Santiago and beyond

I gazed up at the spanish graffiti carved and scribbled into the bunk above my head. The morning light came in letting me know that I had slept late but I was in no hurry today. The few messages left in english disappointed me, they seemed to be written by complete idiots, but what should one expect from people who write on beds, i pondered.

The afternoon before I had been strolling along when I passed out a small family that whom only started walking 100km from Santiago but were now starting to look a little worse for wear, hehe. I stumpled upon Javier and Manollo and ate lunch, during which they started talking about politics in the restaurant. I was used to them chatting away in spanish. So usually I'd just smoke and watch their mannerisms for hints to figure out what the subject was. but sometimes I'd just watch, how people feel about what they're saying, im sure, is as interesting if not more than what they're actually saying. But it wasnt long until this discussion erupted into civilised shouting at each other. I looked around to notice the restaurant was staring at us. My consternation was fueled by the fact I had no idea how vulgar or otherwise these booming spaniards were being. I tried to read for a little while but that was useless so I legged it leaving them roaring at each other.

I was back out in the open and I walked to the place quite easily still feeling restless and full of energy. I'd been walking for so many days, the thought of two more restless nights before I reach Santiago didnt appeal to me at all. But I was relucant to leave my friends behind. Never the less, I was restless and felt like I could easily walk another 30km. I was weighing up my options over a beer. It would be getting dark soon, maybe an hour and a half left. I have at least 6kms to walk to the first village but there isn't an abergue there so it would be another 3km after that, which would be perfect timing, I thought. I could make it just before dark. I sniffed the air like my cat used to do and decided no rain was on the way, so it was decided, I'd make a dash for it and be in santiago tomorrow. I was about 40kms from there at this point, I'd already walked 25km in the afternoon. I knew that I could quite easily walk anything around the 30kms mark in one day.

It was the right decision I was delighted to back on the road, dark or not who cares. Adventure ho! After about 5kms I couldnt believe my eyes when I saw a another walker ahead, out this late?, wearing a little funny red hat?... Sabrina!! We laughed and chatted and walked far into the darkness, got lost, went to the wrong house, got directions and sat down 16kms later at 10pm to have wonderful meal. When we finally found the abergue it was after 11 and there was no answer on the door despite our frequent banging. I looked in the window and could see bunks with clothes hung in between them, lots of clothes. Sabrina shone the light toward the back of the room and there a man, a naked man, lying face down in a bunk bed toward the back of the room. He was not elderly but getting there. He looked like he was dead and Having a dead old man answer the door to us didnt wash well with me. The whole scene was eerie and I was all for walking another 6kms to the next place but Sabrina wouldn't have it and continued to rapp on the window. Finally the dead guy did hear our rapping and came out all smiles and apologigies for locking the door. But I was on to him and would keep an ear out for any undead shennanigans during the night. So I used up all the hot water while Sabrina did her yoga and tried to find a bed in the snoring dark dormroom.

And so I awoke to read the gibberings of international numbnuts and was happy in the lazy morning sun. Today I would be in Santiago, only about 22km to go. I should be there just after lunch. All these numbnuts were probably quite happy with that thought as well. I left sabrina still getting ready, she was dissappointed that wasnt going to walk with her but I felt it best to finish this walk to Santiago the way I started... alone. To think it over, reflect and observe myself and how I felt. Despite it being a beautiful day, the walking was a was a bit deary, thru industrial estates and beside big city main roads. I remember feeling like a cheetah in the lion enclosure when I went into a cafe for a coffee and a read, finding myself surrounded by city slickers, truck drivers, waitesses all eyeing me up. The sun was lovely and before I knew it i was entering the old quarter of Santiago. Having passed the mopeds and boy racers and elderly shufflers. And I was in touristland all over again. I went to the Cathederal and gave St james a hug, had a little sit down, got my certificate, which is quite a similiar feeling to renewing your motortax in nutgrove shopping centre, should you want to experience it first hand. Finally I found myself a room to sleep.

