THE POWER OF PRAYER

A PILGRIMAGE

BY

THEO TAMMES

HOWMORE

2002

THIS BOOK IS FOR NEIL

Once upon a time two very mad people from South Uist decide to do the “Camino de Santiago”. What is worse, they wanted to take their dogs along.

Never ever try to do anything like that, because it is as near as impossible as possible.

But for the power of prayer we would never have made it.

Our special thanks go to the Angles and Spirits that saved us,

To Roddy, from the garage in Howmore,

To Ken and Stella for looking after our house and animals in our absence,

To Alan and Aileen, for helping with the manuscript.

To “The Confraternity of Saint James”, for supplying the guidebook and the pilgrim-passports.

©

Copyright by

Theo Tammes

Writings and drawings by

Theo Tammes

Casa Azul

Porto do Paul

Pernes

2000-500

Portugal

Finished in 2002

A LATE BEGINNING OR AN EARLY START?

We arrived in Saint Jean Pied de Port on a Tuesday evening at around 6 o’clock. It was September 18^th, and it had been a long journey.

Following the signs “Camping” we found the place without any problems. It was just a small site, dotted with caravans and tents, and a handful of mobile homes. To me it looked like it had originally just been a back garden, for it was speckled with trees. So we parked up and got out.

I opened a bottle of wine and poured us two cups. After all, we were in France now, and that is what the French do as far as I know anyway. The owner of the campsite took this opportunity to pay us a visit; obviously he was quite amazed to see two people drinking wine out of plastic cups, without a tent having been put up.

He grumbled something about putting the dogs on the lead- in very good French-and stalked of after I indicated that I would come to see him soon. It didn’t take long to build up the tent and prepare our beds for the night and then it was my turn to go and see the manly.

He asked me to write my name and address down for his books, and I paid him for the night. Now it was my turn to speak French, of which I know little enough. Somehow I managed to make him understand that we were going to walk to Santiago de Compastella, and that we had a problem. The problem being the car,”la voiture”.

He understood me and offered straight away to look after the car. We could just leave it on his site, and it would be completely safe, and he would charge only 12 francs a day. After conferring with Rosie we agreed to his proposal and so one of our main problems was solved within half an hour of arriving. That had to be celebrated with another cup of wine and then we set of to find the Pilgrim’s office.

We walked up to the old town and climbed up to the “Rue de Citadelle”, where we found the office without any problems.

Of course it was open, this being France, and we were welcomed by the staff. In a mixture of French and English we explained what we were going to do, and we received our very first stamp. Now we were officially pilgrims, a sort of Holy people with only a tin veneer of holiness to start of with, but with the chance of acquiring another layer or two on the journey.

Slowly we walked back to our tent, had a drink at a café on the road and soon after we went to bed. Not a bad evening to arrange everything for our walk.

A STRANGE DREAM, KEEP THE CANDLES BURNING AND HORSES WITH BELLS

It is night and I wake up for a pee, scramble out of the tent.

As so often I can’t get back to sleep at once so I sit in the tent-opening and have a smoke, watching the stars. For most of the time we sleep with the tent-flap open, only when it is really

cold or raining do we close the tent. I lie back, relax and slowly drift into a dream. Or is it a vision?

There is this shining lady, like the one from Lourdes. I ask her if she is Mary, mother of Jesus? Or is she the beautiful lady of Lourdes? She doesn’t want to answer, but in the end I understand that she belongs to Saint Jean. But maybe she is of many times and many places. I tell her that I will dedicate this walk to her if she helps us to make it. Looking back she certainly did. I drift in and out of dreams.

We are up early and while Rosie walks the dogs I make the coffee and start packing up the tent. Then we start to pack our backpacks, and this is the moment of truth. Everything gets checked before it goes in the bag, all the clothes, every single spoon and teabag. We’ve got to be merciless; nothing comes along unless we’re absolutely sure that we will need it. It’s hard to make choices, but we have to. Even with the absolute minimum our packs are still too heavy.

It’s time to fill the water bottles and have a last coffee, then the car gets parked up. Time now to go to the bank. Rosie wants enough Francs to pay the camping-boss, and we need Pesetas as well. Back to the camping to get our bags and to pay the boss, but he says: “Later, when you come back”. So we put our bags on our shoulders, dogs on the leads and “Au revoir”. We’re on our way. First into the old city, for the Camino starts in the Rue de La Citadelle. As we come to the church I put my pack down and go in for a wee prayer and to light some candles.

