Postscript

I am still in the afterglow of that which my journey has given and, just as five years ago, I am struck by how this is not just a long walk. It has an impact upon you, even if only temporarily. That most basic act of walking, the simplicity of each day's needs, the physical isolation and the detachment from the world, change your outlook on things; in having little you want for less. And there is a bond between walkers that buoys your faith in human nature, the knowing that if you have a problem you will not want for help and that in the evenings you will not want for company. There are no strangers on the Camino. 

By walking these routes you are not only making a journey across Spain, it is also a journey that takes you from a world of selfishness to one of selflessness, from a world where wanting for little seems to give you a lot and where faith in people and fortune is rewarded. And yet despite that shared nature of these trips I feel a difference in their character. These routes are as tapestries, tapestries showing a similar scene. Both are woven with the spirit of the Camino from threads of friendship and camaraderie, common purpose and isolation from the frenetic nature of the 'real' world. And as tapestries they both present a similar image. Yet this latest is more loosely woven; the same picture, the same fibres, the same spirit of purpose but a little less definition. 

When reflecting upon the two caminos there is the obvious difference of distance and isolation; the Via de la Plata is notably more remote and quiet. Not here the 'Camino families' of the Francés, disparate groups of strangers coming together for the duration. Far fewer walk the Plata and you are far more likely to find them walking alone or with an occasional partner. Maybe this explains an apparent lack of awareness and engagement by the areas and populace through which you pass. Yes, there are the hostels dedicated to walkers - cheap and comfortable - and places that offer a walkers' menu (although far fewer). But that all encompassing welcoming of strangers, the constant wish of a 'Buen Camino' from passing locals, is lacking. An abiding memory from five years ago as I walked into Pamplona is of a car pulling up alongside me, the grinning driver winding down his window and extending a thumbs-up while calling out 'Buen Camino' before then driving away. No such engagement here, even from passing pedestrians. Only from fellow walkers. Interestingly it was this absence that I found most marked in the early days of my walk. 

Ultimately though, the walk is about the walker. It may lack the gregarious nature of the Francés and the receptive nature of its locals but it still draws people together in a bond of shared goals and challenges.  Motivations and backgrounds may differ but the effect of walking hundreds of miles in relative isolation from the world and with time for reflection is the same: you adopt a life of simplicity focused on the basic requirements of your day and you become more accepting of issues you face, both in people and in the world around you. Whether as an individual you find the roots for that change in humanity, spirituality or Christianity will no doubt depend on your own background. But wherever you place it you are - even if only temporarily - a better person for it. 

Acclimatising

It is over two months since I set out for Spain and I am home. That simple life, propelled through the miles by my own efforts with a pace that lent a closeness and appreciation to the world through which I traveled and every day a clear focus, that is now a fading memory. I am home, home to a life where ‘modernity' smothers all I had before. A life of fuss and busyness, every need at the tap of a button and every minute relentlessly filled. Maybe Rudyard Kipling got it wrong. 

After so many weeks of detachment from its daily intrusion, the news makes a particular impression. News chosen for me by faceless others and mostly for its negative impact. Of wars. Of the poverty of many. And of the failings of society and organisations through their underfunding or their greed, opposite sides of a coin but we lose the toss either way. A diet feeding the schadenfreude for others' misfortunes rather than a celebration of what we ourselves have. And despite my weeks away and the efforts of the daily news cycle nothing I am hearing has really changed.

In my time away though I have largely avoided the news' seeping negativity, a negativity that at the very least frustrates given that we have no control over those events. And this, we are told, is an underlying cause of stress. Instead, the issues with which I have been faced are those over which I did have control. I would choose how far I went and with whom while enjoying the daily backdrop of the natural world, a benefit to both mind and body. Likewise I enjoyed the company of strangers, proper conversation with real people and not some neutered modern replacement remotely sent, technologically delivered. Without nuance. Without interpretation of physical expression. Just written words.

