Let the Undulations Begin

Day 3  Walk from Vilei to Ferreiros

The legends and symbols of the camino arose around me as we began our third day of the walk. First, the scallop shell dots the landscape. Steve and Rob in the food movie "The Trip" drive around Northern England in search of gourmet dishes. What did they find? The caramelized scallop, presented with a flourish, on their plates ad nauseam. 

My #2 Favorite Scallop

On the pilgrim's trail the scallop shape appears on trail markers, dishes, souvenirs sold in tourist trinket shops and as an architectural decoration. I did not tire of its shape. How did the scallop from the sea end up on 500 miles of the camino far from the sea? The vast majority of the legends connecting the scallop to Saint James and, thus to the road of the pilgrims, involves some one, like a bridegroom, or some thing, like a horse, falling into water and rising covered in scallops. For details, pursuit of these tales are scattered about the web. Today, the primary role of the scallop is to be the guiding shell to keep pilgrims on the right trail toward Santiago. 

What turn did the road of life take for Steve and Rob? Enjoy the movie.

My hope for my path was to walk without pain and soak in the countryside.  Fortunately, my legs and the weather made that goal a reality. Introspection eluded my mind. No revelations popped into my dreams. A new joy evolved though - the growth of community and companionship among our group. A comraderie of fun and fellowship sparked our conversations. I thank our guides for setting the friendly and helpful tone of the trip.  

After walking my ten kilometers daily, sightseeing did not fit on my agenda, but the scallop  fence along the rio Sarria and the morning light on  the water just a dozen steps from the hotel called to me as our bags were being loaded into the vans.   

The morning surprise was a quick trip to a monastery where the pilgrim passports were handed out for a few euros. Again the dilemma. Am I a pilgrim? Am I a tourist? If I choose to pick-up a passport, am I cheating? I am not a pilgrim. I am a tourist. Is it a sacrilege to carry a passport and get a stamp when I will have traversed by foot and by car (mostly car) under three hundred kilometers of the camino? But on the other hand, some of the stamps are really cute and the book will make a nice souvenir. As I mull these thoughts over, I join the group exploring the very ancient cemetery across from the monastery as we wait for the doors to open.   

The couple from Calgary

My conscience conceded that I am a tourist. Souvenirs are acceptable. Plus, everyone has one.  I joined the crowd. 

One prime goal of this trip for me was to minimize stress, so I decided not to compete for the most stamps in my book and not to be deflected from the joy of walking because I was on a hunt for places where I could add one more stamp to my collection. The primary places  to gain a stamp are hotels, bars, restaurants and shops. My success in abiding by this goal is reflected in the number of stamps in my book and the number of bars and shops I did not enter. Do not try to guess what my tally was. 

After leaving the monastery, we Americans were dumped on a street in town and left to follow the yellow arrows, but we lost them. We did find a highway at the edge of town which intersected with a path that led us up and down the rolling Oregon-like hills. The freeway rolled away from us.

What a pleasure to walk under the arcade of trees. We ambled. No huffing and puffing. Walking on the flat was easy, but the hills soon begin to undulate.

Two days of steep uphill walks toughened our legs. We strode with ease and enjoyed our conversation. Did we make good time? Yes, but we chose not to rush to the front of the pack.

How many windmills do you see?

We rolled over the hills. But WOW! What a surprise! The windmills poked above the hilltops. The energy from windmills provide ten percent of Spain's power.  When traveling by air across Spain, I saw the windmills dotting the tops of hills and mountains all over Spain. The claim that Spanish companies lead the global market in wind power is very impressive. We passed a very large windmill plant  situated  beside the highway near a city and, also, sighted the very long trucks that transport them to their site.

"On one record day, March 4, 2008, wind gusts sweeping the country provided 28 percent of the country’s total electricity."

Sadly, many young men leave the area because of lack of employment opportunities. Now, women rake the crops in the fields of Galicia. Today, 75% of the female population is employed on the farms and in the cities. Traditionally and understandably, the women are seen as quite independent.

