospital de Orbigo to Santa Catalina (over Astorga)

• Albergue Hospedería San Blas

Set off on dark fog. The ground was a deep red sand. Kept bumping into the French girl all morning. Felt a little alone but arrived in Astorga as the sun came out and it was very grand. Stoped on the small village of Santa Catalina as I was tired but it wasn’t the best as the Donitivo was closed for the season. I was the only pilgrim in the albergue I stayed in and it wasn’t particularly characterful.

21st

Santa Catalina to Riego de Ambros (over Cross)

• Albergue de peregrinos municipal

Morning stars were beautiful but very cold.  The ‘mountain’ was very gentle but the flora was pretty: heathers and oaks. I reached the famous cross of rocks in mists and ate my lunch. Just after the decent began I made my first cafe con leche stop, at a lovely van / hut with prayer flags and a fire where beautiful music was playing.  I continued down, with pleasant views, reasonably quiet path, and blooming crocuses. I made an early stop following the Brazilian (eduardo?) into a small silver hue with mixed reviews. The French Spanish hospitelero was dully gruff but charming, we had great conversation. He spoke good English and French . Only two others: French and Brazilian at the albergue. I did find a bed bug in my inspections though so chose a different compartment after a thorough check! The hospital lets cooked dinner for them. I made my own with the very last of my food (no shops on Sunday, and non on route today).

22nd

Riego de Ambros to Cacabelos (over Pontferrada)

• La Gallega

Set off early in the dark down the rocky descent to Pontferrada. Molinaseca was a nice village but Pontferrada a big city. I saw the grand castle from outside but diverted to the station where I spent an hour trying to sort my seat reservations for the return journey (could not get the one I need so forced to take multiple close run ones instead. Hoping nothing goes wrong). More hours of faff shopping and lunch on a bench then ploddd out of town on the flat concrete roads. I was tired and stopped early in a hostel in Cavabelos, worried about reviews and bed bugs but the place was fine and clean if not pilgrimmy. Had picnic dinner  in a square and talked to the nice Australian lady in my room.

23rd

Cacabelos to La Faba (over Villafranca, via Pradela)

• Albergue de Peregrinos de la Faba

Set off early to the road walking in the dark and sunrise over rolling wine filled fields. Villafranca was a pretty town busy with pilgrims and Spanish school groups. At a junctions a choice the optional hilly route that  rose above the valley and ran 10km. Beautiful views down below. Through golden chestnut woods with sweet chestnuts across the ground. Signs indicated chestnut cake and after debate I decided to take the detour. What a good decision. At the cafe I heard English’s nd Irish voices. The Irish belonged to willley, a wonderfully friendly middle aged man. The English was Keira, from the southern Cotswolds. I are chestnuts on yoghurt, then walked on with Keira and her French friend? For the rest of the hill, it was so lovely to spend quality time with other pilgrims at last. Down in the valley the old route snacked between villages with the modern motorway raised high above. I parted form them in the earl lay afternoon and bumped into Willie  again at the bottom of the hill. He tried to persuade me to stop there but I continued on halfway up the hill. A great decision as the albergue was a delight: stone aand ancient and peaceful place run by two Germans, after a walk up though more chestnut woods.  I had only sandwhich stuff for dinner but I cooked up a sweet chestnut paste with the nuts I had collected.

24th

La Faba to Triacastela (over O Cebreiro)

• Albergue Aitzenea

Chestnut porridge for breakfast then began walking uphill jn the dark. The sunrise was utterly breathtaking as k headed up the hill: the light rising, colours changing, and mists shifting over the hill. Magical. Passed the marker posts from Castile-Leon into Gallacia. As I reached the top, cloud returns, and the ancient stone buildings of O Cabreiro were shrouded in mist. Cold and windy heading down the other side, taking all the hilly alternative routes. During a break a tiny cat clambered all iver me desperate for food.

The landscape was green and rolling, with fields and headgrows that looked shockingly similar to Shropshire, or mid Wales.  Galacias climate is drastically different to Leon’s. I passed an ancient yew. In Triacastela the municipal aubergine looked soulless and I decided to wander round, and to a happy surprise found the best reviewed albergue still open despite its online status. I walked i. With two other young people: Romain. (Belgian) and Jantiney (Dutch) who suggested cooking dinner together. Jantiney cooked and as. I waited the hour his downstairs room - wood beamed and decorated with golden vestments- the Italian group shared their wine with me, then put on music and we danced Tarentella. I put on some English country dancing music too. It was such a joy. Hervé- a French speaking swiss with an excellent  humour joined dinner, and I felt so inspired and content.

25th

Triacastela to Sarria (north option)

• Hostel Obradoiro

I began walking in the dark with Romain and we stayed together the whole day, with interesting conversations on philosophy, perspectives. Only planning 18km taking the northern route, not via Samos. We looked into  an interesting art gallery. Around 11 we came across a lot of painted signs and a stall of food, it was a Donativo of an eco commune type place. We entered and explored and were offered coffee and cake, for whatevrrr donation we wished. It was a wonderful place full of art and nicnacks and we stayed for a few hours as people turned up (jantiney, Hervé, Jim, Willy). They had a stone maze, outdoor toilets and allotments. And an increaidbly tiny kitten. Romain and I stayed to attend the ‘sound healing session’: meditation run by the blong long haired man from Dorset. Very hippy but very well meaning and kind. I seriously considered asking to stay a bit, but decided to hed on, around 12:30. Walked on with Romane into Sarria- the big beginning town for the short term pilgrims. Looked around for a hostel with kitchen and ended up in one where all the other young people including the Taiwanese were which was nice. I shopped , cooked, and waited to eat with the others.

