Triacastela to Sarria

Day 29 (Wednesday 5 June) 134 kilometres to Santiago. I had a slow afternoon and evening in Triacastela. There were several albergues in town, so the folks that I had been chatting with the day before had evidently stayed at another one. I did a recce of the route out of town that stood me in good stead this morning. I note that there is an abandoned apartment construction site. These are quite common across northern Spain, as a result of the recession. Indeed, I have noticed that many residences, including some that are of relatively new construction, are boarded up. There is also a dearth of people in the smaller villages, especially young people. Clearly, the economy is not doing well.

When I woke this morning, the thought struck me that not many people sleep really well in a communal albergue, given the close quarters and the noise. Mark Bucken would be an exception, but that only goes to prove that 4 hours of coma really are worth 8 hours of sleep. People are stirring by 05:45; flashlights coming on and the sounds of repacking. There is no point in trying to sleep any further, so I get up and get underway by 06:35. The route is steadily uphill at first and through forest. Once again, I am reminded of author Bill Bryson's expression: the tyranny of the trees. One looks very much like another as I plod along. They provide shade though, and that's a good thing as the temperature heads for the mid-20's. At one point, the trees fold over the trail to the extent that I'm reminded of the legend of Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman.

I had picked up a few supplies for an enroute breakfast, but choose to supplement these with a stop for coffee at a cafe in the village of Furela. It provides another unique Camino experience - the loos are equipped with a bog roll dispenser that is outside the toilet stalls. Presumably one is supposed to withdraw the standard 60 feet before entering? Instead, I use my own roll that I carry in my 5 litre shower/toilet kit. After leaving the cafe, I encounter a farmer with a small herd of cows transiting through the village. I can hear a dog at the back, so I move up a lane to one side and shorten one of my walking sticks. When the dog sees me he stops and favours me with a menacing glare. My "gladius" is at the en garde position, but he evidently does not consider me a threat to his charges and moves on. My impression is that most farms in the region are operated on a subsistence level - nothing large scale. I can't imagine that their profit margin is very large.

As I get closer to Sarria, I note the valley ahead is blanketed with radiation fog. Given the oblique angle of the early morning sun's rays, the fog persists as I walk towards it. It supports the illusion that I am walking toward a sea shore that has an inlet jutting well inland. I could be in Nova Scotia. As the sun gets higher though the fog gradually burns off, so that I am in bright sunshine when I enter Sarria. This was my original destination, but I am mindful of the advice of Galway Edward that this is the usual Camino start point for hordes of Spanish hooligans, I mean high school kids. I decide to go a few kilometres further to Barbadello and stop at a nice albergue there at about 12:15.

 

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O'Cebreiro to Triacastela

Day 28 (Tuesday 4 June). 155 kilometres to Santiago. While waiting to register yesterday afternoon, Galway Edward kept us entertained. He told of sitting outside a pub in Ireland having a few pints of Guiness with his mates when a young man pedalling a unicycle came up the slope towards them. They were mildly stunned. As he passed, one of the beer drinkers called out: "So, are youse saving up to buy the other wheel, or what?" Edward's accent reminded me a bit of friend Leo O'Quinn, from the Codroy Valley on the west coast of Newfoundland. Leo loves to tell of a trip home to visit family several years back, during which he spent part of an evening at a nearby tavern. When some of the locals started complaining about the fact that there was no work, an elderly man spoke up and said: "That's because we got'er all done me son." Later, when someone asked the man how old he is he said: "I don't know for sure me son, but when I was in the second grade I sat 3 desks behind Jesus."

In the early evening, Sydney Hans and his friend Igor (originally from Slovakia) ask me to join them for dinner. Brittany Serge is also supposed to come along, but he's sleeping. He shows up later when we are part way through our meal and we share a laugh when I tell him that without his sticks my pack feels like a "montgolfier" (hot air balloon).

My theory about snoring and its relation to the number of beds is failing the jack-acid test. There were somewhere between 50 and 100 people in one dorm room last night (bunks were crowded together such that there was free space only on one side), but it was remarkably quiet. It's a great theory, but the empirical data so far doesn't support it.