I shared the path with a tractor by stepping up into the weeds. Still, many farmers use carts pulled by oxen for farm work. Many other farm jobs are also done by hand. As I strolled in the midst of the fields and farmyards, I felt sorry for the people whizzing by on the freeway who would not have a chance to wave to the woman in the field or say hola to the man on the tractor. 

Crops of potatoes, collards, turnips and other vegetables were ready for harvest as we passed the farms. Some gardens were obviously for the use of families while others were large enough to help feed a village. These staple foods become the base for special dishes like Caldo gallego, a regional soup. Delicious.

An old horreo

Old and new granaries speckle the landscape.

The older granaries traditionally housed all grains and vegetables to ripen and hold until eaten.

Traditionally they are made of granite, elevated on legs with rodent proof soffits, and timber or granite side panels. The roof is usually tiled and there is a small cross at one (and possibly) both ends. Access is gained by either, swing doors at the narrow ends, or the removal of the wooden side panels.

The new granaries stand proudly by the roads to welcome all to Galicia and announce to all that Galicia is unique. Just one of the ways tourism promotes the countryside of Galicia.

Greetings rang out to us as one last push up  to the top of an "undulation" brought us to Ferreiros and a stop for a cold drink.

My trek for the day ended here. We walked over to Casa Cruceiro to delve into another three course meal with wine. Snooze time for me. Two of us headed to Pousada de Portomarin, our hotel in Portomarin. There was a pool. The blueness of the water glistened at the bottom of the 100 steps to the pool. So, I read my book The Angels' Game." Bar exam gal and I meandered down to a grocery store to pick up cheese, meat, bread and drinks. I settled on the terrace and shared my bounty with anyone passing by. Later I carried my leftovers up to a gathering in one of the rooms. The easy chatter back and forth with new friends lulled my body enough to head off for a good night's sleep. 

Tomorrow I walk alone.

Follow the Pilgrim

EYES  WIDE  OPEN

Today we walked uphill 1200 feet in 3.1 miles to reach the town of O'Cebreiro.

We fueled up with a coffee stop in pretty Vega de Valcarce before beginning the ascent from La Faba. (This part of the walk is not on the map.) With my typical flawed timing, I managed to miss the steamy scenes on the Spanish soap and, instead, I shot the old guy.  

Coffee stops are, coincidentally, "rest stops." The view below is the view from the women's room. I remember my ridiculous phase of hanging up laundry, including the sheets and diapers....for the sake of freshness. Sanity took away that phase quickly. The green green fields mark our transition into Galicia.

My "food movie" friend  led our   small group of Americans up, up and up into the mist. Heavy breathing sang out from all of us as the rest of our walkers moved further and further ahead of us.  The cool  air seeped into my body and I did not sweat, and my face did not turn red like the day before.  Iris, foxglove, Queen Anne's Lace, angelica, yarrow and purple somethings  colored the land. JOY! How could  such  skinny stems thrust up through such  dense shrubs  to raise those radiant blooms to the sky?
And why do I feel such joy at these moments?

Surprise!!! They Are Everywhere!

Wild and domesticated plants and flowers were my companions and entertainment as the ascent continued into the cloud. 

With the mist ahead of us we wandered up toward the toward the high point and were met by the pilgrim.

What is a pilgrim, you ask? 

The quick answer is a person who makes a journey to a sacred place as an act of religious devotion.

The Pilgrim 's presence is all around us on this path

Was I a pilgrim? I was and am a little foggy about that. I was on a road to a sacred place, but, although I felt deep respect for the role of "The Camino" and the quest for the blessing at the end of the journey, I knew I was on this path for other personal purposes. The most I can say is, my journey was and is about my search for an inner solace and to feed the joy of the moment. How fitting to be in a cloud.  

The views from this spot into the Valcarce Valley are stupendous, so they say. You can see valleys, rivers and across to more mountains, so they say. They also say that O'Cebreiro almost always wears a cloud. 

This pilgrim photo is a companion piece to my view of the Oregon Coast one summer a few years ago.

