Camino Frances

So, the penultimate day; Santiago de Compostela tomorrow and curiously, the busier the path, the more withdrawn I become, almost misanthropic. I guess after more than a million steps in mostly my own company, (I’ll add it up properly later) I find all the noise and bustle of the now crowded path most intrusive, as I try to pull together thoughts from the journey. Whilst this is not the place for an exposition of any conclusions about my life; for me, taking this time out for reflection has been invaluable. Days in your own company without the distraction of a twenty first century life allows one to consider the gap between the person I have become and the person I would like to be – a little scary! Anyway, a cloudy day, the path and the scenery as magical as ever and another donativo this evening. My host John has a kitchen laden with bread, cheese and good red wine, perfect. He has just given us a potted history of the Camino and for those interested - Tradition holds that the remain...

The hostel at Gonzar was certainly an improvement on the previous evening. Hostería de Gonzar was modern and fit for the purpose, rather than in any way charming. The food was good though; a thick, lumpy, green Galician soup and a tender steak and chips. Another30km+ day so another six o’clock start. A quiet day, not too much troubled by others and quite reflective as this adventure draws to a close.  As I’ve had to pick up my pace in recent days, I seem to have left the familiar faces of my ‘Camino Family’ behind. These are curious relationships, the binds of common purpose and the safety of strangers creating often intimate and intense conversations. I rather miss my loquacious Irishmen, jovial Aussies, melancholy Americans, and genial Brits. I wonder if I will ever see any of them again?   A long, hot day with several stops for orange juice and cake. Lots of little villages, many with curious rectangular structures called hórreos, traditional Galatian grain stores that loo...

Eid Mubarak everyone and I have to say acommodation wise, Sarria was the low point. Having received a blizzard of messages asking me to confirm my booking and check in online, I eventually found the Rio Albergue, a soulless concrete monstrosity at the back of an industrial estate. No people involved here, just a succession of PIN numbers to get you in the front door and then into your assigned room. I say room, cell would be a better description, a small, white, rectangular box, a fluorescent light, no window and a mattress made from a mix of cardboard and bricks. To get to Santiago by the 30 th , I have a succession of longer days. Today was 30km, and the intelligence about how busy this last stretch would be was entirely correct. To put it mildly I was ‘in company’ and as far as I could understand it, the company was mostly American. Now I quite understand why most Americans want to leave their country just now, but why they all want to come on the Camino, and why they think the Uni...

Fillobal is a tiny collection of houses, very much in the rural backwaters. Ours was the only Albergue in the village and was excellent. Great little room, charming staff and excellent spaghetti and fruit flan. Enjoyed my dinner with a German chap, late 30s, unmarried, spent the last 20 years selling ‘industrial fixings’ and trying to convince himself that spending the next 20 doing the same thing was the smart move. I asked him a few questions about ‘meaning’ which I think made him uncomfortable, still he bought me a beer… The mountains are now behind us, and this morning’s path took us through the foothills and on into the verdant countryside. Narrow trails along forgotten valleys banked by carpets of green, only interrupted by symphonies of wildflowers and little cascades breaking cover, their waters meandering onto the stream below. Every now and then the path would take us through collections of houses, some abandoned, some still occupied by those making their living from this won...

Vega de Valcarce, particularly on a Sunday, is the proverbial one-horse town without the horse. Nothing was open and the only sign of life came from starving (and thirsty) pilgrims wandering forlornly around the village. Then word spread that there might be somewhere at the top of the village, open at five thirty. Stampede over, I had the best meal so far. Extraordinary paella and the beef carpaccio with blackberries starter was to die for. Away at six as the path took us up some serious hills. A thousand plus meters of climbing over what seemed an endless mountain range. Quiet time with some chatting to my Canadian would-be retirees, but other than that a reflective day. Our path took us into Galicia today, a culturally distinct part of Spain; greener, wetter, Celtic-influenced, and with its own language. Lots of Cornish and Breton vibes here.   Lovely little Albergue in the tiny village of Fillobal this evening. Beer available on arrival and spag bol on the menu this evening. ...

Lovely room yesterday evening, what a delight to have sheets as opposed to a sleeping bag and to get your laundry done rather than mashing up your stinky socks in the bathroom sink. Mind you, I guess I’m easily pleased now I’m well into my fourth week on the Camino. I wandered down to the dining room and found my Irish banker friend sitting with a couple of guys I hadn’t met before. An American ex-military type and a Dutchman. After the usual pleasantries, I explained that I had just retired. “Me too” replied the Dutchman. “What did you do” I asked him. “I was a drug dealer” came the response. He’d owned a string of ‘coffee shops’ in the Netherlands that started to do a little too well, so much so, ‘the mob’ decided he needed to hand them over. As you might imagine, he wasn’t frightfully keen on the idea, but after several arson attacks and kidnappings he eventually saw the light. “What finally persuaded you” I asked. My new friend held up his left hand, his little finger was missing! ...