Camino post-script

I've just been on a weekend retreat at a Buddhist centre in north Wales. I booked it before leaving for the camino, but funnily enough being there really seemed to help assimilate the walking experience for me. Also coincidental (or maybe not) that of the 4 or 5 people I talked to there about the camino, one had previously done it and another is probably going to this summer. I'm clearly not the only non-Christian happy to skirt the boundaries of Catholicism for the sake of a wonderful walk.

The theme of the retreat was 'body and breath: earth and air' and - sparing you the most airy fairy stuff - a lot of it was about feeling grounded in reality, in touch with the earth and air and appreciative of the amazing job the body does. There were people there who talked of feeling very cut off from the earth and air, the natural world. I certainly suffer from this when living the Cambridge rat race and it was my first urge when planning this year - just 'be outside more'.  So it was interesting for me to note, though not surprising I suppose, that, post-Camino, I feel wonderfully grounded in the outdoors.  My usual feeling of desperation to be outside whenever the sun shines wasn't there at all, which is most helpful when trying to sit for a long period of meditation! 

There were also a couple of people (meaning women - it was a women-only retreat) who talked about feeling some degree of disgust at their bodies, in general, and as we did specific exercises. This is not something I particularly suffer from (I just make sure to avoid looking in the mirror from behind) but again, post-camino I do have a newfound respect for the sheer functionality of my body in carrying me all that way. Especially feet. My feet are amazing! One of the leaders read a great poem about appreciating legs (the bits I can remember are about how edible babies' legs look and also how much the author loves prepubescent girls' calf-less legs - and I didn't have much luck googling it based on those two clues). I am not blessed with shapely legs but again, wow, they worked hard for me. It is the greatest instrument you will ever have, as the eponymous (to this blog) saying goes.

The other camino-related theme for me was about living with human contact. Both in the sense of living communally, and also with respect to human touch. The Buddhists - especially of the female variety - are a whole lot more considerate to live with than fellow pilgrims, though I guess people are also more minded towards friendly cooperation when on retreat than when walking and/or in tougher conditions. I am by nature a lone wolf but surprisingly I actually enjoyed the communal chores etc this weekend (and after the Camino was completely immune to the shared rooms). The world seems to divide into people who feel really uncomfortable during the extended periods of silence and those who are glad of them. I suspect these map vaguely onto those who were happiest walking alone and those who avoided it at all costs. Anyway, interesting to me that I enjoyed the company when balanced with solitude, and made me think that whatever the future holds I would consider cohabiting again.

The other funny experience of the weekend was a couple of activities that made you physically work with a partner. Some of these were quite innocuous (rubbing their ankles like you were trying to light a fire) but the last exercise had us lying down, pressed back to back in pairs. Cued lots of comments and a few tears from people grieving or missing children or partners. Definitely an odd though pleasant sensation to do this with a total stranger / fellow human being.

All of this feels slightly relevant as I am house-sitting alone in Wales this week with only cats, dogs and horses to talk to and cuddle. Next week I hope to be heading off on my next adventure which will again require my awesomely-useful body to carry me, and on a journey which I suspect will be a much more solitary time.

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View from my Welsh bed - not sure that humans can really be top of the reincarnation chain given what a good life these cats lead...

Day 36: to Muxia

When St James returned to Spain he put ashore in Muxia, the next peninsula north of Finisterre. His boat was turned to a rock and a lovely little shrine and then church was built on the spot. That's why the ultimate ultimate end of the camino is in Muxia.

Last Christmas Day, lightning struck the church and it burnt down. And then the rock that was St James' boat cracked in two and fell into the water. Or something like that.

Anyway, the walk from Finisterre from Muxia is absolutely gorgeous. Teresa's feet had had enough so I planned to walk alone, but instead met a new Australian on his 4th camino and ended up walking with him.