Finally, we arrived in O'Cebreiro where we gulped down a drink in a bar before heading to lunch. It seems we had dawdled and others were hungry for lunch. I took a lovely, random photo of the bar and was chastised by  a very serious policeman for taking his picture. He and his partner were sitting off to the right of our guys. Who knew? I was lucky to keep my camera.

  

                                                                           

Our lunch stop was in Hospital de Condesa at Meson de Tear. I ate a filling meal of salad, roast chicken with potatoes and crema caramelo. Of course, wine was served from large bottomless bottles. No wonder I ate only a protein bar in the evening. 

                                                     

The group gathers for the downhill walk

Our walk choices for the afternoon were 11 kilometers for the tough and fit, 7 kilometers for the pretty fit and 4.7 for we seniors. We roamed down a gentle slope through small farms with lush pastures and rich soil which lent support for the many farm animals thriving on the land. Just ahead of us was Triacastelea. 

      

This gnarled chestnut tree marked the entrance to Triacastelea. Galicia celebrates many Gallic traditions and our introduction to them began here. Now we would see hórreos - traditional, small granaries as well as wayside crosses which externalizes their ingrained spirituality. Also, their spoken language has unique nuances and idioms and an example within the written language is the substitution of X instead of J as in Xunta. Our fun treat of the day was another Gallic tradition awaiting us in the bar.

Not one of us...too tired to move

The bagpipe sound announced itself from afar as we ordered our drinks in the bar. In came the trio with bagpipe and drums. It felt like Ireland which I hope to visit. Luckily, we were ahead of the fitter group by a bit and let the music  relax our muscles as we drank our drinks.

Our final resting spot for the evening was  in Sarria at the Hotel Alfonzo XI. Six more miles ticked off after a steep climb and a peaceful downhill slope to the finish. Pooped is what I was. I ate a 15g protein bar, drank water, settled down to read a new novel, "The Angel's Game" and slept.

Tomorrow, I experience "The Way."

                                             

Be The Tortoise Is My Walking Mantra

First Day!   First Joy!

The peak experience of the walk was to Monte Irago. Perched on the top of this mountain is the Cruz De  Ferro, one of the most memorable and significant spots of the The Camino. My premier goal of the walk was to reach this cross and leave my gift. Fortunately, we would start at Foncebadon. The village of Foncebadon,  home of the 12th century hermit/Bishop Gaucelmo who built a simple church and pilgrim hospice, is undergoing a restoration of some of its abandoned houses.

But first, we did a warm-up walk through the pretty village of Castrillo De Los Polvazares. Our group assembled and posed for the one and only photo I have of the entire group together. Thank you to Paul the Dad who took the picture.

We strolled through the main street as light played across the lovely stone walls. Green doors and shutters brightened up the earthy tones of walls and streets.

A silent, creepy feeling stirred inside my stomach because it was a lonesome looking place with no sign of life. The few cars we saw were parked and no drivers nor passengers were in sight. Life surrounded the village with flowers, trees, green fields and pastures. Soon we exited this vacation place waiting to be discovered and jumped into our vans for Foncebadon. 

On to the cross

        

After the warm-up, the real walk began. We were dropped off at a spot to buy a drink and/or use a restroom. We began the ascent. I followed the advice of Joyce Rupp to "walk in a relaxed manner'. Also, I shortened my step to help prevent blisters and save my knees. And I used the trick of slopping vaseline all over my feet. Never a blister did I have.  

The trail wound around the hillside and up and up and up. Immediately, I became short of breath and turned dark red. The heat is not my friend. The temperature would reach the high 90's by afternoon. I was one of the first on the trail knowing I would soon be roadkill. Soon, I was at the back of the pack passing and chatting and being passed, but visiting with the other Americans along the way. The ascent was shorter than I thought and I arrived at the cross in forty minutes. 