Whilst I am inside Rosie goes in as well, and I come out to find only the dogs waiting for me. Then Rosie comes out and now we are really ready to go. Only some bread and cheese, supplies for today is what we need. I leave the shopping for once to Rosie and wait with the dogs outside, watching the people mill by. It’s almost midday by now, and we’re finally leaving Saint Jean Pied de Port. Straight away we start to climb. The Camino doesn’t have it’s own track for a good while yet, so we walk on the road. A small road, but still. It means that the dogs need to be on the lead, and I don’t like that. But what can you do?

We’re on the way to Hounto, a tiny hamlet about 3 miles away. Passing almost the very last house of Saint Jean we meet a Dutchman who tells us they’ve done the Camino three times, twice on foot and once per bicycle. And they keep coming back to Saint Jean because they like it so much!

We climb steeply, and we climb some more. It’s hot and there is no much shadow about. After about an hour we have a wee break and a sip of water, an apple. We can see Hounto a lot higher still, and so we climb and climb. There is a hostel in Hounto - says the book- and the owner does food as well.

We anticipate a nice lunch and a good cup of coffee. The book also says maybe not in winter. And the winter season starts in September as well in France as in Spain.

Well, we find her house, but no luck. “No”, she doesn’t do coffee, and “No” she doesn’t do food. Reluctantly she lets us fill our water bottles from her garden-hose. “What a bitch” I think.” lt wouldn’t have taken much to give us a coffee”.

She proves to be one of the very few nasty people we meet on the Camino. We have a look at the hostel, which is brand-new and open. There is only one person in it, an old Frenchman who doesn’t speak English and seems a bit confused. We meet him later on a couple of times. Sometimes he recognises us, at other times his mind seems to be far away. Luckily he has a friend with him. The last time we saw them was in Leon, they were going home for this year. As so many others they were doing the Camino in stages.

We get out of Hounto and climb again, in the hot sun.

The Camino now leaves the road for a bit and climbs up steeply in zigzags. Then there is a bit of luck, we come back onto the road and there is a house and a fountain and a trough. We drink and I fill my sun-hat with water and put it back on, a marvellous way to instantly cool off. The dogs get put in the trough without ceremony. Hamish likes it, but Shielasan is most displeased! If looks could kill I would be dead right now! It is time for a last drink and to fill our bottles. This will be the last water until Roncavelles, a good day’s march from here.

We march on and climb the steep road, the Camino hasn’t got a track of it’s own. By five o’clock I decide that we have done enough for the first day and we start looking for a campsite. And we do find a tiny bit of almost level ground, just enough for the tent. Behind us in a coral there are some horses and they have bells around their necks. You can hear their tinkling all the time. I like the sound of the bells, it reminds me of Austria where I always liked to hear the cowbells in the distance.

We have some soup and bread, and a drop of whiskey out of the very important little plastic bottle full of life-saving ingredients. At night there is a lot going on, a herd of cows coming home, a flock of sheep coming past. Cars on the road, these little white vans all the farmers seem to use, but we fall asleep amongst all this, too tired to stay awake and watch what is going on.

A GOOD WIND FOR SAILORS, A USELESS FOUNTAIN AND AN EMPTY MONASTERY. A VERY LATE LUNCH AND OUR OWN LITTLE STREAM.

Sometime in the night the wind starts up and by morning there is a full gale blowing. It is a cold wind, blowing straight against us. We walk and climb, walk and climb. It is hard going up so steeply with the gale trying to blow us of the mountain. There are roads and tracks everywhere, farms up and down the valleys and plenty of sheep. Some cows, and a few horses, all of them with bells. We have a rest, but it is too windy to light the gas-cooker, so there is no coffee right now. Just a sip of water and some bread.

We walk, climb. The wind is spoiling it, you can’t enjoy the landscape when you are struggling to stay on your feet! Slowly we are getting higher and higher. No more trees up here, just grazing. The first pilgrim passes us, waving whilst we are having a rest. The mountains spread all around us, we have a marvellous view now that we are so high. In the distance I can see a pass, but now we come to a crossroads and the Camino finally leaves the road. There is a funny sort of bus-shelters around, I don’t know what they are for, but we use the next one to brew up some coffee. Another pilgrim marches by, and then we see a whole group of them coming. But we are on the way again before they can overtake us. A little bit more climbing, a sharp bend and suddenly we are out of the wind. The track levels out and trees appear, life becomes very different, and much easier.

