Foxearth, Suffolk

It’s hard for me to believe I’ve only been home for ten days.  In the way of all good adventures, the camino already feels like it is fading into ‘long-long-ago-in-a-land-far-away’ status.  I am still thinking of random little things on an hourly basis – that awful albergue I stayed out just outside of Leon, the little cafe where Gonzalo, Daphne, Silvana and I stopped for our fourth (or fifth?) Sunday break and I quite happily laid on the side of the road with my legs up against the wall, and the picture perfect house on the hill that Egil and I saw on our way into Villafranca.

And of course, if I am lucky enough to find anyone who will listen, I can dig up a grizillion more memories and talk them into a coma on all things camino-related.  Quite a few times I have been asked the generic question, ‘How was it?’ and have found myself struggling to answer.  It was amazing. It was a privilege to be able to take that amount of time out to do something so self-indulgent. It was hard.  It was awful.  It was fun.  It was incredible.  It was all of these things and more … so how on earth am I going to sum the whole experience up in the time it takes someone to glaze over and start looking for something else to talk about?

A few people have asked me if I learned anything on the camino, or if I am going to make any major life changes as a result (my poor sister was quite disappointed I didn’t come home with a burning desire to have a baby on day one).  All I can say in response is that I do feel a lot calmer, a lot more centred and the tiniest bit clearer about what I want (and don’t want) from life. Though please don’t ask me what that is. Still, in an effort to keep pace the social media format du jour, am going to have an attempt at a list of my top ten insights from the camino.  So, in no particular order …

1. People are amazing. Or, at least most of them are. While the scenery, the physical challenge and the personal headspace were all a big part of the camino, it was the conversations along the way that really made the whole experience.  I made some surprising connections with people I wouldn’t normally have engaged with, and equally was left flat by a few I gravitated toward just because they were ‘my type’ of people. I would like to think that in future I will give people more of a chance, seek out more positive people and recognise a little quicker when I am spending too much time with people who sap my energy.

2. I prefer my apples sliced. OK, so this may sound ridiculous, but at the grand old age of 41 it was a pleasant surprise to learn a load of small things like this about myself that I didn’t know before. And yes, in this instance, it may be that I just enjoyed using a Swiss army knife on a daily basis (who wouldn’t?) but I do now take great pleasure in slicing my apples before I tuck in.

3. Faster isn’t always better. Ian and I have regular debates on this subject, so I guess I knew this already, but the key thing about walking the camino is that it is a slow way to travel. Very slow at times. I wasted a lot of headspace early on calculating my average speed how far I could get in a day (yes, I am still a maths geek at heart) but I know now that the bits I remember most are the times I stopped in a field for a chillax, sat by a stream or had a little nap under a tree – not the times I managed to get my average speed above 6kmph.

4.  I eat more than I need to. Again, I guess I knew this already, but I did feel while I was walking I was much more in touch with what my body needed.  OK, so it probably didn’t need all of those post walk beers, or that extra two or three glasses of wine on some evenings, but for the most part I did only eat when I was hungry and despite the seven or eight hours of exercise I was doing, that was surprisingly little.  I also had a tiny percentage of the sugar I usually have, so am now officially jumping on the current sugar-is-the-devil bandwagon.  I think I lost around 10kg on the camino (though guessing it was more than this before the Santiago eating and drinking extravaganza) and obviously I feel a lot better for it … .

5. I need to give myself some regular time-out.  Whether it be yoga, meditation or just long walks by myself (once I can get my head around the idea of putting my walking boots on again), I need some to build some regular quiet time into my life.  If I think about the camino as being a massive mental spring clean, this will be the regular weekly top-ups to keep my mental filing system under control.

6. I have an amazingly supportive group of family and friends.   I know you are all scattered around the world, but I am very grateful for all of your emails, comments and text messages that gave me encouragement along the way.  So for this, and for being part of my life in general, I  want to once again say thank you to all of the excellent people in my life.  The efforts Ian has gone to in welcoming me back and helping me acclimatise have been phenomenal – through pedicures, articles in our local parish magazine and even a lotvely little welcome back gathering of a few of our nearest and dearest … it has been outstanding and has really helped with the culture shock.

