Camino de Santiago 2026

Epilogue de Camino

Published on June 18, 2026 by 8itchyfeet1 Comment

Santiago de Compostela may be the major goal, but for many it is not the end. Count us amongst them (Emma and I in any case).

With all due respect to Saint James, we came for the walking and the walking was not done. Santiago d Compostela is ninety kilometers from the Spanish coastal village of Finisterre. Finisterre translates as, ‘earth’s end’ and is the place medieval peregrinos really did believe the world stopped, on the edge of the infinite ocean. To the end of the earth then we must go.

We had received our compostela by reaching Santiago, but that was not the reward we were chasing. Emma and I wished for a different notch in our belt. A notch of the metaphorical kind, allowing us to proclaim henceforth to anyone who will listen (or just quietly unto ourselves) that we had walked across a whole country. One roughly the size of NSW. Note NSW is actually 63% larger than Spain. It (NSW) is however 1100 kilometres at its widest. Include all the side trips involved in the Camino Frances and Finisterre extension and I say we walked at least that far!

And so, two days after we arrived in Santiago we bid Paul and Khia a fond (but temporary) farewell, donned our weary shoes and swung our packs back upon our backs. Three days and ninety kilometres separated us from the end of the earth.

Looking back on the cathedral of St James

To walk that far of course, in any other context, would have felt like a worthy adventure in its own right. Having just walked most of the way across Spain however, it felt like an afterthought, nary worth a mention.

The first day was a breeze. Twenty two kilometers. Hardly worth getting out of bed for. There was however another medieval bridge to cross at Ponte Maceira. It was a gorgeous scene, with a mirror like pool of water sitting behind a weir with the ruins of several old water wheels off to the side. White water cascaded down the weir and through channels directed at the waterwheels.

According to legend, Saint James’ disciples fled pursuing Roman soldiers by crossing this bridge. Divine intervention struck the middle of the bridge immediately after they had crossed. Thank God for that. The Romans were unable to run them down and their escape was secured. We know all this to be true because the region’s coat of arms records the whole thing.

Ours was a less desperate plight than that of Saint James’ disciples. We searched in vain for a spot with a view of the water to eat our lunch, but to no avail. A stone bench with a stone fence blocking the view had to suffice. No divine intervention for us.

After eating Emma tore off strips of ankle tape which I carefully inserted inside my shoe lest its fabric upper be rent clean from the sole. My shoes would need some care to get me all the way to the end of the earth.

That night we stayed in possibly the most drab and depressing accomodation of our trip, situated in possibly the most drab and dreary town. The albergue felt deserted and spooky, with fluorescent lighting in stark hallways. The town, at least the part we stayed in, was also charmless. The man in the kebab shop where we went for dinner was nice though. For those yet to walk from Santiago to Finisterre we suggest skipping Negreira, but maybe stop in for a kebab.

Day two was a big one. Thirty four and a half kilometres. Our longest days walk yet. It’s easy to say and not too hard to do, though maybe a bit hard. Even at a relatively brisk pace it was a long day. Nine hours separated departure from arrival. That’s a long time to be going at it, even if some of that time involved sitting and eating icecream. The walking was good though. Scenic, hilly, pretty.

Fortunately the accomodation on night two at Olveiroa had everything Negreira lacked. It is a lovely little town mixing smick accomodation and bars with the usual array of abondoned and crumbing houses. I’ve not mentioned this before, but anyone walking the Camino will find it unavoidable to notice the number of empty, dilapidated homes along the way. Simply not enough people or work so places fall into disrepair.

Day three was thirty two kilometres. Which is less than the thirty four of the day before and this made it feel like it should be easier. It wasn’t, but after twenty kilometres we did see the sea at Cee. Yep, the Camino meets the sea at the town of Cee. It’s a bit like the rain in Spain which, as you may have heard, falls mainly on the plain. Only different.