I know that in a short while I will have returned to 'normal', back to the trappings of a modern and relatively privileged life. That which I had as part of my daily routine in the last couple of months now requires effort to maintain: the association of strangers - helping and being helped; enjoying hours outdoors whatever the weather; and appreciating the simple things in life rather than immersing myself in consumerist luxuries. I have no doubt I will fail in this; my walk was like an inoculation to the shortcomings of modern living and like an inoculation the effectiveness will wear off. I guess a booster will be required at some point.

Day 56 - Home

Today was the day I headed home.

Russ and I had agreed to have breakfast in the 5-star Parador on the cathedral square. I’m not sure what the hotel reception thought when two bearded and scruffy men turned up at their upmarket establishment (and they made a point of telling us that breakfast would cost twenty-three euros) but they gave us a good table in the first floor breakfast room overlooking the cathedral square and the price was worth it with as much cooked breakfast and coffee delivered to the table as you wanted and a buffet for everything else. Afterwards we bade each other farewell and I made my way to the bus stop and the beginnings of a day of travel and my journey home. 

It was to be a long day: an hour's bus ride to the airport, an extended wait before flying to Gatwick, a train to London and coach to Corsham occupied the rest of that day and the early hours of the next morning. When I arrived home tired and weary it was two months to the day since I had left my house and I had walked some 780 miles from the south coast to the north coast of Spain. It's an experience that might take a while to sink in as I come back to reality; after two months of walking and being somewhat detached from the world my head will probably stay in that space for a few days more yet. In the meantime I intend to enjoy the comfort of my own bed, the luxury of being in the same place for more than two nights and with no need to submit to the constraints of living out of a rucksack.

Day 55 - Santiago de Compostela

It was a bright but chilly morning when I ventured out into the narrow streets around my hotel to get a coffee. There were already walkers arriving in the city, heading purposely down the old and narrow streets and towards the cathedral square.

I spent the first part of the morning in the small Pilgrim Museum next to the Cathedral and although I had already been there twice before on previous visits to the city it is an interesting place on the history of pilgrimage and of Santiago de Compostela. I then headed to the cathedral square to meet Russ, the Australian with whom I had spent time on and off in the last few weeks. We watched the comings and goings of today's walkers for a while, feeling the joy of their arrival while enjoying the fact that our efforts were now over and a day of relaxation stretched out before us. On leaving we agreed to meet up later at the fish stalls near the market to eat.

The afternoon was taken up with a leisurely lunch of plates of shellfish and glasses of wine, relaxing around the city and an afternoon siesta away from the heat of the day before making an early evening visit to the cathedral prior to meeting Russ again at the adjacent square to check out the evening music concert.  The square was already a sea of people and from the massive stage there came a mix of a live radio broadcast and live music, although mostly the former. After an hour however I had had my fill of unknown music and unknown bands and, with Russ having left a while before, I headed back to my nearby hotel where I managed to experience the rest of the concert into the early hours while trying to sleep in my room. 

Day 54 - A Coruña and Santiago de Compostela

This morning I awoke with no need to walk. It still has not sunk in and I feel I am trapped in some mental nether world between my previous days of walking and the yet-to-be normality of home life. The fact I will be flying home two days from now is slowly lodging itself into my head but I have no clear plan other than to get the train back to Santiago. I had hoped to visit a museum before departing but it seems Monday is the day when museums are shut throughout the city so I took a wander around the old town and ensconced myself in a cafe for a while before collecting my rucksack, loading it onto my back and making probably my last walk of the trip, the mile and a half through city streets to A Coruña station.

By early afternoon I was again in Santiago de Compostela's cathedral square, sitting watching today's selection of walkers and cyclists arrive, the whole place busy and alive with a buzz of excitement. I can't help but think this square must be one of the happiest places in Europe with its continuous stream of people radiating joy, arms raised in triumph, filled with smiles and buoyed by the satisfaction of a challenge completed while no doubt experiencing that strengthened human bond that the Camino seems to imbue: it is a heady mix. I drifted through the rest of the day, easily filling it with essential and non-essential activities: shopping, cafes, packing for my return, relaxing in my room. Although I am tucked away in a narrow alley it is not far from the cathedral square with its busyness and its hourly chiming of the cathedral bells so I am not expecting a lot of peace, especially tomorrow when, I am told, there is an evening concert in the square behind the cathedral and music in the streets. It should prove a lively end to my two months in Spain.