I held my obsidian rock in my hand to place on the mound and thought of the symbolism I had heard about leaving this gift. The symbol of leaving a "gift" started as a pagan rite of gratitude. other meanings have developed over the centuries. I questioned myself. Do I have a burden to leave behind? Do I have a cross to to carry? Are there sins to be forgiven?  I believed this act to be very personal. I, and one other person in our group, brought  a stone from home to place on the mound. I left my rock, which I found on the highway to Burney Falls and Alturas, to mark a moment of gratitude. I thanked all of the people in my life who  taught me the joy of walking in the mountains. Thank you to my travel  mates who shared joy with me on trails in high and low places. My joy as I left my rock almost lifted me off my feet.

Communication mast on top  distant hill

Leaving the cross behind, we headed slightly downward toward Manjarin passing flowering shrubs and plants. The vistas across to the mountains and valleys as we walked the rolling landscape lessened the toil of the walk. We did not arrive in Manjarin in time for the daily blessing of the pilgrims nor to hear the tape of the Gregorian chants and Taize hymns. However, it provided a resting spot and an opportunity to lotion up and drink water.  

Manjarin was brought to life by a modern-day knight Thomas. Not only did he initiate the medieval traditions above, but "the simple facilities are being organically developed along ecological lines." For us, it was a resting, breathing spot, but others would partake of a communal meal, a shower and a mattress for sleep.

Our dad and daughter team from Toronto kept an eye out for we who trailed behind as we traversed the undulations.

The undulations would take us around Punto Alto and below the communication tower (I was told our every step was being watched) which we viewed almost from the beginning of the walk. It is barely visible on the top of the mountain. As we continued our way over and down the undulations(mostly over) in the heat, I welcomed the magenta heather, the gorse, the vistas of the misty mountains and valleys below us. Most of all, I enoyed the company and conversation with new friends to keep me going.

Our leader picked we slowpokes up before we reached a steep incline filled with slabs of slippery shale (which did not phase certain others of our group).  I was delighted to head to lunch  at the Meson El Acebo. Our main meal of the day was lunch and we always had a typical three-course meal. That day it was a very large plate of peas and ham, pork with potatoes and ice cream for dessert. Wine and other cold drinks were always available.

Happy chatter and banter created a festive mood during lunch.

Our altitude was roughly 4500 feet, but it seemed like the top of this world.

 My goals for the day to reach the Iron Cross and walk ten kilometers were accomplished. 

Now I was happy accept a ride to our hotel in Molinaseca.

After a rest and shower I headed to the nearby plaza on the river. Big Surprise. I walked right by a Murphy's Pub.  Raucous noises flew out the door, but I resisted the call (I don't drink beer) and headed on toward the plaza to hook up with the group.

The Meson El Palacio was definitely the laid back hangout where everyone congregated to be by the river. The British and half of the Canadian contingencies were settled in at a table and I pulled up a chair to join them. 

Laid back was not the word for our waitress who rushed around filling orders. Once we decided on food and caught her eye and ordered and waited for the food to be delivered, we spent more than enough time  to tell our tales of the day. To be sure and fair, everyone in the plaza was ordering food. Soon, we were joined by the Canadian and Australian couples. The mood exuded a "the summer is easy" feel and I settled into relax mode. The other Americans arrived later and found a table. All was well. When it was time to settle up, the waitress was a whirlwind trying to total a zillion tabs at once.                                                                                                                                  

                                                                                                                                                                

                                                                                                                                                                

Not every person was sitting around eating and drinking. After I paid my tab I stepped over to the river to watch people playing in the river. A light breeze cooled down the evening as the water cooled those in the river.

I crossed the Rio Meruelo via the old Roman bridge and headed back to the hotel to do laundry and settle in for a night of deep sleep.

The Hotel La Floriana is a modern hotel with nice amenities and very proper service. Someone introduced playful sculptures into the lobby and yard. Everyone is familiar with the famous Spanish hams, but I learned about a popular dish that is created by stuffing the intestine of a pig. Now, whether this involves morcilla - a blood sausage with rice or offal and other ingredients or something else entirely, I am not sure what. But I have been told that it tastes AWFUL I heard it makes haggis taste like a delicacy. But here you see the hotel's sculptures give proud tribute to the pig and it's intestine. ???

Tomorrow I walk into a cloud.