We come to a beautiful fountain, but as we come nearer can see the water is not connected yet, and as far as we are concerned all that work was for nought.

Then comes the big moment. An enormous granite slap announces: NAVARRA, nothing else.

I appreciate the humour of it. Navarra was an ancient kingdom long before Spain came into existence, and the new Spain hasn’t had a change even to be mentioned up here. So we are now in Navarra, and not in Spain. Or? The Camino now becomes a lovely track, winding through beech-forests, absolutely beautiful. A bit up, a bit down, but keeping the height most of the time. There are some more pilgrims, some tourist, the occasional car parked on the track. Then there is a road all of a sudden. We cross it and now we can look down in the valley. We’re looking down into Spain, a great moment. We can see villages and houses down in the valley, and now we go down. It is steep, very steep at times, but all the way down we walk through beautiful forest, mostly beeches.

Then there is a glimpse of a roof, and another, we have come to Roncavelles. We walk around the big monastery and come out onto the main road. Suddenly there are cars and busses and people, plenty people. And there is a terrace with tables and chairs! We sit down, exhausted and also very proud; we have just done our first big bit of the Camino. It was hard, long and steep, but we have done it!

I manage to get us a coffee and a beer, go back for another coffee later on. Then it is time to find us some water and something to eat. Roncavelles proves to be only a monastery, an expensive hotel and a café. At this time of the day there is no food to be had, but we have a coffee in the other bar. We meet some German pilgrims there, who are doing the Camino in stages, every year two weeks. We have to wait for the pilgrim’s office to open, that is where we will get our stamp. When they finally do open there are already more then 20 people inside. We have to fill in a form, and then we get our stamps. They would have given us a bed as well, but no thanks, we are going on. We need food, so we will go down to the next village. The walking is now easy, and within the hour we are in Burguette.

We find a bakery, a very good Supermercado and I get us all the goodies we were looking for.

A bottle of wine to help us with our dinner which we have on a bench in the little park in front of the church.

Boom go the church-bells just when we have finished. Boom, boom.

It is 6 o’clock and time to find a place for our tent. So we get out of the village until we come to a tiny stream with a lovely little bridge across it. There is our campsite, right beside the track. A wash in the river, another sip of wine and we are ready for bed.

It has been another good day, the gales in the mountains already forgotten.

PILGRIMS BEFORE BREAKFAST, GETTING DRUNK FOR LIUNCH, AND A REAL GOOD THUNDERSTORM

Whilst I am putting the kettle on at our lovely spot beside the wee stream the dogs started to bark, and soon after we can hear ourselves the distinguished tapping of the pilgrim’s sticks.

And yes, here are the first four pilgrims marching past! It is only seven o’clock in the morning. Whilst we are getting ready there are many more coming past. There are little groups of two and four, then a group of ten singing lassies with one man. It is a nice day and soon we are on the track ourselves, only a couple of miles to the next village, Aurizberry. A sizeable village, very much like an alpine village, complete with big trough for watering the cattle. We find the bar, which has only just opened for today’s business. We get our “café con lecce”, and watch other pilgrims coming and going. Soon enough we are on our way again, easy going to Biskaretta, about 3 miles away. It is a similar village, where a bar in the square has tables and chairs outside waiting for us.

There are plenty other pilgrims around. We get a coffee and a stamp, I study the map. Rosie disappears inside and comes back with 2 glasses. “What is that?” I ask. “You just drink it,” she says. I do as I am told. It is nice and very strong. “Anisette” announces Rosie. To limit the damage I get us some more coffees and a cigar. But the damage is done, and we stumble out of the place. Luckily we find a nice bit of grass soon after and sit down for a belated breakfast. After that there is only one thing to do, sleep. And sleep we do.

Of course we don’t know how many people passed us while we were snoring, but the rest of the day there are few pilgrims to overtake us!

We wake up and get on our way again. A long stretch follows, seven miles to Zubirri. First we climb up a hill, seeing villages in the valley that we by-pass. Then we come to the top, the Passo de Roland, where we cross a road. We pass an abandoned farm and start to go down. Now we are in the next valley and finally come to the next place. It is a long and hot afternoon. By five o’clock we come to a medieval bridge and cross into the town. Following the other pilgrims we find a bar, and now we can relax. We have our coffee and a cognac, watch a bull getting killed on the television-screen. We collect our stamps and go shopping. Luckily there is great Mercado, and we get all that we want. On this trip we can carry very little food, so we have to eat and drink wherever we can, and eat all heavy stuff straight away. We do get used to that, but it keeps feeling strange. We cross the bridge again and put the tent up on the other side. We have a bite to eat, a good slurp of red wine, and just in time for the rain to start we go to sleep, all of us in the tent.

