Tired

Fonfria to Samos (Thursday, June 24th)
Grrrr. The cyclists are up early, making lots of noise, and then, surprise, they're still out in the cafe sipping their coffee awhile later when we get out there. It isn't like they really get an early start or anything... okay soapbox over.

Anyway, since we are awakened early, we get ready and are on the road before the sun is up



We continue to walk through the Galician countryside, and I add to my collection of pictures of interesting doorways. Green is still the most popular color, though it doesn't look as though anyone has painted anything in recent years. As I have already mentioned, Galicia is the poorest region in Spain and we pass many households and farms in which it is difficult to imagine anyone living because the conditions seem so bad. The dampness and the cold weather must be nearly unbearable in some of these places, except that the farmers keep their livestock in the same buildings in which they live (which means the smells must get unbearable!), so their body heat perhaps also helps keep the humans warm in the colder weather. In summer, the animals are left to graze outdoors. One farmhouse has an outbuilding with unique siding. We pass through another farm that actually has a separate barn, and this horse pops his (or her) head out a window to greet us!



As we continue our gentle descent down the mountainside, we are blessed with beautiful early morning views. One of the views includes the quarry from which the stone and lime for the cathedral in Santiago was constructed. At the time it was being built, pilgrims were expected to take at least one stone with them as they passed by and carry them to the kilns in Castaneda, and that is how the basilica in Santiago got built!

We have seen some very old trees already, but in Galicia, especially, we will see some amazing ones, including this gnarly specimen. Notice how big it is compared to Stella! I don't have any idea what kind of tree it is, but apparently, you have to have pretty long arms to be a 'tree hugger' in these here parts!

We arrive in the very old city of Triacastella, which seems to be a very much alive little city and very pleasant. We come to the church and, as we do in lots of places, decide to poke our head in, if for no other reasons than just to admire the art and to get a stamp on our credentials. It is a lovely little church. While part of it dates from the 12th century, most of it, including the bell tower above, only date to the 18th. But it has an active congregation as opposed to many of the others we've seen. On the wall is some work of a Sunday school class that is rather interesting. In many different languages, it says, "To be a Christian is to imitate Christ within your own limitations." Some bread for the journey. We come back outside and notice how full and closely packed the graveyard is - apparently space is at a premium as they have some of them stacked 5 and 6 high behind where I'm standing. Perhaps the ground is that rocky and they just can't go down; they have to go up. Nothing like a highrise cemetery! Outside the church is the city's coat-of-arms which clearly indicates three castles, like the name implies. We have not seen hide-nor-hair of anything that looks like a castle or a 'hillfort' within or overlooking this little city nestled in the hills. We stop in a bank to get some more euros and ask about the castles and the name of the city. The man just laughs it off - oh, they've been gone for centuries, apparently. Guess we should have read the guide book more closely, apparently! We're a little disappointed.

Coming out of Triacastela, there's a choice. We could go more directly to Sarria (we'll end up going through there anyway), or we could take the southerly route that goes through Samos. We opt for Samos because it has the wonderful Benedictine monastery there. It is one of the oldest monasteries in the Western world, with origins back to the 6th century! It is also supposed to be a very scenic route. It ends up being sort of another Mystic Seaport route, but we do eventually get there. Stella and I finally reach one village that we think just has to be Samos only to find that it is not, but we take a break at a little cafe there so we can make it the last few kilometers.

In going the last few kilometers, I get a little ahead of Stella again, but I am near several other pilgrims. We are all pretty much ready to get to Samos. At last, we arrive at a break in the trees and we are looking down into the city. It is fascinating to have this perspective on the monastery building. It still takes a little while to get into the city - it feels like we are walking around our elbow to get to our thumb as we are apparently walking around an old city wall or something, but at least it is downhill all the way. Finally, I enter the city proper. The monastery sits like a doting grandmother with skirts all laid out, the village gathered around her like so many eager grandchildren. There is a small river and almost a park-like setting surrounding the monastery.