That evening I woke to eat. I spent the evening alone, roaming the small streets, mostly watching people. Eventually it was that I walked to a tavern that I'd heard music coming from. gawking at the barman as he charged me 2€ for a glass of sweet red wine, my attention was grabbed by a fop laughing at me. Slinking embarressed away I descended the stairs. I was smoothed in the basement of that tavern with locals practicing their gallician instruments and a big dog dosing on the chair beside them. I sipped the wine let the evening disappear in a puff of smoke.

After a shower the next morning I went to watch my teeth in a little shared bathroom beside my room. As I turned the knob to get back in to the room, I realised i'd left the room without my keys and my boots. Oh dear. Despite the cleaner doing her very best to understand me and trying every key in the hotel, I was locked out. so I put my toothbush in my pocket and walked out into the cold stone paved streets to go to mass. Which I did. The Priest reminded of me Thomas. He was maybe a better performer but thomas had him on material and content. It was nice to see the church filing up with familiar faces around me. After, we all reunited on the steps and chatted, congratulated and laughed. That night we had it all. Drink, laughs, rude waiters, rude pilgrims, good food, some wine, arguments, sulks, jockey backs, more wine, smiles, dances and teachers, strangers and friends, photos and strippers and we blew the top off santiago.



I tenderly scooted out of santiago sometime after four and cursed the city over my shoulder. Where I want to be now; lost in the endless fields of rural spain. Walking alone and seeing no other walkers but this didnt surprise me, It was already late but I knew there'd be friends ahead because of our conspiracys the night before. I'd seen gianfranco during the day too, he grabbed me and gave a big laugh. Its good to have friends. "do you remember the stripers?" hmmm not really actually. But now, alone I made my way, not very well as I got lost, took a detour and then added another hour to my walk.

The details arent very important now, but the long and short of it is, I was harressed by rough looking youngsters with motorcycles. After, and fearing their return, I had put my camera in my bag and was wondering of the effectiveness of my stick in the face of four or five of them. And the rational person I am, I quickly came to the conclusion that It wouldn't be any good at all. So I was literally bathing in happiness when at the next bar I found a bedraggled crew of the three musketeers, sipping tea. I joined them and we watched a tiny kitten play on the floor around our bags. Now I had back up. Bring it on, me and stick and the three musketeers could take on the world.



We walked well into the night and I was happy. Detrich sang 'the horse with no name' as Guillem told me about his photography.

The Gateway To Gallica

Into the misty hills I ventured into a new Landscape of people and what people I´ve met. The closer I get to Santiago the more insane the people get. Alas, the nut cases I have met are another days story. Heres one particular day from a long time ago.

Day 46 Foncebadon to Molinaseca 20km

I cranked my eyes open slowly and somewhat unwillingly after a heavy nights sleep. The Lads were packing with their flashlights bouncing off the walls and ceiling of the loft sleeping dorm, warm and comfortable. The Nordic girl was packing nosily also and to my brief irritation. I turned over and went back to sleep to awake later when the light dimmed by the blanket of clouds filled the space completely.

Just the Mexican doctor remained still sleeping in the bed next to me, the room full of empty beds now, except a new visitor had arrived and after a time of observation and contemplation I realised with a start that it was the yoga teacher with long hair and white beard. I reacted and decided it best to leave so as not to interrupt the session. Sabrina, the Canadian girl, emerged from behind a bunk bed with a stretch and a smile, I waved and packed on furiously. She joined the yoga, as I declined the offer, to my regret later on.

It was a heavy morning and I walked, I trodded, along the damp mountain paths . The morning was cool in the hills and the way was shrouded in a thick early mist, similar to the fog that my thoughts ampled though in my mind, happily though. I was finding the walking difficult, an entirely new sensation for me from the past weeks and something I tried to deny for a time without any success.