Muxia town looks like an outpost of Iceland (at least in my head), it's a modern fishing port and the speciality is dried congor eel (there are signs for the municipal eel drying racks!).

The end of the headland, and church, is still beautiful despite the Christmas Day wrath. 

Despite a non-functioning phone (AGAIN!!) Teresa and I met up with no problem and are happily enjoying some food and drink before heading over to watch the sunset.

I am a little bit heartbroken that it's all over. 

Day 35: to Finisterre

The end of the world. So beautiful, so happy to be here, and so sad that it's all essentially over (tomorrow's walk is 'just for fun').

I can't write anything very coherent so instead, for one night only, I shall photoblog: 

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After about 15k we get our first sight of the sea (imagine you're a medieval pilgrim and you've never seen it before..)

Teresa and I are still full of energy at this point...

Having come down a massive hill we walk along the coast road and through fishing villages. Here's a cemetery with a view...

Teresa's got sore feet but they're enormously helped by my (patent pending) lunchtime cure-all: extra strength ibruprofen plus two glasses of wine.

 

The coast here is so stunning. There's a small forest fire just off the camino and we see a helicopter scooping up water from the bay and dumping it on the fire.

The town of Finisterre sits next to the most beautiful beach. We rashly abandon our boots and walk barefoot. Until we realise we do need to hit the road again after all. Oops.

We locate our hotel above the harbour and Teresa opts for a nap while I walk on, rucksack-free, to the end of the world.

The final camino marker: 0.0 km to go, only the lighthouse beyond.

My feet enjoy the view at the end of the world. (All six-and-two-half toenails of them.)

It has been the most beautiful day. Don't know how I'm going to cope with normality after this!

Day 34: to Oliveiroa

Impressively, Teresa and I were up at 6.45 - as were the nuns in Santa Clara convent next door, if the church bells were anything to go by.

This early start was so we could backtrack on the bus I took last Thursday, and return to Negreira on the Finisterre camino. It was another beautiful Galician day, both in landscape and weather (roasting). I drank the whole of my water supply for the first time, which I think is 2 litres. Teresa did brilliantly given both the heat and the baptism of fire that a 33km walk is on your first day out!

Silage making is in full progress and the whole day reeked - either of cut grass, hot eucalyptus and pine, gorse, and when nothing else, dairy and muck spreading. We were mostly in tiny hamlets (only one bar stop!) and as usual the average age of the people working looked to be about 75. Some of whom wore the most astonishing flatbrimmed sunhats with a ribbon... and sometimes whatever they were carrying (eg a shopping bag) balanced on top. 

I really hope there's a generation of Galicians earning big bucks in some city somewhere, that will come back to the countryside and take over the farms and renovate the old houses. Sadly I very much doubt it.

Plenty of other pilgrims around but almost all are Spaniards, enjoying their Easter holidays. I've used Teresa as an excuse to give up entirely on dormitory life, and tonight we're in a very nice rural guest house attached to its own bar and restaurant... I can't wait for my first beer and given Teresa's tough first day I don't imagine we're going to stray far!

PS- mum what is this purple stuff?

Pps - my starter! ('Lentils')

Days 31-33 (ish) - in Santiago

Lovely long weekend with my friends Libby & Rich.  We stayed in a 5th floor apartment in a very old very central building and this had amazing views over the rooftops.

We spent Friday in an around Santiago, mostly in and around cafes in fact. At evening mass the botafumeiro - the giant incense burner - was indeed swung and it was a pretty awe-inspiring spectacle. One can't help but imagine the consequences if the rope snapped - heavy silver receptacle full of hot embers travelling at high speed over the heads of a thousand pilgrims... 

Saturday we took a day trip by train to A Coruña, on the north coast. This is a big and flourishing modern city, but with a long history, including a roman- built lighthouse. Very impressive and a worthy world heritage site. We did a lot of wandering around the seaside and then joined the locals who were all out having a Saturday seafood lunch in the narrow old town streets. I really will stop eating octopus soon.