I'm really tempted to get an ice cream as I sit down on the stone wall to wait for Stella to arrive since we are not sure where we are going to stay here. It feels good to let go of my pack and just lay down on the top of the wall and feel the breeze... ahhhhh... Did I mention that Stella and I have been developing an ice cream habit lately? With a preference for alemandrado blanco? It's vanilla ice cream on a stick covered in white chocolate with chopped up almonds. YUMMM. And we have a preference for which brand of ice cream, too, but in a pinch, we'll take what's available. Especially after a long hot walk. I guess I'll wait for her to do the ice cream. We probably need lunch first. Maybe.

Okay, so back to the monastery and Samos. The monatery was at first Coptic, like the monks in the Desert. By the 8th century, these monks would help educate King Alfonso II, the king who would later help promote the discovery of St. James' tomb which happened during his reign (the plot thickens!). During the 10th c., the monastery became Benedictine. About the year 1000, the monks built the unusual Chapel of El Salvador, also known as the Cypress Chapel, after the enormous cypress tree that stands next to the chapel and that is over 1000 years old. They have been taking in pilgrims ever since they became Benedictine. But this is not where we decided to stay!

After Stella arrived, we found an almost new alburgue just down the street, overlooking the monastery. We thought it was expensive, but we are realizing the closer we get to Santiago, the more expensive everything is! Anyway, the Val de Samos Alburgue, too new to even be in our updated guidebooks, was lovely. And there were not that many of us staying there. One woman staying in our bunk room seemed to be especially anti-social or else she just wasn't feeling well. She covered her head as she laid on her bunk the entire time. Once again, the building was practically built into the rock wall behind the building.

After we did our laundry, got cleaned up and settled, we went out and toured Samos. We found some lunch and then we decided to do the late afternoon tour of the monastery. It was really interesting. Only about 20 monks still live in the huge building. Part serves as a hostel; part is rented out as apartments it looks like. We get to see some of the more public areas on the first and second floors and the cloister and courtyard. Parts of the monastery have been rebuilt or added onto many times, so there are many styles represented.
Most of the tour was in Spanish, so, even though Stella was with me, we didn't understand a lot of the details of what was being said, but we got the gist of it. There was a big fire in the 1950's, so many of the murals in the upstairs hallways are suprisingly modern.

After the tour, we finally got our ice cream! We found that the local library was open and had computers we could use for a little while. Dinner was at a little 'mom & pop' restaurant down the street. Salut!