When an evening comes about on the Camino in Spain, and someone suggests a glass of wine, and when the bottle is 3€, you usually just each get one of them, and when that one is gone and swallowed and so is everyone elses, you find that another one is never that stretch too far. And so it had been the night before in Foncebadon, and so now it was; the result; the next morning.

Part of my mind was free to skip around the backstreets of my memories and dance into my ideas unrestrained by the other much larger part, the part responsible for my day to day operation, communication and commonsense; This part was trying to ignore that I had gotten up at all and had turned over resentfully, like I had done an hour before, trying not to consider the light shining in through my sleepy eyes, like it didn't exist.

Not long after a brief and rather one sided conversation with a horse and his friends, I arrived at a mighty cross. A thunderous thing and at its base; the memories and momentos of a hundred thousand visitors. All colours and flags, stones and key rings, ribbons and toilet rolls, photographs and messages, all mixed up in with rubble and piled about 4 metres high around the thick mast of the cross, like an upside down ice cream cone. I clambered up the slope, stepping on photographs and breaking plastic things till I arrived at the post and began to read the messages dreamily and with an air of unconcern for the past away people remembered and notes to lost friends along the way, yet to arrive. In my hand I was rubbing a smooth stone with a little yellow arrow painted on it, similar to the arrows that guide you through Spain. The stone was something that, I reflected, could have been worth a great deal to the person who carried it and left it here, perhaps, now it found its way into my hand and I carried it to a nearby shelter to smoke a cigarette and relax. My Earphones drowned my world in music to protect me from any conversational advances from other walking fool as I. As it turned out I was gently jeered by a group of young forrest workers, They pointed the way to me and urged me on, laughing. Feeling my moment of peace shattered, I arose and with a hearty goodbye, to indicate my thanks for their encouragement, I left, back into the mists and wooded track.

After 2Km and an unknown time I Arrived at Mahjarin, a deserted, ruined town left behind by the inhabitants because of its remoteness and harsh weather. It was however the place of stay of the Templar knight Tomás. He walked the way and realised along it that he was the reincarnation of a Templar knight. After this enlightening he choose stay in Mahjarin and devote his life to helping pilgrims in the squalor of his unofficial albergue. The WC being the only luxury is located across the road in what appeared to be a roofless ruined stone shed although I didn't feel the need to visit it. I poured a cup of coffee just in time for his eleven o' clock prayer and collapsing on a bench, I watched as he began clanging his rusting sword against a bell, his hiking trousers were held together with safety pins and he wore a hooded white robe with the Templar cross in red on it along with various stains and dirt. He droned away in Spanish for a prolonged period of time as the cats pawed and clawed and jumped into spaces unseen, under the tables filled with derelict crap and over the cold stone surfaces. An open fire was burning just outside the gate and the warmth and aroma filled the room making the space quite pleasant to be in after the cold and damp mist of the walk before. Javier and Manollo where standing piously taking in the prayer. At first Tomás wouldn't look them in the eyes but as the minutes flowed he got more confident and it ended up like he was talking directly to them and not some unseen God to pray to. I could see Javier getting uncomfortable to my amusement. Looking at Tomás I could see that he really enjoyed the attention. Finally, the ultimate part of his half hour incomprehensible prayer; we stood in a ring all holding hands, he uttered some more lines and we raised our hands to the heavens.

I retired outside quickly to smoke a cigarette by the fireside, joined, as it happened by Dermot, an Irish man from limerick, Dermot speaks with the nature of an enlightened Boger. His being is gentle and his words caress rather than jab at you. In the evening he sits on his bunk bed in the half lotus meditating with self satisfied smile of someone who has recently attained a new peace and spiritual height and is enjoying immensely letting everyone know about it. We were also joined by a Spanish guy whose name escapes. An Australian girl came back from the WC with a look of bewilderment on her face, and I couldn't stop the corners of my mouth turning into a smile. There were dogs chained up around around us and one or two lose ones. All well kept and happy, every now and then one would start barking and begin a chorus, only to be whisst by Pedro, Tomás' helper leaving only one dog, out of sight, barking. After a bark or two from him the whole chorus would begin again.