A thunderstorm is coming nearer and nearer. We saw a lot today, buzzards and vultures, crows and little lizards. We fall asleep with the thunder in our ears.

FROM ZUBIRI TO VILLAVA, A FRENCH DOG, AND HOW WE ALMOST GOT KILLED

It is now Sunday morning, still early, and we are camping beside a river in a forgotten bit of woodland, which must have been a park once upon a time. Past some little allotments we came last night, just outside of Villava. It was quite a long slog yesterday, not to bad mile-wise, but the mud!

The track turned into a quirky mess most of the time and that made the going so hard. Whilst we were having our morning cup of coffee on the riverbank beside the old bridge at around 8 o’clock, everything wet and damp, we saw the German couple from Nuernberg go past. Soon after it was our turn.

Following the river on the left side, the Camino winds it’s way down the valley. Some pilgrims overtake us. We pass the big magnesite plant and climb up to a tiny hamlet. Coming down to the crossroads we have a wee rest and bite to eat when this Pilgrim with his dog comes by. He is from France, and his dog carries its own side-packs. A very clever idea, but I can’t see our two doing that. We meet up again a little later in Larrasoana, where we get a warm welcome from the mayor, who is also the local volunteer in the pilgrim’s office. We admire his books and drawings, all done by pilgrims, and we collect our Sello. The bar is at the other end of the village, and there we meet up with the Frenchman again. We have breakfast, coffee, and I can pay with French Francs. Luckily, for we’re starting to run short of Pesetas. There is a Mexican couple travelling on bicycles. A great place, a bar, shop and restaurant, all rolled into one.

Around eleven o’clock we set off again, out in the drizzle. It’s not really raining most of the time, just wet. We come to a place called Zurian, with another medieval bridge, very beautiful. We park up at the other end of the village, beside the river to let everything dry out, for now the sun is shining.

A man comes down with a fishing rod, puts it in the water and within seconds has a nice trout dangling from it. He grins exited and is of to cook the beast. We have a wee rest once everything is spread out and hung up. Half an hour later we pack in a hurry, the next patch of rain has arrived. We see plenty little frogs, little lizards and some buzzards. And of course there are cows and horses, all with bells.

The Camino switches to the other side of the river and we climb up and down a little. We have a break in a big brand-new shed, just to be out of the rain for a while. For a while we follow the road, then the Camino goes up a bit and follows the hill. Past an old farm, with it’s own church, over some fields. The mud now really sticks to our boots.

We can see a town in the valley, but the Camino takes us right to a brand-new road, and there is even an underpass specially built for us pilgrims. Out on the other side there is a sort of little park and we take a rest, mainly to scrape all that mud of.

We must have been carrying a stone of mud between us! We’re glad to be back on a proper track, the mud has tested us. -

Bang! goes a loud-explosion, somewhere up at the top of the-pass. Immediately we call the dogs and put them on the lead, we know how scared they are of loud noises. And when we walk up to the top, on a little tarmac road, a car comes racing down and disappears at top speed down the main road.

A young man driving. Why was he in such a hurry? I thought then that he had either fired a gun or set of an explosion. Pictures of terrorists from the ETA come to mind. At the top we can smell gunpowder, for sure there was some sort of explosion. We are going down the other side, a nice small road, high above the main road. About ten minutes later that same black car comes racing up our road again, from the other side. Luckily we still have the dogs on the lead.

Just as I was going to tell Rosie to be careful with cars and keep to the side the very same idiot comes racing down the hill from behind us. He slams on the brakes and starts to skid. Frozen in terror I see the car first coming straight for Rosie and Hamish, missing them by only inches and then he slitters towards me and Shielasan. It all happens so fast that we didn’t even think of jumping into the bushes. For a split second I can look in his eyes, a maniac for sure, but he himself shocked to bits as well. Then he revs the car again and is of down the road like a shot. The bloody idiot almost killed us, and now I would like to put my hands around his neck. Only for a couple of turns.