Triumphant

Herrerias to Fonfria (Wednesday, June 23rd) Today, we conquered the second mountain, O´Cebreiro! As Stella came up over the crest, she held up her arms ala Rocky, tada! O´Cebreiro (pronounced Oh-thay-bray-ERE-a, according to our guidebook), is 1300 meters, and actually, we also crossed Alto de Poio (or O Poio), at 1337 meters, the highest point in Galicia and on our trip, a short time later. Even though we had dreaded this mountain a little, it wasn´t so bad. The first third, from Herrerias up to La Faba was a little difficult. At first we shared asphalt with the cyclists, but quickly branched off onto wooded, steep and rocky paths. There was actually a section, though, that seemed rather like a little hidden paradise, a bit primordial, and, as no other pilgrim was immediately in sight before or behind me, I felt as if it was just for me to savor. As if I were an Eve in my very own Garden of Eden. I stayed there a few extra moments, a welcome break during the most arduous part of the morning. Then, I finished the steep climb up to La Faba and I was quite ready to get there. On leaving the little village, I was slightly confused by the yellow arrow and couldn´t tell which of the paths to take, left towards the fountain, or straight ahead. As has happened so many times, a person, or perhaps a guardian angel, just appears out of nowhere and points the way. Stella says we have big 'L´s' on our foreheads for ¨lost¨ and everyone in any town just seems to know what we need and where to take us. It has happened so many times it´s amazing. So this guy just appears out of nowhere and indicates that I´m to take the straight ahead path. Only then do I see the other yellow arrow which says that, too. Meanwhile, he´s asking me where I´m from and I tell him Ëstasdos Unidos. He tells me (he has to tell me twice before I understand him) that the people who live in the very house we are standing in front of are from the US, specifically Connecticut. Who would choose to live in this out-of-the-way village? Nice house. Definitely someone who wants to REALLY get away! Thanks to this man´s assistance, I am on my way again. The second third, to La Laguna de Castilla, is much less steep and more open, less rocky. I take a break at a little bar-cafe in Laguna. Two little minivans let out a group of older touristy Camino travelers who don't really look like they are dressed for hiking. I assume they are just going to do this one segment up to the top of the mountain, but I will end up seeing them a couple of days later. It seems they travel by van from place to place with a guide and walk selected short sections with little day packs. Everyone does the camino their own way, rather like life. The last part of the mountain is not so demanding either. And the whole way up is just one breathtaking view after another. I periodically pause just to take it all in - not like on the way to Hunnto because I have to, but because I want to; it is just so beautiful and my pictures don't begin to do it justice. I have no idea how many miles we can see for across the valleys to other peaks. It´s a long ways. We have entered the province of Galicia a short while before reaching the top of the mountain. At this point, there are only 152 km to Santiago! At the top of the mountain is a reconstructed little Galician Village. Galicia is one of the poorest regions of Spain. The buildings are stone. Corners are often rounded, I think so that spirits cannot hide in them, but I might be confusing cultures. The design is pre-Roman in origin and they are called pallozas. Roofs here are slate shingles or perhaps thickly thatched. The only original buildings at the top are the church, Santa Maria a Real do Cebreiro, which is one of the oldest (pre-Romanesque) churches along the entire pilgrimage route, and the hospital (in the care of pilgrims, not like we think of it) connected to it, which dates to the 9th century. There is also a memorial dedicated to the man responsible for the Camino the way it is today and developing the way of marking it with the yellow arrows. I step into the church and there is a mass being said in German. I listen for awhile and am able to follow along with a lot of it. I go back out to the topmost point of the mountain and take a 360 degree look around the surrounding countryside. There is also a monument at the top marking the spot where a pilgrim, lost below in the fog, heard the sound of bagpipes being played and was led to the top of the mountain where he found safety and shelter. There is another marker commemorating a 14th c. miracle, when a less-believing parishioner actually saw the bread and wine turn to the body and blood of Christ, the Holy Grail, here. That miracle was later incorporated into the coat of arms of Galicia. Galicia has been Celtic for centuries, so there is a strong influence in the language and customs. I wait for Stella to catch up (tada!) and then we check out the little touristy shops. They have some nice things as well as schmaltzy. I find a pretty pair of Celtic design earrings for Laura who is looking after my mungos (Gaelic for beloveds) back home - Nicholas and Oliver. Stella picks up a few things for her granddaughters. Then we begin the trek down hill, well not quite downhill as there is a little bit taller mountain nearby (O Poio), but then we begin to descend. It's another gloriously sunny day. We walk mostly through woods, especially pines. We walk down and down and down. We pass through some small villages and by some farms. The poverty of Galicia makes it a 'no frills' kind of place. The people are practical to the bone. We end up for the day in the town of Fonfria, a very small town, the name of which derives from 'a cold fountain' that I never managed to find as I walked around later. The hostel is a bright spot in an otherwise incredibly bleak little town. All of the other buildings, at most 20, are concrete block, mostly two story, with cattle and farm equipment on the bottom floor and the human inhabitants on top. There is no ornamentation of any kind on any building except for the hostel and a small bar/cafe on the far end of the village - a whole 3-minute walk away, if you take your time. To get to the other end of the village, one has only to walk through the cow-manure, cow-pee, straw and farm equipment laden streets. There is nothing that is not of purpose here - absolutely everything has to do with the livelihood of these people. It's purposeful, but not exciting. I make several loops through the village because, after doing my laundry and not being able to take a nap due to the horrible choice of music playing in the bunkroom of the hostel and not being able to use the internet since the computer is broken, there is not much else to do. I did get a picture of a hound dog on a roof (haven't ever seen that before!), and I wondered how a dog gets on a roof - especially a dog that moves at about 1 mph - until I realize the back side of the house is built into the side of a hill! Stella comes out to walk as well and we explore around the small chapel and surrounding cemetery that don't look like they are ever used except for weddings and funerals and certainly not recently. The hostel itself is great, with a little cafe/bar in front, with a courtyard garden, a common room, a large bunk room and a big dining room and kitchen. We sit out in the courtyard with a couple of beers until dinner's ready. There isn't any other option for dinner besides the hostel, because the cafe really doesn't have much in the way of real food, but that's fine, even though dinner is late in coming. The dinner table is long and probably seats at least 25 or 30 folks. The multi-course dinner is wonderful, with soup and pasta and great bread and more. And the man and woman who serve it all up are fabulous. Stella and I are seated near several Germans who are anxious to get done and watch the World Cup match with the German team playing that night. (Unfortunately, they lose.) The young lady who sits next to me is a very extroverted, very engaging nurse who wants to become a midwife. She and the attractive, dark, curly-haired guy across from her have quite a verbal sparring match of wits during dinner. The young man to my left, at the end of the table, is from Venezuela. He and his wife are in Madrid where she has the power job and he is the stay-at-home dad to their small child. They both can't wait to get back to their home country, though. It is a very fun evening. Two mountains down; one to go.