7. The one about work life balance.  You know, the commitment everyone who works too many hours makes after coming back from a great holiday.  I dipped my toe in the water at work on Friday (easing myself in gently) and was a little taken aback by the stress levels.  Not sure if that is normal and I am just out of touch with it all or if things are a bit tense at present, but I do have so much I want to do with my life that isn’t work related, so the ‘fewer things better’ mantra will be making a comeback.

8. There is so much more that I want to learn about the world.  I am not sure what or how, or when, but I have come back with a burning desire to up the learning curve again, so am on the hunt for something new to try, learn or do – will see how this pans out.

9.  I need to look after my feet.  And the rest of my body for that matter.  I do take it for granted that my body will continue to do what it does without complaint Having had to slow myself down on the camino because my body wasn’t as capable as my brain believed it to be was very hard for my competitive self, so have realised I need to invest a little more time and effort into looking after myself if I am going to continue having adventures for the foreseeable future.

10.  800km is a really long way.  No really, it is. A very long way.

 

 Santiago de Compostela 

I figured today I should get out and about a bit more and take in a few of the sights of Santiago.  Besides, having spent two nights in a lovely little hostal, it was time for me to change hotels again. 

After his little visit on the camino, Ian had kindly booked me in for a night at the beautiful Parador – Heaven on Earth for pilgrims wanting to treat themselves to a bit of luxury at the end of their camino. The Parador was initially a hospital for pilgrims and the people of Santiago, but has since been converted into a museum and five star hotel. It is absolutely the perfect end to the camino as it gives you a chance to feel connected to the history of the pilgrimage – all from the comfort of a supersized marble bathtub.  The room is amazing, as is the experience of wandering the halls, checking out what amazing piece of pilgrimage themed art is hanging on the next wall and the joy I have had just sitting on a sofa in a quiet corner, reading or looking out over a medieval courtyard fountain. The only challenge is getting your head around the fact that a gin and tonic now costs more than what you had been paying for your accommodation every night – time to re-embrace consumerism. 

I also took a bit more of a tour of the cathedral today, taking in the religious bling in a bit more detail.  I managed to see the remains of Saint James that I had travelled so far to see … well, I saw the ornate silver box that is, slightly disturbingly, said to hold ‘key parts’ of Saint James (I didn’t want to go into any detail as to what they might be). I also got to complete my pilgrims rites, which pretty much involved hugging a statue of said Saint – bit of a whatever moment actually. 

 

 What I did really enjoy was walking over to the other side of town (yes, walking!) to the markets and having a wander through their enormous seafood section.  This is one of my favourite things to do anywhere I go, but here the diversity of what was on offer was incredible.  Galicia is renown for its seafood, with Octopus such a famous local dish (particularly in Sarria) that there are restaurants called pulperias that specialise in serving it up just right. In any case, the markets were a bit of an eye opener in terms of the number of fish breeds I had no hope of recognising and the types of shellfish that are served up as delicacies. 

And of course, my last night in Santiago wouldn’t be complete without a little celebration party with those that had arrived today. Dominic (of the magic first aid box) had now turned up, and it was a pleasure to be able to introduce him to lovely Scottish Maggie (our self-appointed camino mum) Egil (looking a little quieter today after birthday celebrations that apparently went on till the wee small hours) and Cecelia (a Swedish humanitarian aide that works for the United Nations and has a surprising number of Swedish military tips and tricks up her sleeve).It was a much quieter affair this evening, with some pretty heavy conversation taking place about what we had all taken out of our camino experience … all as we shared what may well have been the world’s largest seafood platter.  There was a lot of talk about the impact that the kindness of strangers has had upon us, some good old belly laughs about the fun we have had and the strong bonds we have formed with other pilgrims and a whole lot of examples of the camino providing, just what you need, when you need it. 

I am not sure I can sum up what impact the camino has had on me just yet – or maybe ever.  But it has definitely recalibrated my mind and my body in some way. I do feel the need to at least try to wrap this whole experience up with one last post at some point during my few quiet days at home, so am taking on the challenge of thinking this through a little to see if I can write something coherent. Though at the moment, my biggest priority is getting home, changing my clothes (!) and seeing how long it will take for Ian to get bored with me hugging him. 