"Dogs can sense things ya know" Dermot leaned into me to tell me this, as if it was important, and proceeded to talk as much shite as Tomás, but I listened happily, I knew why he was talking crap, about reincarnation and spiritual blabber. The place was in the hills, cold and shrouded in mist, damp stone huts all around us and an open fire at our feet, it was medieval and the fire gave it something extra, the smell and the warmth, almost spiritual, if it wasn't for the twenty cyclists in bright coloured skin tight pants joking and laughing on the road. I poked fun at Dermot but I felt similar even if it didn't manifest in shite talk.

I arose and went to get my bag. Inside, Tomás grabbed my arm at the elbow. He started talking again, the only words I could make out were, Camino, Cosmicka, Spirit-u-al. He repeated these over and over. His fingers would land on his chest for Camino, then raise up above his head along with his eyes up to the heavens for Cosmicka or spirit-u-al! It was terribly awkward for me, I thanked him about ten times before I was able to escape, again, back into the mists and the damp tracks.

Just down the road I met a beautiful cow, with a bell around her neck, she was drinking water from a trough and caught me with an enquiring look. I called her Daisy.

(Daisy)

And then it began to rain. It rained and rained and I told myself over and over, that it would stop any minute, and I'd dry off, that continued until eventually I was drenched. I stopped to put on my leggings, cursing myself for not having put away my camera sooner.

I didn't walk too much farther that day but alot happened. I ate a massive steak for instance, I met a belgian guy who smoked more than me, alarmingly, he'd take a cigarette to the toilet with him, just in case like. I sang "horse with no name" with a dutch girl over the stall in the shower, I stopped after the song but she kept singing all the time in this over the top operatic voice, i couldn't stop laughing until I started to enjoy it.

Manollo

Later that evening, after a nap we ate salad and drank wine. A crazy gay old man who seemed to live in the albergue took an interest in us, because of our wine, and he would come over to refill his glass and sing a song, as if in payment. We would laugh as he went off again. But after a while it started to catch on with Manollo singing some Flamenco and me banging the table in rhythm. We had such fun that night he continued singing most nights all the way to Santiago. Soon everyone joined us, and a big group sat walloping the table making the room reverberate. Sabrina arrived hours late. It was dark and wet outside and she came straight in to join and warm up.

I told her all my faux stories of woe to make her laugh . She showed me nerve ending points on my feet, I felt ripples shoot up my spine.

"Oooo you can really feel that in you,re spine...." as i pressed down on the point

"Yeah! that's your spine" she laughed "well done"

I felt as happy as a child getting an answer right.

I,d talked to her, the day before, for the first time. She was walking ahead of me on the rocky path and bent down to pick up a stone,

"I found a white stone" she said in her lovely hippy, lazy drawl of a voice, beaming a smile.
Jaysus, I thought, you wont get far if pick up every white stone you come across love. But I didn't say. I did say "Nice" and looked it over admiringly.

I would spend all the time I could with Sabrina, she was a naturally happy person and always smiled. She accepted the world around her as a wonderous place and looked around curious and interested in everything. We became good friends.

Back in Molinaseca we sat and laughed and sang that night, the whole group of us, Irish, Canadian, Spanish, Brazillian, Peruvian and deutsch and more i cant remember, until the lady of the house came down to tell us to be quiet and go to bed which we did, happily.

Photos

Okay I think I got it this time







The Meseta - After Burgos before Leon







Spain Somewhere the last few days - Lisa just ahead

The Morning

Ruesta - The river Arragones raging below. There had been a big storm the night before

Some Drunken gambler

Matthias my good german friend who finished walking just before Puerta La Reina about two weeks ago. Pictures here with 40cent glass of Vino Tinto and resulting smile from 40cent vino.

Alone Again Naturally...