Day 53 - Sergude to A Coruña (12 miles)

Today is my last day of walking. It has not really sunk in. Even telling the only other two people in the albergue this morning and hearing those words spoken aloud did not seem to make it any more real; the certainty that after only thirteen more miles it will all be over remained an elusive phantasm that my mind seemed unable to grasp.

Towards the end of yesterday the open countryside was becoming dotted with houses. Today as the morning progressed those dotted houses coalesced into small villages and the villages slowly merged into the surrounds of A Coruña. As final days go it was going to be pretty forgettable for its beauty given that I was heading into a port city. I was blessed with no rain and there was a nice enough stretch along the river a few miles before the finish but for the large part, once I had entered the outskirts of the city it was mostly square blocks of flats and tourist accommodation built so as to snatch glimpses of the water. The last stretch was a long curving walk to the old town around what once was probably a beautiful bay but was now home to a fast main road, lined with shops on one side and with a backdrop of industry and port facilities on the other, until it finally ended by the city marina and a wide pedestrian area with outdoor cafes and restaurants. But you had to look hard to find the sea.

At just after midday I reached the 72 kilometre marker by a Romanesque church in the old town indicating the start of the route to Santiago and the end of my route from Cadiz, fifty two days and some 840 miles after I had started. I sat and reflected for a couple of minutes, although it now all seemed a bit of an anticlimax, before heaving my rucksack on my back and heading to a tiny bar in the narrow streets of the old town for a celebratory drink and a shellfish lunch.

I headed out to explore later in the afternoon. My destination was the Tower of Hercules, a massive construction overlooking the North Atlantic coast and the oldest extant lighthouse in the world; it was known to have existed in the 1st Century. It is probably A Coruna's most famous sight and I had originally been there in 2008 when I sailed into A Coruna having crossed the Bay of Biscay. Afterwards I walked back to the old town via the wide and busy coast road with views across the water to the rocky cliffs of northern Spain and a wide beach behind which no patch existed that wasn’t the tall, square block of a hotel.

I finished the day in a cafe in the old town eating seafood and drinking beer. It was quiet as it was still early for Spain although late enough for me; I was going to make the most of having a proper bed for the night. Tomorrow I have nowhere to walk to.

Day 52 - Poulo to Sergude (14 miles)

It was another drizzly day. Another day where the dampness of the weather brought out the smells and essence of the countryside. Another day where I spent much of my time in that countryside walking through the still air of dank woodland. There were some stretches along quiet narrow roads that took in tiny villages where on a couple of occasions I stopped at cafes, including one on the edge of the few scattered buildings that made up the small village of Ordes where I chatted with walkers heading from the coast as we sat in the shadow of a giant model dinosaur and large tractor based sculptures; I was in no hurry. Halfway through the day I passed the point where the routes from Ferrol and A Coruña join if you are heading south. I took the left route towards A Coruña and the steady flow of walkers heading towards me more or less dried up. 

It was my penultimate day. Tomorrow I reach the north coast and the end of my walk. But for today I am in a modern albergue in the tiny village of Sergude where I am alone apart from two young girls heading south towards Santiago. As I walked into the village and to the albergue Sergude seemed to have little to offer, just a string of small houses set back from the quiet road behind their tidy gardens. There might be more of a soul - a bar, a shop, somewhere to eat - but as my journey draws to a close and the final curtain starts to drop, for some reason I felt disinclined to leave the accommodation to find out. Tonight, instead, I am alone in the silence of this spartan albergue and quite content, working my way through the last of the food I have been carrying with me; I will not be needing it after today.