 

 Santiago de Compostela

Today I have mostly been still.  

Initially I was very still in my hotel room, luxuriating in the idea that I didn’t have to get up and go anywhere and enjoying the solitude of a single room.  Then I managed to drag myself out into the real world to sit and be still in a cafe for a while, enjoying one of my last tortilla/green tea/fresh OJ combinations. Then I spent a couple of hours being still on the grass in the sun under some amazing trees in a park near the centre of town. This was of course followed by a good session of stillness in one of the outdoor bars by the cathedral as I greeted today’s influx of peregrinos (the Scandi’s are here – hooray!) and finally topped off by a brilliantly still siesta. 

I can’t explain how tired I am today.  After a month of being on the go, I suddenly have nothing to do – which is delightful, but it feels like even making the smallest decision is now exhausting.  I think, if challenged, I could sleep for a month. 

I had a bit of a decision today, but in reality it has been a no-brainer. The official camino ends here at the cathedral, but there is the option to continue for a further 85km to a place called Finisterre (translates as end of the earth) … essentially you can keep going west until you hit the sea and can’t go any further.  

I had been completely sold on the idea of Finisterre and had flights booked for next week so had plenty of time to walk there and get the bus back (though at €25 a pop, had also cunningly booked a second flight in case I changed my mind). For the last few days I have been having some doubts about Finisterre – my feet are starting to complain again, the weather forecast for next week looks awful (though not a patch on Cessnock at the moment from what I hear) and Santiago just seems like a more natural ending.  More to the point, I have so much going on in my head at the moment from everything I have seen and done over the last month that all I want to do is get home and potter around in my garden for a few days while I digest it all and get my head back into real world mode. Having had a taste of the camino, Ian is also hooked and wants a bit more of the action, so has suggested we come back later in the year and walk to Finisterre together – which would be an amazing way to wrap this whole experience up after I have had some time to process it all. Add to this today’s bone weariness and turns out there wasn’t really a decision to be made at all.  Home wins hands down. 

So, I have a couple more days in Santiago and then very happily flying back on Thursday. I haven’t really seen any of the sights as yet, or even completed the pilgrim’s rites in the cathedral (not even really sure what they entail) but needed today to regroup a little, so have all that to look forward to tomorrow.  

 

 Am just about to head out and meet a group for dinner and drinks.  My favourite Norwegian, Egil (the one whose name I couldn’t remember other than it starting with ‘I’ … oops!) has cunningly timed his camino so he landed in Santiago on his birthday. Which means it might be time for a little party.  Have even lashed out and bought myself a new T-shirt for the occasion – figured the ones I have been wearing for the last month have well and truly earned an early retirement! 

 

 Pedrouza to Santiago de Compostela, 19km

Wow, what a day. Where should I start? At the beginning I guess …

A very early beginning. I was so full of nervous energy at the thought of getting into Santiago today that I was wide awake at 3.55am.  I managed to stay in bed for almost another two hours, but in the end I gave in and was up and out the door by 6.15am.  It was still pitch black outside (lovely stars) which was fine for the 15 mins it took to walk out of the village, but then suddenly I was faced with walking through a very dense – and very dark eucalypt forest.  By this point there was no going back, so with my walking poles primed to fend off any falls, wild dogs, gypsies, trolls or blair witches, off I went, adrenalin racing. This suddenly became my last camino lesson – the one about controlling your fears – which I am not entirely sure I did particularly well.   But I obviously emerged unscathed – despite one slight freak out caused by catching some cats eyes on my torch (evil things!) but have to say, it was a very intense forty minutes of my life. 

The payback though came a while later when I climbed a bit of a hill and saw one of the most beautiful sunrises I can remember – a bright orange sky over layer upon layer of misty valleys.  Very pretty indeed. 