Although I only have 21 kilometres to travel today, I'm awake at my usual early hour and underway by 06:45. As I leave the albergue I notice 2 horses grazing alongside it. There is a moderate breeze this morning, but the skies are once again clear and the temperature feels close to 10 degrees. The trail goes gently up and down as I walk alone, deliberately slowing my pace, as I don't want to raise Triacastela too early. I stop in a little hamlet called Fonfria for juice and coffee. The server speaks very good English and shows me a photo on his smart phone: 2 weeks before they had had 15 centimetres of snow.

Continuing towards Triacastela, the slope steepens downhill over the last few kilometres. The path is quite wide, however, and much smoother underfoot than when I came downhill into Ponferrada a few days before. I make it to the albergue by 12:15. Tomorrow I will walk to Sarria, which is the closest town to the 100 kilometre distance to Santiago that one is required to walk in order to obtain an official "compostela". Edward has advised us that swarms of Spanish high school kids will appear at that point because they apparently get some sort of academic credit for walking the last 100 kilometres of the Camino and receiving a "compostela". The ratio of teachers to students is apparently very low and the kids are therefore inclined to be boisterous, loud, and ill behaved. The only solution, an easy one, is to get up early and walk between waves of students.

 

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Trabadelo to O'Cebreiro

Day 27 (Monday 3 June) 176 kilometres to Santiago. I spent part of yesterday afternoon talking with Hans from Sydney. He retired from running his own camera shop about 2 years ago, driven out of business by the Internet. People would come in and chat him up about various camera options and then come back with an Internet price that was cheaper than he paid from his supplier. He said that in the end he had to sell a $450K photo processor for $6K, to serve as spare parts for another camera shop owner. Hans is fond of sounding out what he says is the Australian bush man's call whenever he sees someone passing by that he knows is from Oz: "CooEE". He tells me that if you want to know where your mate is in the bush, that's the way it's done down under.

After a good pilgrim's menu dinner, I'm in bed by 09:00. There are only 3 people in my dorm room (normally sleeps 5), but, improbably, one of them is a snorer. Fortunately, his efforts flag periodically, so after reading my e-book for a while in the middle of the night I'm able to drift back to sleep when the racket takes a break. I'm up just before 06:00, under the mistaken impression that breakfast is available from 06:30. When nothing is stirring at that hour, my mind plays back the conversation that I had with one of the servers yesterday afternoon. Now it finally gets through to me that she said "siete" (seven) not "seis" (six). I don't want to wait that long, so I'm on the road at 07:05. It's gently uphill alongside a secondary highway to La Portela de Valcarce, where I stop for breakfast (OJ, coffee, and peach flan). As good as this is, I am beginning to long for hot oatmeal (Mom's people were highlanders from Strathpepper). It's a beautiful sunny day again - payback for the first week or ten days of mostly rain. Cool in the morning, especially on the hands, and then warming into the mid-20's.

After reaching Herrerias, the track gets much steeper, as advertised, and my pace slows as I tread my way uphill towards O'Cebreiro, a climb of about 700 metres. The views are generally great, but not very photogenic, at least with my small camera. Part way up the slope I encounter a man leading 3 horses downhill; each one is saddled. Perhaps he is in the business of leading tired people to the top on horseback. When I reach O'Cebreiro at 12:10, I have crossed out of the province of Castilla y Leon and into Galicia. The little stone village (population 50) is crowded with bus loads of tourists who have come for the view. About 2 days back, after descending steep slopes into Ponferrada, I found that I often had to put a foot behind me to steady myself after I reached level terrain. I was so used to leaning back into the hill that I had a new form of sea legs when the downslope wasn't there anymore. Now I experience a similar, but opposite, effect after climbing for 2 hours.

In any case, I find the municipal albergue and sit on a bench in the sun for a while until it opens for registration at 13:00. Joining Hans and me is Edward; nominally from Toronto, but his pronounced Irish accent betrays his true allegiance. He is originally from a county south of Galway. In response to a question, he says that this is his second Camino and definitely his last. Pointing at his boots, he says: "I'd burn these at Cape Finisterre, except that I'll probably need them to get home."