We did see the sea, and it was good. Good for the eyes and good for the soul. We bought lunch at the supermarket, before finding a picnic table down by the water. We decided on a supermarket lunch because the kitchen at the cafe we stopped at didn’t open for another 45 minutes. I don’t know what we were thinking. It was only 12.15!

Hours later, and after making our way along the coastline past pretty little bays, up over headlands, through narrow lane ways, and along a lengthy beach we finally made it to Finisterre. The town itself straddles the narrow low point of a cape which runs north – south and which also happens to be the most westerly point in Spain.

We’d rented a studio apartment overlooking the beach, where we immediately slumped, welcoming the sensation of removing the load from our feet. Later we ventured out to meet Paul and Khia for dinner. They had made their way to Finisterre the day beforehand. You might say it was the last supper (of our trip together).

After dinner, we all walked over to the west side of town for sunset over the ocean. We sat on the ridge of the peninsula and watched the sky light up, a fitting end to an awesome adventure. Except that we were still not quite done. Kilometre zero is actually located at the light house on the end of said peninsula. Getting there was another 3500 metres which we tackled without packs the next day.

Astute readers will notice that the distances cited in this post don’t add up nicely to the stated ninety kilometres. The reason for this is simply because no distance cited on any sign or in any guide book or app can be relied upon for accuracy. The distance marker plinths in this region of Galicia were precise to be sure, each one labelled to three decimal places, but no more accurate than any other. This is not a problem and I do not wish to imply as much. Just don’t use them to stake your hopes and dreams of a vino blanco on a definitive end point for your days walking. Consider it a guide.

Our spirits were high as we made our way out to kilometre zero, or perhaps well contented would be a a more apt description. Our legs however were weary. So was our appetite for walking, so we ambled at best, up out of town, contouring high above the water and on to the end of the cape. It was bright and sunny, a cool breeze blew, the Atlantic was blue and the sun glistened on the water.

It’s sometimes hard to know when to stop. We had made it to the end of the earth, but that doesn’t mean you can’t keep walking. Twenty nine kilometres north of Finisterre is an alternative end point to the Camino at a sleepy little town called Muxía.

Muxía makes strong claims to the legitimate spiritual end of the Camino. A church sits proudly on the rocks just above the water on the end of the cape. Just in front of the church are a number of sacred rocks, said to be the remains of the stone boat in which Mary visited Saint James to offer encouragement at a low point in his evangelism.

The walk between Finisterre and Muxía is apparently quite lovely. We cannot verify that. After some discussion about why we felt compelled to walk there at all, we decided not to. We yielded to our weariness and the delightful thought of resting by the sea before we flew home. We were done.

We’d walked across Spain, from one side to the other. The same distance as it is from Sydney to Melbourne. In all that time the only vehicle we had entered was a singular bus, which we caught three kilometres from our accomodation back in Logroño to a Decathlon (outdoor) store because my pants kept falling down and I needed a belt and because Emma’s umbrella had broken and she needed a new one.

Since leaving Santiago I found myself marvelling at motor vehicles. What kind of magic machines were these that moved with such pace and ease, transporting their occupants hither and thither without even a light sweat upon their brow.

Turns out that it is possible to avail yourself of the service of these magical machines. We purchased two tickets and the next day we boarded the bus to Muxía.

While we loved Finisterre, we loved Muxía even more. Finisterre was a happening place. Muxía was sleepy. We swam at the beach, wandered the rock walls of the marina, snoozed and read books in the afternoons and spent hours lingering on the headland watching the waves of the Atlantic Ocean crashing on the rocks.

In amongst all that we talked about managing life back home for the next few a years before we hope to retire and we talked about our hopes and dreams for what we would do after that. For those not in the know those dreams included arriving at the end of the world from the other direction, from across the seas. What a grand adventure that will be.

And now. It’s time for. Everyone’s favourite segment. One last time. Ladies and gentlemen give it up for – cats of the Camino!

Completo

Published on June 12, 2026June 18, 2026 by 8itchyfeet2 Comments

We’re in Santiago de Compostela, having arrived here yesterday (Saturday the 6th of June). I’ve tried a couple of times to write this post, but my thoughts have not come clearly. Let’s see how this one goes.