Day 51 - Sigüeiro to Poulo (9 miles)

The Camino Ingles gets its name from the fact that it was the route followed by people arriving at A Coruña from Britain and Ireland to walk to Santiago de Compostela. It went out of favour, as did any form of English pilgrimage, during the reign of Henry VIII when he broke from the Catholic Church. The modern route is only forty seven miles, the shortest of all the Caminos, and so most people extend it by starting at Ferrol further along the coast thereby doing the necessary mileage to gain a 'Compostela'. I have only the desire to get to the coast so A Coruña is my target - I guess that simple aim does bring with it the benefit of being able to claim historical purity - but it is proving difficult for me to stretch this into a five day trip to match my hotel reservation in Santiago next week. 

Today was a short nine miles so I made a slow start, lounging around in the sitting room at the albergue and breakfasting with what I had in my rucksack, before heading out under skies that promised rain despite a forecast that did not. It was a day of woodland and rural smallholdings, a forgettable stretch on tree-lined track alongside a motorway, and a couple of tiny villages. And of course rain. I am going against the normal flow of traffic and it still feels a little strange seeing everyone else heading towards me. I enjoy chatting to those coming the other way but I enjoy more the solitude in between, just me and the surrounding countryside; there is contentment in the quiet of nature and after so many weeks even walking in the rain has become nothing more than another facet of my journey, something of the outdoors to be enjoyed rather than to suffer as a discomfort or an inconvenience. Today, amongst those heading towards me there were three middle aged Mexican women brightly caped against the weather and with one hobbling badly. It gave me an opportunity to make use of the first aid kit I had so far carried unopened as I administered to her blisters and bandaged her foot. Apparently I am now an 'angel'.

In practical terms going 'against the flow' means I have no way of estimating how many walkers are ahead of me, of gauging whether an albergue I am planning to use will be empty or full, but that wasn’t a problem today. I had chosen today's albergue because it seemed to be nicely remote, its location out of step with the customary rhythm of daily distance for the route; I guessed that would make it unpopular for people coming from the north even though there are few albergues to choose from on this particular Camino. I got there early, enjoyed a peaceful hour in its surrounds waiting until it opened, and then spent the afternoon relaxing. There are plenty of bunk beds in the large upstairs room but by the end of the day only three of us had arrived to make use of them.

Poulo is too small to even be called a village and has no amenities to speak of. But just down the lane from the small and rustic, stucco and stone built albergue is an upmarket 'Casa Rural' guest house with a good restaurant where I went with an Italian walker from the albergue for a decent dinner in very nice surroundings; with little time left to me I thought I would spoil myself. It was either that or the dregs of the food in my rucksack.

Because I do not want to walk needlessly short days, and because accommodation locations better suit it, I have decided to walk the route over four days and to spend a day in A Coruña itself so I can explore it a little before catching the train to Santiago. Over the next two days I will therefore do the remaining twenty five miles to that city.

Is My Blog Spiritual Enough?

When I was looking on line for information on the Camino Ingles, in particular convenient places to stay over four days, I came across a couple of blogs of others who had done the walk and which made think my own blog was lacking; they both included plenty of what I call 'fridge magnet philosophy' with phrases like 'a spiritual journey for a new way of living' and talking about the 'sacred purpose' behind the walk. I thought I had better look at addressing these shortfalls in my blog and approach to the camino if I were to retain credibility in the eyes of my fellow bloggers. The sacred purpose was easy as I have had one since I arrived: to try the wines of all the regions I pass through. I think I have pursued that with some dedication. But I am a bit more challenged by the motivational-come-spiritual enlightenment soundbites. I was thinking about it while I was walking and I believe I have come up with some that offer that mix of meaningless metaphor in a phrase that sounds full of gravitas.

If you believe life is shit then you need to think more like a fly

It is only by igniting your inner passions that you will melt the iceberg of sedentariness

Nothing is impossible: just ask Ethan Hunt. 

I just need to decide which is the most inspiring….

Day 50 - Deseiro de Abajo to Santiago de Compostela (6 miles) to Sigüeiro (10 miles)

The one thing that struck me after I set off at 7.15 this morning was for just how long the city was held at bay by the countryside. Heading in from the east on the Camino Frances you seem to be embraced in an urban sprawl quite a long way from the city. Today though, I saw a three kilometre Camino marker and I was still on a tree-shaded cobbled path alongside a small stream. Admittedly I could hear the steady drone of traffic on a main route into the city somewhere across the valley but it was not so close as to overwhelm the rural feel of my surroundings or change the mood of my walk. Soon after that I almost happened upon the city as I crested a small hill on a quiet and narrow road and before long I was amid the bustle of its busy streets. Following a climb up to the old town, I was walking into the Cathedral Plaza after fifty days and nearly seven hundred and fifty miles of walking.

