The final 150km to Santiago was a walking contradiction - sharing some of both the best and worst moments on the trips. On the positive side, the final section of the Camino through Galicia was some of the most beautiful countryside I have seen - rolling green hills, small towns made of stone, and orange sunsets. There was an excitement in the air and the fun of traveling with good friends. On the flip side, it was by far the most busy section of trail, making finding a bed a most difficult and annoying task. Gone was the silence that allowed for concentration, replaced by an intensity to reach your goal.
Day 17: Sunday, August 16, 2009
Cebreiro to Sarria. 39.1 km / 8.5 hours
“Cattle Drive”
It was a short night on top of the mountain, as a thunderstorm and early risers prevented a full night’s sleep. By 6:15am I was one of just three people out of thirty remaining in our portion of the alburgue. It was a sign of things to come, as the character of the Camino had noticeably changed the moment I had crossed into Galicia province – and it wasn’t just in the color of the landscape. As if overnight, the number of pilgrims had increased exponentially, turning a quiet journey into a moving circus.
I am adamantly against setting out in darkness, as you risk injury and getting lost, however there was no use laying there counting the ceiling tiles with limited available beds in the Albergues ahead. I grabbed my belongings and slid out of the door at 6:30, the moon still high in the dark sky. All around me huge trees swayed in the wind, while the lights of tiny villages were visible in the distant valley below. Yet there was no quiet in the pre-dawn shadows. As I passed a stone symbolizing 150km to Santiago, I was joined by herds of new pilgrims moving forward with loud voices and an energy that could not come from days on the trail. They skipped along and sang songs – no one who had already walked 500km would be doing that! At one point in the first kilometer I counted 32 people within earshot. The vast majority were Spaniards who had come to complete the required 100 kilometers to receive their Compostela. At first I was unsure how to react, as if deep down my time on the Camino had granted me some sort of ownership of the trail and that they were somehow diminishing my accomplishment of walking across Spain. Yet for some reason it also made me think of heaven. I wondered if this trail was metaphor for the way people arrive in heaven. Would God love any individual more than another? Is there a VIP section in heaven? And when one approaches the ‘pearly gates,’ is it similar to the Camino… are you jockeying for your spot with scores of others, or are you completely alone? How does all of that work? Now those are the thoughts of someone who has been walking by themselves too long, I told myself.
I made my way along the ridge as the sky turned pink, passing through two very small villages. From my vantage point you could see the earth gently come alive in the green valleys below. I stopped frequently to take photos, as the panoramic views over the fields were breathtaking. After an hour I stopped for my addiction, café con leche, and while I sat an entire herd of cattle appeared behind the restaurant and made their way passed the group of a dozen pilgrims sitting on our plastic patio furniture in the most nonchalant manner. Their bells clanged as they crossed the road and entered one of the fields to graze. Now this was a metaphor for the final section of Camino – cattle drive!
From this point it was a 15km descent down the Galicia mountains towards the village of Triacastela in the valley below. The track was wide and it was an easy walk, taking me through green fields, brief forests, and more diary farms than I could count. At one point I watched a pair of dogs lead an entire herd of cattle along a road, with no people! They were running back and forth barking at the cows, as if they were yelling. It was a classic moment. By 11:30 I had descended through a half dozen cow towns and to Triacastela. Most would stop here, in a charming little town without a stoplight, but I pushed on towards Sarria. It was a warm, dusty journey in the afternoon but I arrived around 3 with a Swiss man in tow. I think I’ve now walked with just about nationality in Europe, which has been quite an educational experience.
At first glance, Sarria (pop. 12,887) seemed completely overwhelmed with the Camino. Pilgrims wandered around with dazed and confused looks on their faces. Two dozen were napping in front of the church, while others limped along Calle Meyor in the historic section – evidence that they were fresh to the trail. (Everyone limps after day two!) I actually think some pilgrims overdue on purpose, as if soreness and blisters are their own little badge of courage. I just shook my head at this, and realized that my plan of starting slow was the best way. The city stands just 112 kilometers from Santiago, making it notorious as the starting point for all the tourists, or those who are only interested in the minimal distance. For that reason there are seven different pilgrim alburgues, but finding a bed here during the peak season of August is still a major challenge if you arrive late in the day.
The first three albergues I passed all hung the ominous sign on their door – completo. This was not encouraging, and at least ten pilgrims I asked told me there was not a single bed in the town to be had. They were headed to a local sports center that would allow pilgrims to crash on the concrete floor, Hurricane Katrina-style. But the positologist in me had to find out for myself. I pushed deeper in the city, and almost serendipitously I found a room! It was a private albergue called Los Blasones, and for just eight euro I had acquired a bed inside the exquisitely designed stone and hardwood interior of a modern home. It was run by a very sincere Spanish woman in her late 40s, dressed head to toe in white linen, and I could tell by her appearance that every detail inside the house was her doing. I enjoyed the reprieve from the simple albergues further away, and soon drifted away to sleep. (That is until a local fiesta broke out around 11:30pm complete with trumpets and bass drums!)
Day 18: Monday, August 17, 2009
Sarria to Palas De Rei. 47km – 10.5 hours
Today, like many days on the Camino, was divided into separate parts. Today there were three. In the morning I walked in mist and crowds from Sarria to Portomarin. It was fun to people watch, and I spent much of the time jotting notes to myself for book ideas. My favorite moment occurred around nine at a trendy bar called O’Xestelo (no idea how to pronounce that), where I became a spectator of the fierce competition between the Spanish and Italians in the game of Who Can Order First, and to overhear the great cappuccino vs. café con leche debate. This proved to be quite entertaining. The terrain was very Irish – green rolling hills, stone walls, and frequent farms.