I was so pumped about getting to Santiago that I was travelling at speed today – probably too fast in retrospect as my feet were sending me a whole range of urgent ‘stop’ signals that I was intent on ignoring.  I don’t think I was the only one either – after rounding a hill and catching our first glimpse of Santiago, the woman in front of me let out a whoop of joy and actually started running (yes running!) down the hill.  Not sure she had quite clocked that we still had 6km to go – most of it through noisy busy suburbs, but hey – she enjoyed the moment. 

 

 My big moment came an hour and a bit later when I walked into the square in front of the cathedral – the official end to the Camino de Santiago. Have to admit I was a little emotional and had to find a quiet corner to take it all in and shed a tear or two.  

The cathedral itself is pretty awe-inspiring … or so I assume as most of the front is covered in scaffolding for restoration work.  Still, in my glass overwhelmingly full state, even that had a bit of a message about this being about the journey not the destination. Still, I really would have liked for there to be no scaffolding. 

Because of my early start, I was in time for the pilgrims mass at noon and that was indeed awe-inspiring. The high altar is one of the most ostentatiously bling altar pieces I have ever seen – with gold and silver fighting for attention all the way up to an enormous vaulted ceiling. The service was in Spanish so I didn’t get it all, but it was all about the lessons of the camino, and there is enough of the universal ritual in a Catholic church service for me to remember the basics from childhood (including adopting the same approach my eight year old self had taken by just making up my own lyrics when it came time to sing) I am not usually one for this kind of thing, but the moment was right and by the end I had tears streaming down my face again. 

The highlight of the service was the botafumiero – an enormous smoking pot (in ornate gold of course) that is filled with incense and then swung quite wildly above the heads of the congregation.  The smoke was initially introduced to ‘fumigate’ smelly pilgrims and the 80kg pot definitely gets some pretty impressive speed and height when it is in full swing. It is a pretty intense ritual that feels like a hangover from the Middle Ages – definitely worth a quick bit of YouTube action if you have five mins. 

After the service it was definitely time for a some celebratory drinks –  particularly as I kept bumping into various familiar faces from along the way … and even a few familiar faces from my cycling trip to Cuba a few years ago which was a fabulous surprise. 

 

 The lovely Helga and I very contentedly sat in near silence for a few hours, sipping a couple of beers and soaking up the sun, the stillness and the enormity of the cathedral. Then, very excitingly, I was finally reunited with Silvana for what became an afternoon, then evening of Sangria, tapas, incredible live music and a million and one ‘so good to see you made it’ hugs’.

So … job done.  800km walk behind me and good night’s sleep on crisp white sheets in front of me (can you tell how tired I am?) Very excited to have booked into a hostal for a couple of days – somehow the thought of sleeping in the same bed twice in a row is just as exciting as everything else that has happened today. Almost! 

 Melide to Pedrouzo, 32km

Before I start on today, last night’s dinner definitely requires some attention as it was pretty special. The lovely (and extremely patient) Franco had offered to cook for me, another Australian in the albergue called Bernadette and his son, Rinaldo. 

Rinaldo has quite challenging learning disabilities and as such I think Franco finds it easier to cook in the albergue than to go out to eat.  They started walking in Sarria, aiming to do the last 100km (as are a lot of people around at the moment) and are aiming to cover about 15km a day … although apparently Rinaldo doesn’t always agree with this plan and there have been a few sit down strikes. 

So Franco, being Italian, of course manages to whip up a very simple yet amazing feast and with a few glasses of wine under our belts and Google translate constantly on the go, we are vaguely managing to communicate.  Rinaldo’s language is fairly limited but he is obviously enjoying his pasta and has taken to Bernadette, dubbing her Nona (grandma) almost immediately. 

A few hours later, a very suave Italian gentleman called Massimo turns up and is instantly seconded as translator.  Massimo is on his third or fourth camino and is writing a book about the myths and historic stories along the route. While he walks on occasion, he is just as happy to spend a few days in a particular town and then jump a bus, so he randomly turns up every few days.  In any case, he soon launches into a very animated telling of the story of the great hero Rinaldo.  He instantly has our Rinaldo transfixed, clapping and giggling at what I can only assume are the appropriate places.  Franco is sitting beside me videoing the moment and slightly emotional at the joy his son is getting out of this interaction. 