Quiet

Villafranca to Herrerias (Tuesday, June 22nd)
We left Villafranca early and ended up taking the optional path, along the road, without even realizing it. We simply missed the preferred path because you really had to look for the trail where it branched off. However, because of that, we had a really lovely view back over Villafranca shortly after leaving. It almost looked like a fairy tale village caught in the mists of time, between the mountains.

This was actually the one segment of the journey that I was very apprehensive about because of one of the books that I had read before leaving for this trip. One of the authors had talked about this segment as having two options - either a very steep and difficult climb through the hills or else along the highway, pinned quite narrowly between speeding vehicles and a guardrail with a 50´dropoff. Fortunately, much has changed since that book was written - perhaps because of it! The steep climb was the route we inadvertantly missed. And in the last two years, the government has built this engineering marvel called the autopista, the Spanish version of the autobahn, that has taken almost all of the traffic away from the highway which we are traveling. Perched on concrete props way high in the air, with just little, itsy bitsy guard rails for safety, it's a road that would terrify me to drive on. I am, however, delighted that it draws so much traffic away from us hikers! In addition, they have erected concrete barriers to separate pilgrims from cars, which are not traveling all that fast now - it's the "Sunday" drivers who don't mind taking the slower route who are on this road. Often, the river is running over the rocks down below us in a nice bubbly way. And there is a guard rail on that side as well. It's a delightfully sunny day as we wind our way through the hills on either side of us.

There are some neat little villages and stops along the way - we stop for one break in the little village of Trabadelo, where the only business seems to be the bar. For such an out-of-the-way place, it has a pretty nice bathroom! In another village, we stop to watch a sawmill in operation. Stella takes pictures for her husband, David, who works with a lumber yard.

Another rest break is at a real truck stop where a school group is also breaking, so there are lots of kids. One thing that is hard to get over as we walk through the cafe/bar to use the facilities is the amount of trash and litter that just gets thrown on the floor. You cannot possibly walk across the floor without walking on the napkins, cigarette butts, straw wrappers and other miscellaneous items. It almost covers the floor, especially around the stools. No one uses the trash can, and no one leaves it on the counter! It's just amazing to American eyes. We look around a gift shop that has lots of interesting products, food and otherwise, from all over Spain. They're fascinating, and some are even enticing (like the cheeses, the chocolates, the nuts, the wine...), but way too heavy to carry, so we leave with nothing. Except on the edge of the parking area is another vendor of fresh cherries. This is the best buy yet, a humongous bag of cherries for just one euro! We indulge yet again. Instead of being a threatening day, it is a quite enjoyable day!

We share a number of kilometers on our journey with Ian, a 62 year old Danish accountant, who has decided to get away for awhile. (That's him up ahead in this picture before we catch up to him at a break.) He is fun to talk to. Like a number of our foreign encounters, he asks what we think of our president. He also talks about how the Danish provide for their people in many ways. It´s a whole different way of looking at life - and what it means to be in community as a nation and a people.