The albergues in Galicia are often purpose-built by the provincial government and this one is no exception. It sleeps 104. I don't know how many beds there are in my dorm, but it could be half that number. There will almost certainly be some snoring tonight. After the usual chores, I have some empenada and wine at a local bar and then return to the albergue to start on this blog. Looking for a comfortable place to do that, I head for the lunch room and there, improbably, is the French gentleman (Serge from Brittany) who forgot his walking sticks in Mazerife about a week ago. The conversation, in French, goes something like this: "It's a pleasure to see you again. You also. Did you lose your walking sticks? Yes, I forgot them in Mazerife. Are you sure? Yes - absolutely; I realized what I had done after about 2 kilometres, but didn't want to go back. Wait here a minute." Then, of course, there is a huge smile when his sticks are finally returned to him. Another golden moment on the Camino.

 

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Ponferrada to Trabadelo

Day 26 (Sunday 2 June) 210 kilometres to Santiago. The hotel that I checked into yesterday had a bathtub, as opposed to the usual shower stall. I used it; with great pleasure. Subsequently, I did a recce of the first part of the route out of the city. Then it was my first experience with tapas for dinner. They were good, just don't ask me exactly what I ordered.

Some days ago I got on line with Amazon.com, to sort out why I couldn't purchase e-books while I was in Spain. It turns out that they wanted me to change my country of residence to Spain to allow that to happen. I said "no" and told them that any policy that required the client to lie about his address and telephone number was not likely to be good for business in the long run. They're thinking about that (in theory), but in the interim allowed me special dispensation to buy 5 books. That was good client service and I've taken advantage of it. Whoever said that you don't need books on the Camino is completely wrong in my view.

I looked at my route for the following day and saw that the guidebook was recommending a stop in Villafranca del Bierzo. Fair enough; it's about 25 kilometres away. The rub was that the following day's trek was 30 kilometres, with 700 metres of ascent. I decided that I wanted to get a jump on that day by going further on this one; the total ascent today being about 250 metres and the distance to Trabadelo 33 kilometres. Crunching the numbers, I thought that my day would be about 7.5 hours long. I therefore leave the hotel in Ponferrada at 06:25.

Once again it is a beautiful day. Sunny, clear, light winds, and a temperature of 9 Celcius. The route out of the city is not well marked, but it is less than one hour before I leave Ponferrada behind. I stop in Fuentes Nueves for breakfast around 08:30. As I leave the village I remember that Lorna Unger had told me that she is celebrating a birthday today, on her sister's farm southwest of Winnipeg. I have fond memories of the Classen farm because Diane and I attended Megan Classen's wedding there a few years ago. The most delightful wedding that I have ever been to, largely because of the unique setting and the warm welcome from Marion and Carl. In any case, I telepathically send Lorna a happy birthday wish, which she of course doesn't receive because it's 01:30 in the morning in Manitoba.

I spend the day walking alone. The only English or French speakers that I encounter don't appear until after I have checked into an albergue in Trabadelo. The countryside is lovely, and the temperature climbs into the mid 20's. By the time I reach Villafranca del Bierzo it's just befor noon. The trail has been almost all pavement, with some hard-packed earth in between. That allows me to set a good pace, but it's hard on the feet. I carry on with the plan to go another 9 kilometres to Trabadelo. It's a shallow climb uphill for 2 hours, but the outcome is worth it. A really nice albergue and a much reduced climb tomorrow. I'm somewhat footsore when I arrive, almost exactly 7.5 hours after I set out. That being said, my athletes foot is under control and stretching is helping my heel pain. I'm doing well.

 

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Foncebadon - Ponferrada

Day 25 (Saturday 01 June) 237 kilometres to Santiago. While I was stretching a calf muscle on a staircase last evening, a Spanish gentleman stopped to show me an improvement to my technique. Now I can look back and say that one good thing happened during my stay at Foncebadon.

I was roomed with 9 others and one of those turned out to be a middle weight snorer (directly across from me, of course). What he lacked in volume, he made up for in persistence. Rarely was there a break in the racket to allow the rest of us to doze off. As a result, I got very little sleep and woke feeling somewhat less than charitable towards a guy who chooses to use communal living albergues when he knows the consequences for his fellow pilgrims. The feeling didn't last long, though. It's just one more thing in my life over which I have no control. Sleep deprived, it's nonetheless time to move on. As I do, I formulate a relationship between albergues and snorers: the risk of encountering one is directly proportional to the number of bunk beds in the dorm. This reminds me of another formula from a previous life flying a search and rescue helicopter on the east coast: the weather being reported by the ship that is waiting for a medical evacuation of a seriously ill or injured crewman varies inversely to the condition of the patient.