I definitely have to put this down as one of the most beautiful moments of my camino … and to happily elevate Massimo to the status of great hero himself. 

So this morning, when I woke up and it was *gasp* dry, it only reinforced my already good mood and encouraged me to crack on with an early start. 

The morning session was beautiful – up and down through loads of misty river valleys, crossing a series of old stone bridges fit for any self-respecting troll and then following the path through fields of wild flowers.  Have decided the few hours I walk before breakfast are my favourite part of the day – it is so quiet and peaceful and I generally have the camino to myself. 

 The one notable thing making quite an appearance of late is the good old Eucalyptus tree.  Like any good Australian, I am usually a little snobbish when I see the trusty gum tree far from home – it may be growing here, but it is soooo not native.  These areas were so uniformly and densely planted that this was obviously some kind of regeneration project, but the sight, smell and sound of them was enough to transport me back quite a few years to a day of walking with my grandfather as we chuckled at some pretentious Sydney-siders getting excited about koala scratchings. 

Anyway, was on such a high that I powered on all afternoon, fuelled by an outstanding lunch at Aunty Dolly’s House (Casa De Tia Dolores) so I am now safely tucked away in an albergue in Pedrouzo (which for some reason also goes by the name of Arca do Pino) – a mere 19km standing between me and Santiago de Compostela.  

Eek – big day tomorrow and slightly nervous already.  Fingers crossed I don’t mess it up from here! 

 Hospital del Cruze to Melide, 29km

Have to admit to starting the day in a bit of a grump this morning. I tried to psyche the rain out by just wearing my low level rain gear (light spray jacket) but it was all of two minutes before I had to admit defeat and don the full regalia with the addition of my poncho and the various layers of gaffa tape and plastic bags now required to actually keep it waterproof (note to future pilgrims: the poncho is not the place to pinch pennies!) 

Still, I made it to Palas de Rei in one slightly damp piece and settled in for a  later than usual breakfast, pleased with myself for having 13km under my belt already. 

I have decided that although I love the countryside in Galicia, I am not a fan of the villages. For one thing they are a lot more modern than the regions I have been through, though they don’t seem particularly well-off, which means any modernisation tends to lead with concrete – definitely function over form. The villages are populated with dairy farms which tends to mean the lanes through the centre are rich with sloppy green cow dung – not so easy on the nose and requiring that little bit of extra focus to avoid slipping gracefully through town. 

The main issues though are the dogs. Now I am very much a dog person and glad to see the dogs in this area have freedom to roam as opposed to the sad and sorry lot that were perpetually chained to a tiny kennel earlier in my walk.  But these are no chihuahuas. No, no, no. These are big mixed breeds that spend the entire time you are in line of sight either growling and barking or staring you down while they work out how to get the best grip on your jugular. 

A few days ago I was blissfully wandering along a country road when I saw Cujo and his German Shepherd sidekick belting down the road toward me about half a kilometre away. Hair standing on end and adrenalin racing I immediately started working out how best to turn my baton twirling walking sticks into defensive weapons. However, turned out I was lucky as they were actually chasing their owner’s car into the village at the bottom of the hill and only had time for a bottom-clenching growl on their way past.  

Of course the owner then drove back up the road a few minutes later and the two of them soon bolted past in hot pursuit. I spent the next five minutes as I approached their farm stressing out about what would happen as I passed through their turf and sure enough, there they were on guard in the centre of the road. I had a massive case of goosebumps and was convinced I was about to become a camino statistic. I approached them in a very cowed fashion, eyeing off all possible exit routes as I went … though in retrospect, the thought that I could actually climb a tree with backpack, poncho and walking boots was a bit ridiculous.  Still, they were eerily silent and it wasn’t until I was right in the middle of them (danger zone!) that the world’s friendliest looking Labrador suddenly burst from the cowshed barking his head off and setting them all off. Lordy lord I was out of there quickly. 

Anyway, have since been greeting every dog I come across with a slightly pitiful plea to ‘please be nice’. It seems to be working so far, so sticking with it for the moment. 