First Sight of Santiago

Finishing the Camino is an unusual experience. You might expect elation for having accomplished so much and maybe a little disappointment for something coming to an end. But as I walked into that cathedral square, mingled with my sense of achievement was also a feeling of emptiness, a sort of 'is that it?' for my efforts. For nearly two months I had made the path my home, the people I shared it with my close confederates, and now after hours of walking day after day everything had suddenly come to a halt. During those weeks I had also become detached from the life I had lived before I started my walk, replaced by the daily focus of the Camino. Now it was as if my whole reason for getting up each morning had suddenly been swept from beneath me; I felt briefly unanchored in the world and at the mercy of unknown tides and currents that flowed from a world beyond my walk. I've been told there is a name for that void, that sense of loss, that comes to some once they finish. For me though, the expression ‘Camino Blues’ seems far too jaunty for the flatness it is meant to describe.

I think in part it was this feeling of loss of purpose that prompted my decision later in the morning. I had met Patrick and others for breakfast and it had been good to catch up but afterwards I had tried to find an albergue for the night and all those I had rung were full (I have been hearing a lot about how crazily busy the Camino Frances is this year). A check of hotels online produced prices I was not willing to pay for the convenience of a night in Santiago, particularly as I already have two nights booked here in a few days time. So rather than pursue finding a room in a busy city that I was starting to find overwhelming I decided to leave. I had made the decision a while ago that after Santiago I would walk the 'Camino Ingles' north to the port of A Coruna and so effectively complete a 'coast to coast' of Spain. Instead of a night in Santiago beforehand I would begin my trip to A Coruna today and work out how to extend it by a night to match my hotel reservation in Santiago for next week. 

So I walked. It was a good decision: not only was it a beautiful woodland route once I got out of the city but it just felt right to be once again walking in the countryside. At the moment any sense of home - of belonging - lies for me in a journey and not in a place and I do not think I am quite ready to face crowds and city streets just yet; Santiago had been quiet when I arrived early morning but even in the short time I was there it felt like it was filling up as more and more walkers arrived, striding down its old streets towards the cathedral square.

It did feel strange walking away from somewhere that for so many weeks had been the ultimate destination for all my efforts but it also felt good to leave the city, albeit a beautiful one, behind. It was also strange to see so many walkers coming towards me as I headed in the opposite direction to their route. A couple I talked to told me how quiet the Camino Ingles had been; I guess you do not notice the numbers when you are drifting along with them. 

Ten miles on and I am sitting in a bar in the town of Sigüeiro enjoying a glass of wine before I head upstairs to my room. A young blonde sits on the adjacent stool and drops her small rucksack on the floor, her make up and hair perfect, her lips filled and her walking clothes fashionable, pristine and worn to show off her body rather than ease her travels. It sticks in my mind because it just seems so incongruous and she must form quite a contrast to me, no care for my image and carrying the evidence of hundreds of miles on the road; two people at opposite ends of a spectrum. I am intrigued by her story but can not bring myself to ask so instead I check the distance I might walk tomorrow. The total distance from Santiago to A Coruna is forty seven miles so if I am to spread the walk over five days I will not be going far.

Santiago de Compostela

Day 49 - Leiras to Deseiro de Abajo (10 miles)

On the Camino Frances when you get to within one hundred kilometres of Santiago it becomes a circus: there are big groups of walkers (freshly laundered pilgrims as I referred to them), coaches and taxis to support them and no end of trinket shops, all of which were non existent for the previous seven hundred kilometres. The reason: if you walk a hundred kilometres to get to Santiago you get a certificate for having completed a Camino and so that is where a lot of people start. I did wonder how busy this route would get as I approached the city but as I walked out into a bracing morning with only seventeen miles to go I need not have worried: I was again alone in the world with only my thoughts for company. 