As I exit the albergue, I have to stop to retrieve my guidebook from my rucksack. While doing so, I notice a movement up the street. My first reaction is: what a huge dog. It's not though; it's a donkey trimming the grass in front of another albergue.

The sky is clear, no wind, and a touch of frost; perfect conditions for walking. Initially I'm going steadily uphill, but for most of the rest of the day it's the opposite. This proves to be hard on the knees and the lower back and is mentally taxing, as I have to focus on placing each foot lest I twist an ankle. The trail is problematic for much of the time too; there is a minefield of rocks embedded in the dirt. My pace slows accordingly.

I pass by the Camino iron cross with its mound of stones; each is theoretically brought from home and placed there by a pilgrim in memory of a loved one that was once in their life. Shortly afterward, I cross the ridge that is the highest point on the Camino. It's not the longest ascent (that was the 1300 metres in the Pyrenees on day one), but it is the highest peak above sea level on the Camino Frances.

During one descent, I encounter an interesting sign that defies understanding, at least in English.

According to my online translator, the Spanish means: steep for 15 kilometres, drive with caution.

Another sign that has cropped up frequently from the beginning of my trek reads: coto privado de caza. My IPad translator app says this means: private hunting preserve. I wonder if it's just a strong way of discouraging trespassers. Something akin to the probably apocryphal sign on a fence in Alberta: Can you run across this field in one minute? The bull can do it in 20 seconds.

I finally get to my stop for the night, Ponferrada, about 7 hours and 10 minutes after departure. That seems to be about my limit for any given day, regardless of the pace. Initially I look at checking into the municipal albergue, but it has 210 beds and I don't want a repeat of last night's experience. A small hotel it is - such luxury.

 

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Astorga to Foncebadon

Day 24 (Friday 31 May) 264 kilometres to Santiago.

Getting ready to go this morning, I picked up a plasticized card in the bathroom that had the expected message concerning preserving the profit margin of the hotel ... I mean the environment, by reusing the available towels. What raised a smile was that the Spanish "estimado cliente" had been translated as "estimated client". In keeping with my new status, I think that my time of departure was approximately 06:40.

It's another fine day. A drugstore sign says that the temperature is plus 7. I make my way out of the city along the route that I had recce'd yesterday. What I did not notice the day before in bright sunlight are yellow LED lights embedded in the pavement to illuminate the Camino path through the city. This strikes me as an expensive solution. Perhaps some municipal councillors felt the same because long before I clear the built up area, the lights disappear.

I stop in Murias de Rechivaldo for breakfast (French toast - a first), and then carry on through gently rolling terrain. After passing through Santa Catalina de Somoza, I encounter Gary from Sydney (not Cape Breton, the other one). He has put in 10 years of employment with his company and is therefore entitled to 3 months "long service leave" (a benefit of working in Australia). He's spending a large part of that doing the Camino. What strikes me is that our conversation falls into a familiar pattern. We're both talking about things that we've now talked about a few times before with other people. The trail itself is constantly changing, but I suspect that original conversation will become progressively harder to find. When I stop to stow my jacket, Gary carries on.

As I approach Rabanal, my intended destination, it's only 11:30, so I decide to press on a little further. The trail goes steadily upward as I head for Foncebadon. When I enter the village, it's about 12:45, and I have come about 27 kilometres from Astorga. I check into an albergue and almost instantly regret it. The hospitallero is a bit sour, the showers are badly designed, and the place is filling up fast with Spaniards. They're good people, but we have no common language, which increases my sense of isolation. After a shower and a dhobi wash, I try some garlic soup for lunch. Way too salty, and the bread is stale. This is a place that I'm going to be glad to leave behind. No WiFi either, so I will have to post this short blog sometime tomorrow. It's going to be a long day in Foncebadon.

 

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