That aside, the rest of the day was pretty much head down walking as storm cloud after storm cloud passed overhead and dumped bucket loads of rain on me. Wetter than the wetter thing on planet wet is the phrase that comes to mind. 

I did find an interesting walking companion for a few hours this afternoon – a young Dutch guy who I have seen on and off for the last few days, usually asleep in a field or sitting on a fence spooning Nutella from family sized jars.  We seemed to fall straight into a very deep conversation about living in the moment and I have to say, this kid is wise beyond his years (though obviously not in nutritional terms).   It’s hard to summarise the conversation in a few sentences without trivialising it, but he did leave me with some interesting food for thought for my last hour into Melide – something around true contentment only coming when you can go beyond being hard on yourself, beyond being pleased with yourself and just be at one with yourself. Yep, doesn’t really translate, but am feeling all deep and meaningful as a result. 

On which note, off to the supermarket for a bottle of wine as another Italian (Franco who is travelling with his mentally disabled son, Renaldo) has offered to cook pasta for a group of us tonight  *happy dance* 

Barbadelo to Hospital de la Cruz, 31km

Have to say that while I have enjoyed the rain over the last few days, I was slightly disheartened to open the door this morning to another downpour. Today, after all, was a big day  – I was due to crack the 100km mark. 

Despite the rain, the scenery was, once again, magical with a wide stone path crossing little brooks and winding its way through ancient, gnarled chestnut trees. It reminded me of England in terms of how green it was and that real sense that it had been there for hundreds of years.  I had a very brief chat to a couple called Jose and Joanna who I have been bumping into since Astorga and, proud Galician that Jose is, he quickly corrected me in this comparison and told me this part of the world was most like Ireland … though in fact it was Ireland that was like Galicia. 

Since entering Galicia, the path has been marked with stone posts every half kilometre that give you the distance remaining to Santiago. While this is slightly reassuring evidence that you are actually making progress (would have killed for these on the meseta)  it was also a reminder of how little time I have left on the camino. I got myself into quite a spin in the few hours leading up to the 100km marker: had I made the most of the Camino experience? What had I learned? What did I still need to learn? What would I do differently if I had my time again? (very unlikely to happen!)

I was starting to feel quite emotional at this point and had in mind that I would stop at the waymarker for a break, crack an orange and contemplate all of these questions ato make sure I made the most of the 100km moment.  That was until I got there. 

After about a dozen beautifully moss-covered markers in fairytale woodland settings, have to say the big one was a bit of a letdown … despite a miraculous clearing of the rain and the appearance of the sun about a minute before I reached it. The marker was on the edge of a farm smelling richly of cow, splattered with mud, covered beyond recognition in graffiti and nestled just in front of a large green bin. Awe-inspiring it was not. Ideal spot for navel-gazing – no way!

 Though to be fair, I did get a second (and equally disappointing) bite of the cherry when I rounded the corner to find another 100km marker. Just to be sure I snapped off selfies with both of them and then promptly continued on my way. Slightly deflated, but still very aware that this really is the home stretch and as such, hyper-aware of everything going on around me. 

There is definitely a funny feel to the Camino at this point – everyone is either dragging it out for as long as they can or smashing through to get to the end. I haven’t decided which camp I fit into yet – felt like I took today at a very relaxed pace (lots of picnics and cafe stops) but also ended up walking quite a long day – mainly because I was really enjoying myself and didn’t like the look of the various options I had for stopping in the last 10km or so (or to be honest, the place I am in, but enough was enough)

Will see what happens tomorrow – am approaching it without plans or expectations. Though have to fess up to having just checked the weather report – yep, more rain!  

 Triacastela to Barbadelo, 29km

Another day of beautiful countryside and another day of rain … and oddly enough, the two worked together remarkably well.  

I left Triacastela this morning fully suited up for a day of rain and wasn’t disappointed. It ranged from being quite heavy to a fine mist, but was definitely a constant for the day.  I think after yesterday I had my head around the fact that I would still survive if the extremities were damp for the day (it is still relatively warm) so was happy to just roll with it and enjoy the day. 