If another car or a tractor had come up from the other side he wouldn’t have had a chance, the bloody bastard. Well, that was us almost getting killed; somewhere you would never expect any danger at all.

The strange thing is that I had a warning, in my dreams, only two days ago. I was warned for danger from cars, but I thought it would be in a town. And the number two was in the warning, so I thought it would be in the second city of our journey. So I was going to tell Rosie to be extra careful once we got nearer the second big town. Well, the warning came and it was true, only it was mend to be two days and not two cities.

Our nerves are shattered by this unexpected brutal attempt on our lives and it takes a while to calm down. However, we have escaped in one piece, and the danger seems to be over for now. We continue, dogs on the leads and one in line behind the other. Pretty soon there is a bend in the road and we come to another medieval bridge. On the other side is a monastery, Trinidad de Arre. We put or packs down and look around to see if there is anyone there. On the other side of the building a man sticks his head out of the window, and seeing there are two pilgrims starts to shout: “Non albergue”. But he indicates to the front and I go to find him. The door is now open and I follow him into a little office, where I duly get our Sello. He seems very relieved that we do not want to claim a bed for the night.

Then we’re off down the road. It seems like originally Trinidad de Arre was just a little village on it’s own, now it has grown together with Villava, new houses and apartment blocks all over.

We find a nice quiet bar, and have a darned good cognac, for the shock. A coffee follows, and now we have to find a shop. We get directions in fluent German from a Spaniard how to get to the shop, and indeed, we find a great Supermercado, called Consum. We get our bits and pieces and stumble out; we’re really tired by now. How to find a campsite? We follow the main road, and at a crossing I follow my nose and turn left. Soon we see a line of trees coming nearer, and then we spot the river. Surely to God we will find a place there? And so we found this little neglected paradise.

Rosie is waking up now, and it is time to get ready.

A POLITICAL RALLY, SUNDAY MORNING REVELLERS AND HOW TO CHANGE MONEY ON A SUNDAY

It is Sunday morning and nice and mild, and quiet, very quiet. Which is a blessing after last night. Because we had hardly put our heads down last night when the church-bells began to ring like mad, and then there was a lot of noise in the distance. I couldn’t make it out at first, I thought: Maybe a football match? Then I thought: Ah, it must be a bullfight! But in the end it sounded like a political rally.

One speaker shouting to the masses, and they occasionally shouting back. It lasted for ages, and hindered my sleep. I was glad when it finally finished. Anyway, it’s quiet now, and we are making our way back to the main road.

We follow the way we came last night and finally come back to where we turned off. Forward we go, following the Camino once more. Soon after we come to the next town, called Burlada. We keep going, cross the road and for a while follow a small country-road. Then we see the town, cross another medieval bridge and come to the battlements of the old city.

Pamplona is completely medieval, with walls, trenches, and we enter the city through a real gate with a drawbridge and portcullis! It’s almost unbelievable to see an old town so complete, so intact. Very beautiful and most impressing.

Slowly we make our way up the centre, through the narrow streets still filled with last night’s revellers, all drinking and smoking and talking and singing. The streets are lined with balloons and garlands, slogans painted on canvas. We find a great café and go in for our breakfast. Chocolatties and real coffee! Now it is time for business, we have to change money, we dearly need Pesetas.

That all the banks are closed on a Sunday becomes clear to us soon enough. Luckily I remember that the big hotels always change money, and so we go to look for a big hotel. We find a very posh one, called Hotel de Rei or something. Rosie is of course the person to go in and have a try, and she returns with plenty Pesetas. “No bother at all,” she says.

And whilst she goes sightseeing I have a rest in the park. Watching the people mill by and trying to read a Spanish newspaper. I do find out that last night’s rally was about the freedom of speech or so. They certainly had enough of that last night. It didn’t say anything about the volume of speech.

We visit the cathedral and listen to mass for a while, I light some candles, but in Spain even the candles are modernised! They’re electric; once you put money in the slot little lights come on for a certain time. Not the real thing, but what can you do?

On our way out of town we find this marvellous bar, with a terrace, so we sit in the sun, eating all these lovely tapas, drinking beer and coffee. Rosie chats to a neighbour, life is good. Unsuccessfully I try to buy some stamps, not on a Sunday! But we do get our Sello, so we don’t do too badly.

By now it is afternoon, and time to move. Goodbye Pamplona.

Thousands of people are now walking around; they come from far and near for a Sunday stroll into town, obviously enjoying themselves.