We reach Herrerias by early afternoon. The alburgue isn´t open yet, but it looks cute with its hand-decorated "shutters" - actually just the rocks painted to look like shutters, so we go put our feet in a mountain creek - it is SO COLD! My feet can take about 2 seconds, but Stella´s are made of tougher stuff apparently. I work on labeling some of my pictures on my computer instead, just in case I ever get to load them on this blog or for viewing later. Eventually, we get into the alburgue. A young, lithesome Spanish woman named Miriam runs the place. She nonchalantly says we can check in later and mentions that she does a vegetarian dinner from her own garden if we´re interested and we indicate that we are. She shows us to our bunks. Then she disappears for a long while. So we get cleaned up, take a nap, go wander. Eventually others come. We meet Richard, Miriam´s American significant other. Richard is from Chicago. He was running a nightclub when someone pulled a gun on him one night. He decided that he no longer wanted that life. He bought a one-way ticket for Madrid. While he was there, he heard about the Camino and decided he needed to do it. Seems while he was walking the Camino last year, he was walking through Herrerias and Miriam caught his eye - ooh lah lah! He stayed four months. Then he decided he needed to finish the Camino. But he came back and they realized they had missed each other so much that he´s been there ever since. If you could see this little village that has no stores, just two little bar-cafes and this alburge, a handful of houses, some barns and a church, cows bawling and roosters crowing at all times of day and night, you would have just a small taste of how much Richard´s life has changed. Now he wants to try and help change his brother's life the same way.

Around 5 p.m. I ask Miriam what time dinner will be and she just looks at me funny and says, "Oh, you should have told me!" We thought we had. Oddly enough, some Spanish guys who came in just before I asked her did end up getting dinner, but it probably worked out as it needed to. So we wander a half mile down the road to the only other place to eat, the place where we had lunch. The walls are pretty much the exact shade of periwinkle that I am thinking of painting my kitchen. (While we are gone, Stella's sweetheart of a husband is completely redoing her kitchen!) We are early for dinner, so we have a glass of the local white wine at a cafe table outside. The fat, lazy cat lounges near us.

Martene, a French woman we have walked with and been keeping pace with on and off joins us for dinner. It is a deep and touching conversation, a sense of communion, of truly breaking bread together. As we have with so many other pilgrims, we talk about what has drawn us to the Camino and what it has been like for us. This is Martene's second time to walk it. There is a sense of mystery and darkness or sadness about her, though she is happy tonight. We talk about redemption and forgiveness and second chances and we toast to them. There are tears and smiles. We have an absolutely wonderful dinner with the best paella yet. It has a little zing to it, which the others have not had, and clear, distinct flavors. Then, I ordered fish, and actually eat the little fishies that came out of the stream that cows drink out of (and you know what in) and certain people have soaked their feet in. Didn´t really think I´d eat fish that came with their heads on, but - thanks to Stella's coaching - once I get past just cutting the heads off and pushing them aside and pretending they aren´t there, it is fine. I probably have all kinds of chemicals in me from the fish I´ve eaten out of local streams over here, and from the roadside cherries we´ve bought, but you know, it has all tasted very good. And you only go around once. Maybe the local beer and wine have killed those local germs.

After dinner, we walk through town, which is to say, we walk back and forth down the one real street. Martene has talked about a house that she is interested in buying. Apparently, when a house is listed privately, the Spanish would rather see the property crumble to dust, or eventually be turned over to a relative rather than sell to a foreigner - or at least some foreigners (like Americans). They do not like intruders in their little villages. Martene is a dreamer, and it's doubtful that she will ever really buy a house in Herrerias. She stops to peer in the darkened doorway of a dilapidated house, and both a man's voice and chickens cackling shoo her away! At some point, Martene drifts off into a conversation with a local. We pass this artful composition, and I can't help but smile and take a picture. There are cows down in the pasture, perhaps 75 yards away from the alburgue. For once, we have a window open all night for fresh air. Who knew that cows can bawl so loud? The next time you hear "Äway in a Manger", when they get to the part about the 'cattle are lowing,' just know that they can make one heck of a noise, and it isn´t always some gentle lullaby for the Christ Child! But it´s kind of nice. In a very earthy, down-home kinda way. Mooooo-ooo-ooo.