The walk, since our last post, has been lovely. Out of Ponferrada, through the wine region of Bierzo, up over high hills past O’Cebreiro and into the province of Galicia where the terrain shifted remarkably. Stretches of trail through endless fields of crops and vines turned into tree covered boulevards of oak and chestnut, lined with moss covered stone walls which lead us along babbling creeks and rivers; and all this through a patchwork of forest, grazing livestock and villages sitting amongst rolling hills. Yep. Hard to take.

Lots of little things happened along the way.

We stopped at a cafe on the way up to O’Cebreiro (the third highest point in the Camino Frances). It was perched on the ridge of the hills with the tables and chairs backing onto pasture and separated from the cafe itself by a quiet road. The coffee was good (not to be taken for granted in Spain) and the entertainment was amazing. Two kids (the baby goat kind) bounced around us, into the cafe and in and around our chairs. One of them even turned into Paul for a brief moment.

We caught up with Danae in Ambasmestas out back of a lovely albergue on the banks of a crystal clear creek and heard all about the fall she had taken coming down from Cruz de Ferro. She had landed on a rock which left her with a gash in her thigh that needed nine stitches. Passing pilgrims had come immediately to her aid, and helped her down the hill to Molinaseca where the Spanish medical system patched her up and sent her on her way. No charge.

We chose the long route across the Oribio river valley to swing past the 11th century San Julian de Samos monastery. It was a beautiful days walk which made up for the fact the monastery wasn’t open until 12.45. We had arrived there at 10.00 am. It was still worth seeing from the outside.

And we had dinner in the gardens of a charming albergue at Barbadelo, an Italian feast set in the late afternoon sun with people from all over the world, some of whom we knew and many that we didn’t.

As we drew nearer to Santiago we passed the milestone that is Sarria. Sarria is approximately 110 kilometres from Santiago and a place renowned for a huge increase in pilgrim traffic. The Camino authorities introduced a 100 kilometres minimum rule some time back, setting Sarria up as the most common launch point for those seeking their Compostela (pilgrim certificate). The guide books advise you have three choices to deal with the crowds. First you can leave early and try and get ahead of them. Second, you can stay ‘off stage’ so there are less people joining the walk where you do. Or third, you can suck it up!

The pilgrim traffic did increase. The first two days out of Sarria felt like we were on a conveyor belt. It was like being swept along in a busy fun run and our walking pace quickened accordingly. We found ourselves marching like maniacs to overtake and overtake before asking ourselves why we were doing that and calming ourselves down.

Oddly enough, the days after that were some of the quietest on the trail that we’ve had. We adopted strategy number two and stayed ‘off stage’. I kept expecting we would still come across the hoards, but it just never happened and we ambled along peacefully under the chestnuts and oaks.

Our little Camino family seemed to coalesce the closer we got to Santiago. Luis and Raisa from Canada, Marie from France, Pauline from the Netherlands, Danae from the USA and the four of us. We started convening with some or all of this group nightly, to eat out or grab and drink and talk Camino. Marie even spent a night with us in the apartment we had booked in Portomarín lest she find herself, in her own words, ‘pretending to be Mary (of the virgin kind), sleeping out in the local church’. She had been unable to find accommodation despite exhaustive efforts. Another member of our Camino family, Robyne, trailed along a day or so behind.

Two days out from Santiago I idly suggested the idea of a debrief on our experience. I had been recalling the dinner the four of us had the night before setting out from SJPDP where we had all talked about our intentions for the Camino. We got sidetracked that day and didn’t get to chatting about this.

Later, Paul prompted me for my thoughts on what I was going to take from the Camino, I had nothing. Nothing. My mind was blank and I scrambled to try and come up with something the Camino had taught me. Still nothing came to mind.