My plan today was to spend the night in an albergue six miles from Santiago and walk in tomorrow for breakfast with Patrick who arrived there yesterday. This close to my destination I did expect to begin to see evidence of urban sprawl but I have been pleasantly surprised. Again a large part of the day has been in or around woodland - oak and pine and eucalyptus - sometimes on tracks, sometimes on roads and it has, as ever, been hilly; there was a steep drop into the valley of the River Ulla followed by a climb of over a thousand feet on the other side. Some of the higher parts of the route offered good views across the Galician landscape in return for your efforts. 

By early afternoon I was at Deseiro de Abajo, a few houses on a main road to Santiago, where I had lunch in the cafe adjacent to the albergue before chilling for the rest of the day as there is nothing else to distract you here. Tomorrow I arrive in Santiago de Compostela to complete this section of my walk. After so many weeks it is hard to believe that it is only two hours walking away. 

Day 48 - A Laze to Leiras (14 miles)

There was heavy drizzle when I set out this morning despite a forecast for good weather all day when I checked first thing; I'm beginning to think I might have to get used to that while I'm in Galicia. As I walked in the rain, through fields and woodland, it felt even more like Britain than it did yesterday with a landscape of tree-covered rolling hills and farmland, partially obscured by cloud and showers. In the breaks between the rain the air was still and full of scent; flowers out in the fields and in the woods the heavy smell of fern and hints of eucalyptus from the tall, ribbony barked eucalyptus trees that have made an appearance in the last few days. It seems the wet weather brings out the smell of nature more than the warmth of previous days.

It was a short day and I was in no rush so I took my time, stopping at cafes in Silleda and Bandeira, the two small towns I passed through, where I chatted to other walkers who like me sought respite from the weather in a cup of coffee. In between it was another day of walking through woods and in and out of thankfully shallow valleys but with the addition of rain which in reality was more of a pleasure than a pain; it added a new mood to the scenery and alerted different senses. 

By the time I reached my small albergue in the early afternoon the weather had improved. The albergue sits in splendid isolation in the countryside and is spacious and a stylish mix of wood, exposed stone and modern tiles, as you might expect from a place owned by two Italians. I am the only person here but I have found an old guitar in the corner of the bar (next to the ancient and massive stone wine press) and this has kept me - and I like to think the albergue owners too - entertained.

Tonight I expect to sleep well, no snoring from other walkers, hopefully no mosquitoes and definitely no motion activated lights that switch on in the dormitory every time someone gets up to go to the bathroom in the night, all of which I experienced last night. Tomorrow is another short day, my last before Santiago. I guess the excitement should be building however the fact that I am nearly at my destination after so long has not yet sunk in.

Day 47 - Oseiro Monastery to A Laze (19 miles)

It was another day of crossing the hilly Galician countryside, ascending and descending throughout the day. Admittedly the first hill was the worst, steep and wooded and with a boulder strewn path which I climbed in the half light of morning. I do not remember the route through Galicia on the Camino Francés being so difficult; yes it was undulating but you seemed to stay high. Here it seems the route climbs in and out of valleys continuously, some are high but most are gentle descents to small streams followed by a climb out of the valley bottom, not too taxing with fresh legs but more challenging after six hours and eighteen miles behind you.

Admittedly the scenery provided a distraction. It was a day of shaded woodland and open pasture, of green rolling hills and small gurgling streams. There were the blues and purples and yellows of a whole host of flowers in the fields and the heavy dankness of ferns in the woods. It was a picture of Britain with a Spanish twist. And for most of the day it kept my mind off the distance I was having to cover.

I am now in the albergue at A Laze, an old village of few houses that unfortunately now finds itself next to a fast main road. From the outside the albergue is solid, square and old stone yet inside it is functional concrete, high roofed and spacious. I walked up the road to eat in the nearby restaurant, enjoyed a beer and wine and am now relaxing after the day. Tomorrow is a shorter fourteen miles which will put me within twenty miles of Santiago.