I arrived at noon to Portomarin, a town with a quite peculiar history. One guidebook ironically describes it is as a ‘product of the 1960s’ as if it too was influenced by Woodstock and Vietnam. At that time the Rio Mino, the big river that runs through the town, was dammed up to create the Embalse de Belesar, a lake which would feed all of the surrounding farms and provide power. The old village, once one of the most flourishing and richest places in the region, disappeared forever below the water. To save the history, the two big town churches – San Pedro and San Nicolas – were transported in their entirety, stone by stone, and rebuilt in the new town that sits on a hill overlooking the river/lake. So now thousands of pilgrims wander by each year and think this is where the town must have been. I laughed at this as I ate my lunch in the city park overlooking a sparkling new public swimming pool. It was tempting to stay here, as the clouds were just breaking, but my only focus now was getting to Santiago to be with Christie.
I rested just long enough, then headed out into the rising afternoon sun to begin part two of my day. I had the trail almost completely to myself, as most pilgrims at this point stop before noon to secure a bed, and it was enjoyable to daydream along backcountry roads. There were few towns in this section, and even fewer water fountains. I arrived in the town of Palas de Rei around six pm, tired from the 47 kilometers I had covered that day. The name of the village is Spanish for the King’s Palace, but I found the name didn’t resemble the modern version that had somehow grown up in its place. It wasn’t the ideal stopping point, but the next option was another two hours away. Somehow, I again found the last bed in town!
Inside the albergue I was reunited with my friend Alain, the French dentist I had walked with a week before. It was great to see a familiar face, and we headed out to dinner for part three of my day. There was much to catch up on, comparing notes of our travel, and he also was very interested in having me explain the game of American football to him. He called the defensive lineman torros, or bulls, and would constantly ask what I did when, “The bulls were after me.” It was hilarious. As I explained the game, an American in the restaurant overheard my conversation and came over to chat. Americans tend to do this, as there isn’t a lot of very good English being spoken on the Camino. It turns out he was not only from America, but from Tucson – and a University of Arizona grad to boot! He has season tickets to Wildcat games and wanted to talk all about Stoops, Lute Olsen, and my football history. I laughed about how small of a world it is, but the effect was most amusing to my French friend, who instantly felt as if he was in the company of some famous American athlete. “You are like Zinadine Zadane!” he exclaimed, referencing the French soccer superstar. Only on the Camino…
Day 19: Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Palas De Rei to Arca do Pino. 47km – 10.5 hours
I awoke hours before dawn, eager to make the final push towards Santiago. The night before I had received an email from Christie telling me she was only 15km ahead of me, and I was motivated to finally catch up. At 6:15am I stepped out of the albergue and into total darkness with Alain, looking directly at a stone which told us we were 65 km to the end of the trail. His long stride matched my own and guaranteed a quick pace, and we were soon engulfed in a thick forest. As we walked it felt a little like the “Pirates of the Carribbean” ride at Disneyland, as a surround sound of noises filled the darkness – a babbling brook to our left, creepy birds to our right. By 7:30 the sun emerged through the mist, and the trail snaked up and down hills, through sleepy stone villages, and over small rivers. We reached Melide by 9, crossing into the town over the 14th century bridge. The new part of town bustled with life and offered a Normal Rockwell-esque view of Spanish life: panaderias (bread shops) opening their doors with the sweet smell of fresh pastries, fruit & veggie stands offering a rainbow of organic choices, and a memorable man throwing handfuls of octopus (called “pulpo” by locals and considered a delicacy) into a boiling pot.
We exited the town armed with baguettes and picked up our pace to the town of Arzua 15km away. The path was less traveled at this point, taking us through endless forests of eucalyptus trees. You could literally smell them, as if it was some sort of sample lotion in a department store. By the time we reached Arzua, another typical stopping point on the Camino, there was already a long line in front of the Albergue as the Spanish fought for their place in the Great Cattle Drive. Over the last 100km I preferred the trail to the rat race of the cities, so we pushed on. It just disappointed me that what was once a peaceful, relaxing trail had morphed into a rat race where your only option is to wake up before dawn and race less than 20km to secure a bed. I’d rather take my chances and at least enjoy the day.
We pushed on into the afternoon, where the August temperatures heated the air to over 30 degrees Celcius. There was less shade in this section, and although our minds remained motivated our feet began to realize we had just crossed the marathon distance (42km) for the second consecutive day. It was not as much a time to think and talk – I felt at this point I had done that. Now the goal was within sight and the focus shifted to that of an athlete, finishing as soon as possible. It the late afternoon we finally came to Arca do Pino, a town that resembled a strip mall built along the highway. I was completely covered in dirt and was dripping with sweat. I was exhausted, and fought the final steps to the albergue. I looked up, and suddenly there was Christie sitting on a bench with her traveling companions.
Embarrassed with my current state but happy to see them, I raced over. Christie instantly shared the bad news: the whole town was completo, full. I had enjoyed the trail but now we would have to pay the consequences. They had been discussing the options, but it seemed our only bet was to crash in the local basketball gym. Every instinct told me to splurge for a hotel, but that seemed like a very un-pilgrim thing to do on our last night with Santiago less than 20 km away. We grabbed our bags and trudged to the concrete floor. It was rugged to say the least, but it would only make our arrival the next day that much sweeter.
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