We spent our last night before Santiago in the ramshackle town of Lavacolla. A stop peregrinos in times gone by had used to wash themselves in the river and prepare themselves for entry into Santiago. We had just 10 kilometres to go the next morning.

We left early, around 6.30, because we wanted to get in while the cathedral square was relatively quiet. 3511 pilgrims had finished their Camino the day before us (Santiago Pilgrim Office statistics). It sounded like a lot.

The trail was not especially lovely that final morning, making its way past run down back quarters and houses in varying states of dilapidation. Along the way we deviated some five hundred metres to visit the statues of pilgrims perched at Mount de Gozo where, once again, back in the day, pilgrims caught their first sight of the spires of the Cathedral of Saint James. As we walked into town I still didn’t know what to feel or think other than that I should be feeling something!

We crossed the outskirts, into the old town before hearing a bag piper from the Plaza de Obradoiro, the cathedral square, ahead. We dipped down a ramp, around the corner and there it was. A busy cobblestone square with a joyful atmosphere. We had to make our way into the centre of the square before the facade of the cathedral revealed itself properly.

We did exactly what every other pilgrim arriving in the square does. We took turns holding our arms in the air in celebration while others took photos for us, to capture the moment. We had walked at least 790 kilometres to get here (we have little faith in the stated distances appearing on the trail which are useful as a guide only in most cases). We’re not special. Millions of people have completed this walk over centuries. It still felt special to us as it no doubt did to each of them.

The pilgrimage to Santiago is a curious thing. Saint James of course was one of Jesus’ closest disciples. He is said to have spread the word to the Iberian peninsula but his remains were not discovered here until some 800 years later.

As the story goes a Galician hermit named Pelayo saw a mysterious light one evening which he followed until he found a stone tomb. He reported his finding to Teodomir (Bishop of the region) who in turn reported it to King Alfonso II. The king prayed and fasted before declaring they were in fact the remains of Saint James.

News of the discovery spread fast and by the end of the 9th century, pilgrims were beginning to make their way here from across Europe. As explained in the museum of pilgrimage in Santiago:

‘The appearance of the body of the Apostle falls within the mediaeval tradition of miraculous discoveries of relics in places in which there were tales of their existence. This led to the creation of important shrines which attracted pilgrims from wide and far’.

Pilgrims came believing that by arriving they would achieve, ‘redemption and lift the weight of sin from their souls’ (Camino de Santiago; Beebe Bahrami).

I find the whole thing intriguing, if not spurious. There does not appear to be any substantive evidence that this is actually where Saint James was buried (from what I understand it seems highly unlikely) and yet the cathedral in his name is monumental and the pilgrimage it has inspired a phenomenon going from strength to strength more than a thousand years later. The museum of pilgrimage also provided numerous examples of how the whole discovery was also motivated by politics of the time.

In any case, it was now our turn to visit Saint James just as so many have before us. We took turns queuing and visiting the cathedral (no bags allowed inside so someone had to watch them). Saint James’ crypt is below the altar. We followed a long procession of pilgrims down heavy set stone stairs into the crypt before passing by a silver casket holding the saint’s earthly remains, relics of enormous significance to the Catholic community. We passed through and out the other side, turned 180 degrees and climbed a set of stairs behind the altar where we took our turn hugging the steel sculptured statue of the saint. He was cold to the touch…

Mass followed. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go, but our Camino family was all there so in we went. Emma and I perched ourselves at the base of a stone column, near the intersection of the two long arms of the cathedral and about as close as you can get to the altar itself.

The mass was conducted in Spanish, but the ceremony combined with the attendance of more than 1200 others created a sense of occasion nonetheless. At the conclusion of the mass, seven men robed in red stepped forward, just off to our front and side. They untied a rope secured to a huge stone pillar. The rope had seven seperate handles, one for each person and ran high to the ceiling above before coming back down to suspend a large silver incense burner, the Botafumerio, in the centre of the cathedral.