In fact I even opted to take the extended option on today’s route – following the more scenic paths through the mountains to visit the Benedictine monastery at Samos. Both the route and the monastery were beautiful and it was definitely the right decision – despite the fact that having covered almost 30kms today, only 11kms seem to have come off the waymarkers. D’oh! 

Still, wouldn’t have changed a thing about today. The paths went through beautifully lush and overgrown woodlands that reminded me of England (particularly as it was dripping with rain) – tiny wildflowers, deep green moss and beautiful spring growth on the trees … all contributing to a thousand shades of green and just a beautiful (dripping) day. 

About a half hour into the morning I met up with a Norwegian guy who we worked out was born in the same month as my dad (nine days younger).  Apparently I still haven’t learned my lesson as I initially tried to shake him off before getting into an intriguing conversation about his working life as CEO of a Scandinavian ferry company and how he had introduced completely revolutionary technology to make the ferries the most environmentally friendly in the world. This of course turned into a wider conversation about environmental issues (Ian will be pleased to hear his wife still has to nag him to recycle) and the time flew. I was in fact quite disappointed when we parted ways in Samos as I needed to stop for breakfast. 

 I hit quite a large town called Sarria early afternoon and was contemplating calling it a day.  However, about half an hour through its very ugly outskirts, I caught one of my walking poles in a storm drain and lost the rubber stopper off the end. It is hard to explain how annoyed I was at the thought of having to put up with the clicking sound of my pole all the way to Santiago and I decided there and then that I hated Sarria and was pushing on through.  But of course, the Camino provides and literally four minutes later I came upon a shop called ‘peregrino-teca’ (which I would translate as pilgrim stuff) where they happily sold me a new rubber stopper for all of €1, very amused at how stoked I was with this purchase. 

Still undecided, I stopped in Sarria for a bit of tapas and a sneaky afternoon beer.  And of course, along came another delightful Norwegian. I am still not sure of this chap’s name, but know it starts with I, that he is an IT guy living in Copenhagen and that he is a very entertaining walking companion. He also knew of an albergue about 4km further on that had a good reputation (and has turned out to be absolutely genius) so after another quick drink off we went, and now here we all are – my  two Norwegians, a slightly older Danish lady who has hitch-hiked her way around Australia and a trainee yoga instructor from Holland, all chilling in front of an open fire, sharing a bottle of most excellent red wine. Another tough day on the camino! 

 La Faba to Triacastela, 26km

Despite the somewhat chilly sleeping quarters (all part of the rustic charm?) I woke up on a bit of a high this morning, eager to tackle the rest of this climb and soak up a few more mountain views. 

So, off I powered up the trail, hitting the first cafe stop in record time and feeling very pleased with myself for having knocked over the 5km climb to O’Cebreiro without a drama. After the usual breakfast special, I decided to celebrate with a marathon phone call to Australia (Happy Birthday Molly!) and was quite happily kicking back for a bit when a German guy I have seen off and on the past few days stopped for a chat and we worked out this wasn’t actually O’Cebreiro and I still more than half the climb ahead. 

Way to burst a bubble … and a cloud for that matter. Two minutes into my walk the heavens opened and my poncho was put to its toughest test yet. I actually didn’t mind walking in the rain as long as the important parts stay dry (not sure what constitutes important, but arms and legs apparently don’t count)  The views were still lovely and the rain dripping off the trees made for a very relaxed few hours of solitude. 

Still, when I hit another cafe early afternoon, I was on the verge of being over it and was very happy to take a break in front of their open fire while the contents of my pockets (including my passport and my pilgrim passport – eek!) dried out and my fingers got their feeling back.  

I did have to venture back out into the rain at some point, and raced through the complicated process of suiting up with jacket, rain jacket, poncho, backpack and backpack rain cover.  Despite the rain clearing up an hour or so later, I couldn’t muster the energy to reverse this process and continued on into Triacastela in full wet weather regalia, belting out the soundtrack to The Sound of Music as I went (reminiscing about the early days of this walk when I actually had a few cool songs in my head.) the afternoon was spent losing the 600m in altitude I gained yesterday and this morning, and have to say the legs are definitely feeling it this evening. 