Sunday we fulfilled Libby's ambition to at least have coffee in Santiago's Hostal Dos Reyes Catholicos - once the hospital for ailing pilgrims (which I imagine most were, by this stage), now a parador (state-run 5 star hotel). As it's Palm Sunday the Easter parades are beginning in earnest, with the Klu Klux Klan headgear of the cofradias as sinister as always. We then walked out of town to visit the City of culture, a new and enormous white elephant situated on one of the hills overlooking the city. I can't imagine how it got built (mostly... About a quarter is still unfinished and now never will be) but it's as astonishing up close as it is from afar. It had a nice free art exhibition on, and also hosts concerts etc but seems almost entirely unused. 

Teresa arrives tonight, and tomorrow we walk on towards Finisterre.

Day 30: to Negreira

Onwards! After a massively stormy night I left Santiago mid morning, expecting a drenching. Instead the skies cleared and I received an absolute roasting.

Heading west (as ever) I took the extension of the camino towards Finisterre. This continues to be impeccably waymarked but is clearly much less trod - at least as indicated by the lack of cafes en route!

The countryside felt completely tropical, with palms and banana flourishing and even the odd cactus (despite the notoriously high rainfall). The humidity arising from the earlier downpours plus very strong sunshine only added to the impression of being in the Caribbean. The fecundity of Galicia continues to amaze me - the animals are up to their knees in grass (I saw silage being cut today) and the gardens are just dripping with magnolia, camellia, wisteria and azalea blossom.

It was unbelievably beautiful and peaceful walking, even though I was pouring sweat. You could bury me in this bit of north west Spain and I would consider myself lucky.

Due to some slightly complex friend-logistics, I stopped at Negreira and caught a bus back to Santiago. Libby & Rich arrive tonight for a long weekend which I am really looking forward to. And the last section of my camino will resume on Monday morning (..with a bus back to Negreira), this time accompanied by my lovely ex-landlady Teresa. 

Lots of people I know now in Santiago - and rumour has it that at tomorrow evening's mass the incense burner will swing. (Those two things unrelated, I hasten to add).

Day 29: Watching pilgrims

Watching pilgrims walk into the cathedral square is a bit like the final part of Love Actually, with all the pictures from the arrivals hall at Heathrow. There's a fair bit of tiredness, confusion and a variety of other emotions. At this time of year, pilgrims are outnumbered by school parties of teenagers, being herded in and out of the cathedral museum on timed tickets. Between these, university students moving between classes and local residents going about their business, the newly arrived seem dazed that in this moment that is so significant to them, the world just carries on. There's no welcoming committee, in fact you can't even enter the cathedral through the main door at present because of restoration work. So what greets you, to the soundtrack of Gallician bagpipers busking, is a somewhat mundane scene and at the same time, a stream of moments that will, by someone, be remembered forever. Through the confusion, whether under- or overwhelmed*  what you see mostly is a realisation of pride in this thing that they have done. I know that walking 800km is inherently pointless. But at the end it does feel like something.

Sit in the square long enough and everyone begins to look a bit familiar. You recognise the red trousers of the short girl you followed up that hill in the rain, the bow-legged 'chafing' walk  of the other girl she's with. People that are really limping are mostly unknown - shorter-distance folk whose blisters are peaking after 100 or so km. The more comfortable looking pilgrims, those who walk freely and are muddy and a bit faded - those are the ones I'm most likely to have spent a night or two with.  

You also see the slightly stiff walk of those who arrived yesterday, now partially transformed by a shower, a good night's sleep and some semblance of civilian clothes. Those who have just arrived keep their rucksack on even as they squat down for a better photo angle. Those who have been without it for a few hours sit down and put their feet up as often as possible. All are dismayed that the sun is behind the cathedral in the morning, ruining the victory photos.

* just for Ruth 'but can you just be whelmed?' 'I think you can in Europe..'