The Botafumerio is dramatically swung high, and at great speed, through the cathedral on special occasions; or whenever it has been requested and paid for by a group of pilgrims. One of those two things had clearly happened as the robed men pulled the rope vigorously in time to the motion of the swing, increasing its height and speed. At full flight it rocketed overhead from one side of the cathedral to the other leaving a trail of smoke in its wake like the vapour trail from a jet.

In fact the Botafumerio originated in the Middle Ages, to purify the air and mask the foul odors of the massive crowds of unwashed pilgrims arriving at the end of the Camino de Santiago. Albergue’s now have showers which is fortunate.

After church (words I had not anticipated writing when we left home) we gathered with our Camino family and went for lunch. We laughed and talked and shared our experiences some more. We talked about whether the walk was what we expected, what it was like to walk alone or as part of group and whether and to what extent it had changed us.

There is a lot of hype out there suggesting walking the Camino is a life altering experience. Most people I spoke to about this almost seemed surprised they were still themselves. They did however also go on to reflect on dispositions and insights which, if followed through on, may well change in their life after walking. Not to mention friendships formed along the way.

Danae, who has a background in the performing arts, sung for us a few bars of a song she had been working on for a musical about the Camino. Which of course led to us playing our ‘toe sock pilgrims song’ and performing (seated) the little dance we had poorly choreographed way back before reaching even Logrono. Much laughter ensued.

I genuinely enjoyed being part of this unexpected little group. It would have been even better if Robyne and Guy were there too. It is a curious thing who you meet along the way and who sticks. It is not hard to imagine these people as long term, long distance friends. Perhaps that is the magic of the Camino – time and inclination to connect with people.

All of this delightful hecticness done, today has been relatively quiet. Emma and I poked around Santiago and sat in the square to watch the celebrations of pilgrims arriving. It is a very happy place to be. We also formed our own little welcoming party for Robyne. It is nice to have someone to cheer you into the square. Paul and I also attended a small session convened by Pilgrim House, as a space for people to talk about what the Camino meant for them.

I still don’t know the answer to that question for me, but there is no doubt that the walk has evoked questions and thoughts I never intended thinking about. As Emma, Paul and Khia now know only to well it would seem I am quite exercised by the existence of God, why people believe and the role of the church, now and in times gone by. Perhaps this is because it is what I was taught to believe before losing my faith somewhere along the way. The Camino has unexpectedly provided time and space to revisit existential questions. I can say I have greatly enjoyed the many long winded conversations (debates?) on these topics with Paul, Emma and Khia as we have walked, wined and dined.

Other thoughts of a less grandiose nature include that I am now celebrating my inability to come up with any sort of deep and meaningful reflection on my Camino experience. The Camino has cleared my head and silenced the constant chatter in my mind, just like Guy told me it had done for him when we had talked weeks back. I wanted to do this walk because I had hoped the simplicity of waking, walking and repeating would wipe the stress of work away. I am pleased to say it has done that and more. It has been an absolute pleasure to think of little more than how long it’s been since we last saw a little yellow arrow pointing us where to go and what bird it is that is chirping overhead (even if all that was often interspersed with deep dives into existentialism, faith and spirituality). They say the Camino provides… but what it provides is no doubt tailored to each pilgrim.

It has also been an absolute pleasure walking with our friends Paul and Khia. Khia you have amazed me with your grit and determination to walk to the very end. I know at times it was uncomfortable. You did it though. Walked across a country.

Paul, I have thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated our various conversations, and of course all the fun laughing and being silly presenting to be bull runners or zombies or galloping knights of the realm. I know you came to see our time on the Camino and the walk itself as a gift. It was just that (despite the shin splints).

And to Emma, another amazing journey to go with so many others we have shared. I feel this one has been especially enjoyable and have loved every one of the many minutes we’ve spent just walking and talking. I’ve loved walking with you always.

And as always. Some more photos of the journey along the way.

And now it’s time for cats of the Camino!

Cathedrals, crankiness and a castle

Published on May 28, 2026June 18, 2026 by 8itchyfeetLeave a comment

I don’t have much to say. For completeness however, an update seems appropriate.