But the rain stayed away and I was starting to dry out, so all was good … until I stopped at the shop at the edge of town and realised my backpack and its entire contents were soaked through. After a few minutes of cursing the manufacturers for their inept rain guard, I soon worked out that in my haste to get away from my lunchtime stop, I had filled up my water bladder but not actually closed it properly. I may as well have just opened the pack and poured a litre and a half of water in there. Talk about rookie error. 

 As for the experts, have had a few updates today.  Daphne and a much-improved Gonzalo had just passed Palas de Rei and are planning on hitting Santiago on Friday, while Silvana seems to be smashing out 35km days and is in Portomarin, so only a day behind them. Have to say it grates a little to still be a few days behind them all, but my feet are making it very clear when I have reached my daily limit, so no superhuman catchup days likely to happen in the foreseeable future. Besides, I am keen to savour it as much of this time as I can.  

While talking to the family this morning, I was standing in front of a sign that said 154km to Santiago.  Have had my hopes raised and dashed several times over the last few weeks by this kind of thing, so wasn’t giving it much credence, but when I entered the province of Galicia (or country if you take the Galician view) and watched the official waymarkers count down to what is now 130km, I had to start getting my head around the fact that I am now officially on the home stretch.  Think I might be confused, happy and sad about that in equal measures. 

 Villafranca del Bierzo to La Faba, 26km

Brian asked me on Sunday how our day compared to others along the way in terms of how tough it was. I found it a really tough question to answer and have been pondering it for the last few days. 

I think the physical exertion that goes into any particular day is such a small part of how ‘tough’ the day pans out to be. The day I walked all of 10km along a relatively flat senda path stands out for me as one of the toughest, trumped only by the completely flat and straight 3.4km stretch from the day before and very possibly yesterday’s stretch out of Ponferrada.  In all cases, I was tired, my feet were in an awful state and – most importantly – there was nothing of interest to distract me from my internal moaning. 

Today has been the polar opposite.  I don’t remember climbing anything as long and steep since the first day into Roncesvalles. I have spent the last few hours huffing and puffing and moving at a snail’s pace but with spectacular views around every corner, I have breezed through it and – after a few minutes to regroup – am feeling fighting fit. 

I am definitely in alpine country today – surrounded on all sides by enormous hills that are covered in heather, making them a surreally intense purple. The valleys in between are picture perfect – mountain streams rushing through bright green meadows sporting a smattering of early season wild flowers – primroses, violets, daisies and dandelions all showing their faces to the sun.  Roaming amongst all this are herds of honey coloured cows, each with an alpine bell that gives each little valley a unique windchime effect. Think Sound of Music meets a Milka ad. Nice. 

Having said I have had no complaints today, the weight of my pack has still been bothering me. I spent the morning itemising its contents in my head (again) to try and work out what has changed so much since Ian’s supply drop.  When I stopped for an early afternoon picnic break (in a ridiculously cute field of flowers by a little river), it was bothering me so much that I unpacked everything there and then to assess it all for ditchability.  

In reality, I probably identified all of 300g of things that could go (half empty travel shampoo packs and a few excess first aid supplies etc, etc) and even though all I did was package these up separately ready for ditching at the appropriate point, the need to be in control of my ‘stuff’ was obviously the bigger issue at play as I realised an hour or so later that I had no further complaints. My pack and I are officially friends again. 

I have stopped tonight in a tiny hamlet called La Faba.  It comprises all of about ten houses including a shop, a bar and a delightfully quirky albergue called El Refugio (the refuge) that looks like something straight out of The Hobbit, though with Buddhas on every spare surface it has a decidedly ashram feel about it.

 The vast majority have continued on to the town at the finish of the climb, but after a very social (and slightly hectic) couple of days, I felt the need for a bit of quiet time and enjoyed a very chilled couple of hours before dinner.  I think this may go down as my favourite dinner so far – four of us at a table by an open fire as plate after plate of vegetarian deliciousness was piled in front of us … all straight from the garden beside the albergue. A little bit of Rosie popping up in Northern Spain!