After a wonderful nearly two weeks I walked thru the arid Spanish landscape into the Meseta and out the other side with Lisa, but alas she jumped on a train this morning after getting a bus yesterday. She fell ill and lost the will to keep walking so shes off to do a few short days walk into santigo and then continue her European travels. Today was the only day I walked all on my own since my very first day about 44 days ago. I suppose on one side I felt a little lonely but the truth is I felt; free as a bird, Again like starting all over: I have about 400kms ahead before finisterre(the end of the land) and the Atlantic ocean. 400kms of adventures and friends im yet to meet.

The Meseta has been, I think, the most beautiful landscape I walked thru. All day long on a straight gravel path with nothing around you except flat arid fields and a sky every shade of blue possible from cyan along the horizon to deep rich blue above the head. Didnt see a cloud for three or four days.

A little example of my days, last night I arrived in the albergue where I was staying absolutely in bits. In the morning I had got the illness Lisa had which resulted in "the trots" and a general physical weakness. But I had to walk 30km to make it into Leon for today to meet Lisa. I made the 30k but it was hell and the last 6 or 7 as the sun burned down on me I was really losing the will and my mind. but I made it.

I payed my 4€ accomodation fee and went to my bed, where i was informed in spanish thru sign language that I would be eating with them. I hadnt eaten all day for fear it would go horribly wrong in between towns as I walked but I happily accepted now and hovered around the kitchen ravanous and waiting. Two friends I had picked up were there Javier and Manollo, Manollo doesnt speak english but we always meet with a laugh and a handshake. Hes a really tricky character like a car dealer except funnier, with thinning waxed back hair, a cunning eye and a raspy smokers laugh. Hes always the first with a joke or a nudge and a laugh.

So eventually the 7 of us sat down to eat. Only Javier had broken english. the rest told stories (in spanish) the whole evening, each one met with more laughter than the last. I was a spectator of course but it was a pleasure, I could guess what most of the stories involved anyway, them being told by 6 lads, so I felt at home even tho I didnt understand fully and the lads would try to sign language a bit every now and then. But the food was delicious( salad, garlic soup and spanish traditional tortilla) and the wine flowed. After some mandarins for deserts, one guy gets a bottle of brandy, lemon skin and cloves - all in a pot and sets it on fire - whoosh - after a couple of minutes we all enjoyed this sweet syrupy drink still warm, fantastic. All that for five euro and a hand washing the dishes.

Then I got the email from Lisa saying she was catching a train so I was a little sad in the night. But I laughed in the morning as the rising sun let me bathe in its light, My knuckles were cold but I was on the road again, Leon today. Sheer joy is the morning, joy to be walking to yet another unseen spanish town, anew vista, new people as of yet only letters in my guidebook but soon to be real things to touch and see.

They say Buen Camino here to pilgrims which is "good way" but I dont like it, makes the whole thing sound like a boy scout trip to disneyland, I just say "Good Day or good morning" Buenos Diaz and it usually is.

Con Pan y Vino...

Arres, Spain

Well Skip forward to day 34. I've walked about 970kms now and im in Navarrette in Spain. I've been in Spain for 8days now. I finish the Arles Ruote in puerto la reina two days ao.It was good but alas it was without my friends that I picked up along the way. Matthias and the others didnt make their deadline and had to return home after their 28days. I was very sad to see them go. I feel I owe my survival across france to them.

It was a fantastic four weeks. After I posted last, it got very cold for about a week and then was followed by rain. the walking was great tho, I spent much of the time up talking to Matthias. Him and his stories of his family during world war two, his visits over to Brazil and tails of how hes accended so quickly in the contruction industry( balls and hard work). then in the evening we'd make food and usually have a drink or two. France was great, the people friendly and the food great, but its a distant memory now. we crossed the border to spain at somport, and the Camino has taken on a new character ever since, like a new day really.