Day 46 - Ourense to Oseira Monastery (21 miles)

Two hours ago I was sitting on cool grass surrounded by low hills with the sound of a river behind me, the rustle of the wind in the trees above and the ever present bird song the only sounds. It was a setting of total tranquility and befitting the site of a working monastery, the square grey bulk of which was filling the view to my front. I was waiting with another walker for 3pm when the monks finished prayers after which we would be able to get into the monastery albergue where we were going to spend the night. Or so we thought.

You have to be flexible on the Camino. After over an hour with not a soul to be seen I went off in search of someone to ask about getting into the albergue. It took a while - more because of the absence of people rather than the size of the village - but I found an old man who told me that the monastery albergue was closed (although there were no signs to that effect on the door) but that the municipal one was open. It turned out to be not far away tucked in at the back of the monastery but again there were no signs as to its existence. And neither did it show in my guide book or on my Camino app which has been pretty accurate to date. I also learned at the albergue reception that neither of the two bars listed in my guide book were currently open and the only place you could get food (in the form of a takeaway sandwich) was the monastery office and at only very specific times. It was all rather unfortunate and not what I had hoped for when I set out this morning.

It had been a long day to get to that point, starting with a hard climb out of Ourense before sunrise and with a couple more climbs to look forward to later in the day. But I did spend most of the day walking through woodland which was pleasant, breaking out into the occasional tiny village before getting back amongst the trees. It still feels remote here but it is noticeable how the villages have far fewer derelict houses compared with those from only a couple of days ago; we now seem to be closer to where the money is.

I am now fed, using what I was carrying in my bag: bread, a little meat, cheese and fruit. I am hoping this will be enough to see me through the start of tomorrow's twenty mile trip until I find somewhere to eat something more substantial. If all goes to plan it is the last long day before I get to Santiago de Compostela, another four days walking away.

Day 45 - Ourense

One thing Ourense is well known for is its thermal springs. It was the natural hot springs along the river that originally attracted the Romans here and they are still used today. There are four or five baths spread over about four miles along the river bank, most are public and free and one is privately owned. It would be silly not to make use of Orense's most famous attraction and an invigorating thermal bath seemed just the thing for a weary pilgrim on his rest day.

The day started slower than expected when I was woken by thunder and torrential rain outside. The rain went on into mid morning so I relaxed in the comfort of my room waiting for it to stop before heading out for coffee and a visit to the tourist office to check on albergue closures in the next few stages and get more information on the springs. I was advised that the best ones are those furthest from the city so I set off along the unspoilt river bank for a four mile walk to reach the furthest public bath. I passed a couple of the nearer ones, right on the river's edge, not too busy and like a series of small, open, rocky lidos, before arriving at the slightly larger one I had been recommended. I changed and wandered down to the water's edge and was just about to get into one of the open baths when I was stopped by a supervisor. I was wearing shorts and I had to wear swimming trunks. Furthermore I had to have flip flops. I had neither. My protestations that I had walked from Cadiz, that my shorts were clean and that no one wore flip flops while in the baths fell on deaf ears. My only option was to walk a little further and pay to use the private baths where they could provide these things. 

For me the series of nicely tiled pools at the private baths lacked the rustic charm of the rocky pools of the public ones. But more disappointing still, these baths were set back from the river which was completely out of sight and so it lacked that intimacy with the water that the others had; somehow it seemed less natural. But the hot waters were very soothing and not too sulphurous and I spent nearly two hours relaxing and occasionally getting pummelled by high pressure jets before I headed off.

By the time I had caught a bus back to town, done some shopping and eaten it was time to head out again, this time to a guitar concert I had seen advertised in a little art centre in the old town. It was excellent, not quite flamenco but nearer flamenco than anything else I can think of as a comparison. The first piece he played had something to do with pilgrims so it seemed quite fitting that I was there.

I am now lying in my bed and smelling slightly of sulphur. It is looking like I have two long days ahead because of an albergue closure that would otherwise have made for a series of shorter stages so I am hoping for a restful night and good weather tomorrow in readiness for the 20 miles I face.