26th

Sarria to Gonzar (over Portmarin)

• Albergue de Peregrinos de Gonzar

I set off early running away from the  lot though had many breaks. Damp forestry and lots of walkers to overtake. Stoped to eat my lunch, shop, and saw Willy and his friend in Portmarin where most the young people were finishing (a very strange grey town on the muddy reservoir cliffs). I headed in 8 more km to a soulless municipal albergue, full of people discontent at the lack of cooking equipment. My box and mug were in high demand for the slow microwave. I made another batch of chestnut paste.  The Italians were there which was nice and shared some of their very nice Reoja

27th

Gonzar to A Ponta Compana (over Palas de Rei)

• Albergue Casa Domingo

Started damp and slow, the clocks had changed the night before, not particularly interesting, except for the ruins of an ancient hill town and lots of the grain storage structures in stone villages. I saw the graffiti: to go fast go alone  but together you can go far. Shoped in Palais de Rei and continued on to stop in a lovely rural place.  No kitchen and a slightly higher class of albergue, but beautiful contrast to the municipal: homely and gentle. I bought my first piece of the almond Santiago cake and a coffee. The Spanish lady? and Mary Lou (who I had walked with for a bit) where both there. I sat on the grass in the warm afternoon sun and are a picnic dinner then read in bed as the others had communal dinner.

28th

A Ponta Compana to Ribadiso (over Melide)

• Albergue de Ribadiso da Baixo

I went the wrong way leaving the village which gave a peaceful detour without the other walkers busying the path. Bored at first but I bumped into Jim the American and we walked together chatting until Melide. He is a wonderfully bubbly man with so much excitement for the walk in him. I shooed them walked on to stop at the municipal albergue. A lovely surprise; ancient albergue next to the bridge. Blue skies and sun. Jim, Desi, Lesa and Mario the Spaniard and I all swam in the river, Jim bought drinks in the bar, (also the two American ladies and Mary Lou) and I cooked pasta on the microwave.

29th

Ribadiso to O Pedruzo (over Arzua)

• Albergue Cruceiro de Pedrouzo

Walked very quickly all day and arrived around 1, at a fairly impersonal hostel but with good kitchen facilities, nearly all the young people I have met dropped into the hostel over the afternoon and a large number of dishes were made. Some enjoyed the sauna and it was one of the Taiwanes’ birthdays. I made a bean tomato chorizo potato thing. Beutiful sunset light.

30th

O Pedruzo to Santiago de Compostela

• Albergue Azabache

Walked with young friends into Santiago with many stops on route. See above!

31st

Santiago

• Albergue la Estacion

Relaxing day enjoying the beauty  of Santiago and meeting pilgrims, sitting around in squares and parks, on stone steps watching passing gossip, listening to musicians play, the queues winding into the cathedral. Watching groups gather for giggling photos, long parted friends runing across the cobbles to great. I found a stall in the bustling ancient stone market place run by a lady with a cockney- Spanish accent, selling gluten free Galician pies that contain a plant found only in this part of the world. I ate it before the cathedral, greeting the good people I had met as they went by. As the light grew dim I crossed the city with my bag to find a hostel beside the station the next morning at 5am I went for my train, for the long journey home.

1st - 2nd November.

Santiago - Madrid - Toulouse - Paris - UK

Unexpectedly I met one of the American ladies at the train station in the early hours. The sun slowly rose as is sped towards Madrid, with a ten minute change I had worried about in Ourense. The change in Madrid was also a stress, rushing across the city on the metro and running to the high speed train. A kind young lady helped argue with the ticket inspector on my behalf when my interail app played up. We passed through Barcelona and I changed at Girona, onto a slower regional train to Port Bau. The regional trains have lovely big windows. An hours wait in Port Bau - with no working information signs, so I took an earlier train onto Narbonne to be safe. Everyone seemed to speak a different langue in the sleepy station of Port Bauer- French and Spanish and something else. Changing again to Toulouse and then the wait for the sleeper - sighing with shocked relief that the day worked, I had so deeply anticipated disaster I nearly paid out for expensive bus travel instead. I explored Toulouse for an hour- the night streets were bustling with people out for the holiday (all saints), and rollerscaters dressed in costume wized by. The station was full of tired families but finally it was time to board the sleeper and settle into my bunk.

In the morning we were in Paris. I crossed the city and met up with a university friend by Gare du Nord which was a delight. Then i boarded the Eurostar. The journey though northern France felt so long. An age of waiting. In London was cast with cool grey skies, and more waiting, but then I was on the last train: to head home. Richer for the journey. I begin to understand what these Santiago’s mean.