The atmosphere is twice as relaxed here, the accomodation is much more frequent an the facilities better and the beer is half the price. The Food is much more simple. On my fist day in Spain I had a pork and cheese Roll for breakfast and it was great.

I Stayed In the nicest town I've been in, Arres, with an endless spanish vista of mountains and valleys surrounding the town. We stayed up drinking wine long into the night on the most memorable day of my trip so far.

Then like another sunset and sunrise I now join the Camino frances at Puerto La Reina. Really it feels like a new trip. With Matthias and friends now back to their homes and sleeping comfortable familiar bed, I found myself alone but not for long. in fact I was never alone at all, After drinking a little too Much with Matthias one night, I woke up with little recollection, a headache and three new spanish best friends. Aparrently I rode home on the shoulders of one.

So in Puerta la Reina I was delighted to find an aussie girl in the place i was staying. The next morning I waited to let her walk ahead, which took awhile, the I caught up with her, stole her away from the old Brazillian guy she was walking with ( dodgy knees you see) and Lisa and I have been walking together ever since.

The Camino

Dont really have time to bore you with a day to day account in the blog. but Basically My poor preparation didnt hinder me at all because I bumped into this french dude on the first day and he sorts out my accomadation needs without me having to say anything at all... besides a few nods and smiles. So thats good.

Im on Day 12 and going strong; Stayed in a nunnery last night which was a bit mad, felt like I was in school again. We all had to stay standing until she said a prayer before dinner ( weirdos!! hehe) but the food was lovely... kinda Irish food which went down well. Im also walking with 2 brazillian ladies and a german guy who is married to one of them; hes gas craic and really the only person I actually walk with; the others I just meet in the evening. ( The brazillians dont speak english and the french guy talks too much crap!!). but lately I've taken to walking ahead on my own anyway.

No injuries to report, had a tiny blister but forgot that and my aaankles were sore but they seem to have cleared up too. Have walked nearly 100k in the last 3 days so were flying across the south of france, I'm stopped in Revel now _ presumably where revels come from and I have another 13k to walk this afternoon to catch up with the rest.

The first few days where difficult as I was getting used to the pace and the heat: it was 35° after 11.30 each day. But the winds changed now and its cold before 10.30 each moring. I really miss the 35°. Now the walking isnt a problem. I would like some younger people to chat with tho. I'm told once I reach Spain there'll be many more people from all over the place. The Arles route has mainly french people., and not that many this time of year. But It is Beautiful everyday; I walk thru forrest service roads and little trails through the woods, tiny tracks up rocky hill and old backroads between vineyards with farmers slaving in the sun.

Dogs are a bollox and I'm looking forward to standing on a smaller one.

We get up at 6 every morning, pack up our stuff, have breakfast ( usually coffee and some bread) and we're out the door as the suns coming up around 7.10. Its really nice, and it seems weird saying that. Then again we're usually asleep not long after 9pm.

Alls going well anyway!! talk to you all soon

Train to Arles

6/9/07

Vineyards, pastel creams with terracotta roofes, pastures and old deciduous trees.

I keep forgetting im in france. until I look out the window again. My Head seemed so full of nonsense; Dublin Streets, drawing numbers and soon to be forgotten things.

Nuclear power plants with artifical lakes. Slow motion jets of water from giant sprinklers creating artifical rainbows. In france now alright, and on the train to Arles.

Spent the last week brushing up on my french and resting in domestic bliss with my sister and her family in the french countryside near Lyon. Unfortunetly my rest was broken by frequent trips to the bathroom as I had the most horrific food poisoning from a restaurant in cluny. Never get egg on a pizza(it seems so obvious now). beside that the doctor told me I was in good health - good news.

It was a week of bad films ( new world a particular low point), french food, country walks and chopping wood for the winter. So now its on to my Camino and my first Pilgrim Hostel (Gite)

Even the industrial buildings look better here or maybe its just the sun.

Arrived in Arles, found a bed and treated myself to some familiar food _ guess what it was!