Day 44 - Xunqueira de Ambía to Ourense (15 miles)

When I started planning this trip I saw Ourense, my destination for the day, as a point from which Santiago de Compostela would be within touching distance. However, now I am here, it still feels a little distant; it may be under seventy miles away along the Camino but it will still be about five days of walking with some steep climbs thrown in before I actually get there. In the meantime I will be taking the opportunity for one last rest day in this, the last big town before Santiago.

It was not the most inspiring of days. We are effectively leaving the remote and tiny villages of Galicia and heading into the more populated areas and our walk reflected this. At first we felt like we were deep in countryside as we left Xunqueira de Ambía but before long we were following a road, quiet at first and interspersed with small villages. But the road became busier and the villages got closer together until they merged into one continuous string of buildings forming the various suburbs of Ourense. 

By early afternoon we had reached Ourense proper but it was still over an hour of walking along a busy road until we reached its heart. These long walks into big cities are never enjoyable and you mostly see the worst of places before you see the best but that did not stop me wondering what the fuss was about with Ourense; I had read it was an undiscovered gem of Galicia but at the moment, as a gem, it seemed rough and uncut. I parted with Patrick with whom I had been walking and made for my hostel before heading out again to meet him and others for lunch. The route from where I am to the old centre is along a pedestrian street much like a vehicle free Oxford Street in London. It was clean and neat and full of high class shops but still not meeting my idea of an ‘undiscovered gem'. However, by the time I had reached the Plaza Mayor I was slowly becoming converted; there was now much more old architecture and plenty of car free streets and the area where we enjoyed our octopus lunch was a tiny maze of charming, narrow lanes crammed with restaurants, bars and cafes. Afterwards I said my farewells: with a day off from walking tomorrow it is unlikely that I will see any of these fellow walkers again until Santiago, if at all. For them their journeys would continue in the morning. For me it was back to the relative luxury of my small private room to plan for tomorrow and the next few days.

Day 43 - Laza to Xunqueira de Ambía (21 miles)

Today we faced the vagaries of hill weather. After last night's rain storm we checked the forecast for today to find it would rain from 9am. Well, there was nothing we could do about it but at least we were forewarned. But this morning when I awoke there was no sign of rain, only low cloud and mist clinging in layers to the valley and to the hilltops with a forecast now for rain from 1pm; plenty of time to complete a short day's walk and find an albergue. Later, as four of us sat having a mid morning coffee at Alburgueíra in a bar decorated from top to bottom in scallop shells, I mentioned the afternoon rain only to be shown a forecast by Bernadette that showed no rain at all for the day. This was good news as we now planned for a long day to catch our colleagues who had pressed on further yesterday. So we finished our coffee in good cheer only to walk outside into heavy drizzle.

That coffee in Alburguería had to be earned; it was a slow and steady thirteen hundred foot climb to that tiny village. The four of us had set off separately from Lazá, at first following the lush and flat valley floor with mist filtered sunlight adding beauty and a sense of mysticism to the morning. Then the climb began. It was in some respects the reverse of yesterday, starting in verdant green surroundings and ascending to a dry, rock and pine covered landscape. It was a hard and sweaty two hours to the cafe in Alberguería and the drizzle that met us when we left.

The remainder of the day was a mix, both in weather and landscape. There would be blue sky and the promise of sun only for it to rain again shortly after we had removed our waterproofs. And there was high moorland, open fields and a little road. What I particularly remember though were the stretches of ancient woodland we spent much of the afternoon in. The gnarly old trees and the path marked by slivers of moss-covered rock standing like rows of lost cemetery stones gave a sense of walking through antiquity, the darkness of the weather and the dripping of water only adding to a Tolkienesque sense of age and mystery. It was something special and it took the mind off the distance we had set ourselves for the day.

It was to be ten hours after leaving Lazá before we arrived at the modern albergue just on the edge of Xunqueira de Ambia and where we were reunited with those we had lost yesterday. A walk into the town for beer and food, a look round the church - where an old lady opened up areas for us that we would not normally have seen - and finally a communal meal back in the albergue rounded off a long but satisfying day.