Leon was lovely. The cathedral in particular. It was my favourite of all the cathedrals and churches we have visited so far. Why? Because it is objectively (in my subjective opinion) beautiful. Its vaulted ceilings are epically tall, and the upper reaches glow with more than 1800 sq metres of stained glass. It spoke to my aesthetic.

It also gave me a crick in my neck, walking around for 45 minutes with head tilted unnaturally this way and that. This of course is precisely what the cathedral’s architects intended. Look up, to the beauty of God.

While we’re on the topic of cathedrals, the others we have visited since we started also seem worthy of a mention. I’m not sure it’s right and proper to compare cathedrals, but I think I’m about to.

Burgos’ was… OTT. So many chapels and naves and tombs and paintings including some pretty gruesome imagery (one of which I can’t get out of my head depicted a lady with her tongue cut out and her breast being cut off). There was however a cheeky little figure high in the rear who pops out on the hour with a hammer to ring a bell. Disney style. He also opens and shuts his mouth as he hits the bell earning him the nickname ‘the flycatcher’. It was unexpected to say the least, but to my mind earned credit for helping the place not take itself too seriously.

The Logroño cathedral; could you squeeze in any more gold gilding on top of the insanely intricate carving? Other than that, too dark for me.

Pamplona’s cathedral, I’m struggling to remember now because I was more into the cathedral for bull fighting (see post on Pamplona).

We missed the cathedral at Santa Domingo del la Calzada, which is a bit of a shame. It has live chickens! I kid you not. They are kept in a coup with a glass front above the archway of one of the doors. Apparently they are the direct descendants of two chickens whose life was unnaturally extended by a miracle performed by Saint Dominic. As the story goes…

‘…a young man and his family were traveling as pilgrims to Santiago. On the way, they stopped in Santo Domingo de la Calzada for the night, where he rejected the advances of the inn keeper’s daughter. Upset with the rejection, the young woman hid a silver cup in the pilgrim’s bag, who would be later accused of theft and condemned to death.

On their return from Santiago de Compostela, his parents went back to Santo Domingo de la Calzada to give the final farewell to their son and found him still alive, thanks to the intervention of Saint Dominic who knew of the young man’s innocence.

Surprised by such a miracle, the parents went to the authorities to let them know. The Corregidor (sheriff) of Santo Domingo being skeptical replied that their son would be as alive as the roasted cockerel and hen he was going to eat that very moment. As he pronounced these words, the cockerel and hen instantly got up on the plate, their white feathers grew back and they started to sing.’ (Camino Ways)

It’s a miracle celebrated to this day. The town has chicken paraphernalia everywhere, including one shop with a chicken sitting on top of an air fryer! Hilarious. It reminded Paul of the McDonalds situated on the lower floor of the museum of communism in Moscow. Also hilarious.

Unfortunately we had too many kilometres to hike that day so were unable to visit the descendants of the miraculous chickens. As I write, that now seems like something of an oversight.

We left Leon thinking the Meseta was behind us, to discover we had two more days before reaching its edge. I think maybe I finally understood the pilgrim mythology (refer to previous post). There really wasn’t much to do, or see and it wasn’t the most lovely stretch we have walked. If I were our son Oliver I’d rate it ‘meh’ out of ten. I took a nap on a train track, because I could.

A little further along we came to Hospital de Órbigo, famous for objectively (once again in my subjective opinion) the best bridge on the Camino. Two hundred metres of meandering medieval genius. Its imperfect lines made it just perfect.

They hold a jousting tournament here every year in honour of the knight Don Suero. As we understand the tale:

‘In the fifteenth century, the knight Don Suero fell in love with Lady Leonor, who unfortunately did not return his affections. Don Suero, who should have gone on to become the patron saint of emo, displayed his heartbreak by fasting and donning an iron collar every Thursday to show himself a “prisoner of love.” [That “every Thursday” part gets me every time.]

But a weekly collar wasn’t enough to get over the lady’s rejection, so in 1434 Don Suero also announced that he would joust any knight brave enough to fight him on the long bridge of Hospital del Órbigo. When he won 300 lances, he said, he would remove the collar and be free of his affliction. This became known as the tournament of the Honorable Passage.

Oh, but Don Suero didn’t really intend to fight all 300 jousts himself. Because there are bros in every century, he managed to convince nine of his closest friends to fight in his place sometimes — probably on Thursdays, when he was hampered by the collar’ (Camino times two).

In Astorga we discovered a palace designed by Gaudi. Apparently it was home for the local Bishop which didn’t quite accord with my understanding of a life of piety. The palace was right next door to the Astorga cathedral, upon which I am unable to report regarding its interior. Our legs were too tired from walking 32 kilometres that day (at the start of a European heatwave) to justify the 8 euros required to get inside.

It had a nice gift shop though and in Emma’s reading of our Camino guide book we learnt that the outside of this cathedral is an unfortunate mixture of Romanesque, Baroque and Gothic styles. It really doesn’t know what it’s trying to be… architecturally. Which is unforunate given it sits next door to Gaudi’s masterpiece.

Onward we went. The plains dissapppeared in equal proportion to the reappearance of hills. The tired, often crumbling little towns of the Meseta tuned into charming stone villages in the foothills of the Camino’s highest point at Cruz de Ferro. The village of Rabanal del Camino was particularly lovely, having made a resurgence ever since the Benedictine monks set up shop here in the 1980s to support the passing parade of pilgrims. We attended their evening prayer in a charming if rustic old church. The monks sung their praise in Latin. It was a unique experience.

We spent that night in a 76 bed albergue (38 in our room) which forced me to rethink my kind disposition towards the peregrino commmunity. OMG, this is a dorm and people are trying to sleep. If you want to discuss the tradie who didn’t show up to fix your garden wall (three times apparently) by phone, on speaker, THEN PLEASE FEEL FREE TO USE THE COMMUNAL COURTYARD OUTSIDE!

Of course I could have fixed this problem for myself simply by inserting my very effective Loops earplugs, except that I had bumped them off my top bunk while trying to simultaneously deal with my reading glasses, eye mask, phone, watch and multiple charging cords. The small container holding my ear plugs hit the floor, crashed open and sent them flying across the darkened dorm. No amount of scrabbling around on the floor to the glow of the red lamp on my head torch would reveal their location.

Frustrated and struggling to maintain my commitment to equanimity, I lay in bed and tried to ignore the solution to the missing tradie coming from five bunks over. An evening of unfiltered snoring ensued. Not to mention the howls of objection from a chorus of peregrinos at 5.00 am the next morning when another thoughtful individual decided they needed to turn on the fluorescent lights FOR THE WHOLE DORM so they could continue their packing!

That morning was also Sunday. Bad news on the Camino. We delayed our walk hoping for breakfast. No tortilla de patats on a Sunday though. We had a croissant. Chased down by a chocolate croissant. Fortunately (for me) there was coffee.

The next day was the high point of the Camino. Geographically. We walked slowly but steadily, up and up to Cruz de Ferro, an iconic site for pilgrims, with a 7 metre high mound of stones built up by the offerings of each passing pilgrim. At its centre, an oak pole is topped by an iron cross. In leaving a stone, you metaphorically leave behind whatever baggage you feel you have been carrying as you go through life. I decided this was a good place to forgive the noisy peregrinos from the night before.

Down the other side we went with the villages becoming evermore charming along the way. Until today, where we are resting once again, in Ponferrada. Which has another castle. Paul and I reenacted Monty Python scenes because we could and because it made us laugh.

Right now I am feeling inspired by the lyrics of Simon and Garfunkel’s 59th Street Bridge.

‘I got no deeds to do, no promises to keep, I’m dappled and drowsy and ready for sleep, Life I love you. Always Groovy’.

And that’s it. You’re up to date!

Time for Cats of the Camino!