We are on the way to Cizur Menor, just a couple of miles away. Down to another river, over a wee bridge. We let the dogs have a swim and a drink, it’s that hot. We find a church and the hostel, and I go to get our stamp and to fill the water bottles. The man inside is very friendly, even speaks a little English. Then there is a busy bar, and we go in for a last coffee, before going out into the wilderness.

It is a long way to the next village with a pub and a shop.

The rain starts abruptly and heavy, a real downpour.

For a bit we shelter under tree, but in the end we just go on again.

Now we can see the windmills on the hill, in the distance. The Camino climbs slowly but steadily. The windmills come nearer, but ever so slowly. They are a long way away.

We find a flat bit of ground and put the tent up, rest for a while. But neither of us really likes the place, so we pack up again after an hour and walk some more. We do another two miles or so and find another nice spot to camp. Evening is coming and we’ve done very well. Pamplona is far behind us, but we can see the lights clearly in the gathering dusk.

WINDMILLS ON A HILL, A GREAT SCULPTURE, TOURISTS GALORE, AND AN EMPTY BRAND NEW HOSTEL

It is Monday, and a brand new day. Although we were so tired last night that we knew we could never get up and take another step, we get up, eager to see what the new day brings.

It’s like that for the rest of our journey, every morning eager to go and see what is behind the next hill, what lies behind the next bend. Amazing, utterly amazing.

The dawn is breaking over the eastern sky and I boil the kettle for our first coffee. We pack up and are on the way. We come to a small village, called Zanquiequi, but the Camino bypasses it. Up we go, slowly climbing through the fertile hills, the land wide open in front of us, the windmills on the hill still distant. Looking back we can see Pamplona in the far distance, the air is very clear and vibrant, the view marvellous in all directions. It takes us about two hours to get to the top, now we can see how big these windmills really are. The wind is chilly up here, the big blades go: Whoosh, whoosh. There is a marvellous sculpture up here, a group of pilgrims with their donkeys and children, cut out from solid metal sheets. We have a wee sit down, but it’s too windy to stay long. Headlong we dive down on the other side, following a steep riverbed, the stones rolling away from underneath your feet. Go slowly now! We can see village after village on the distant plains below, that’s where we soon will be. As soon as the track levels out we sit down for a proper rest, it is time for our breakfast. I boil the kettle, we cut the bread.

It’s much warmer now, birds are singing and the air smells of herbs and grasses. Before we have even started our breakfast we hear voices, pilgrims coming down the Camino. And there they are, and then some more. I count over thirty of them, and I have to ask the last ones where they are from. Germany. Ah well. They only walk little bits, travel by bus from church to church. Another way to do the Camino. We follow in their wake, and slowly start to overtake them, just as we come into the next village. We decide to give the bar here a miss, we don’t want to share our coffee with thirty Germans.

But we do see the bus waiting for them. Soon we are past Uterga, and on the way to Muruzabal, which is only a mile away. The day is nice, the going easy and before long we are sitting in the square, sipping our coffees and brandies.

A lot of pilgrims are taking a break, and we chat to some of them. There is a nice French couple, elderly and clearly enjoying themselves. There is a funny bunch of German pensioners, having a good time. I collect our Sello and we fill our water bottles, it’s time to do some more walking. The land is getting flatter, the going is easy and soon we come to Obanos, a little town. School must just have finished because we see children going home all over the place. Since we’re on our way to Puente de Reine (Queens-bridge) and it’s only two miles or so, we decide to wait with lunch till we get there. How stupid can you get? Because we arrive in Puente de Reine just after two o’clock, and all the shops are closed. We’re also too stupid to go in a bar to get lunch, and instead we go to see the new pilgrim’s hostel. On the way down here we met this black manly, sitting on a chair under a tree, handing out leaflets. And I believed all it said. About a cafeteria being open all-day and so on.

So we cross the beautiful old bridge and climb up the next hill. The leaflet says 300 yards, but it is more like a mile before

we find the place. Big, enormous, hundreds of beds, loo’s and washing -rooms.

But no one in sight. We sit down on the chairs provided. I can’t even find a tap that’s working. Steam building up inside me, I’m ready to explode and condemn the place and the lies wholeheartedly, when, wonders of wonders a tiny van arrives.

A youngish man comes out and greets us in perfect Spanish. A cycling pilgrim from England has arrived and waits together with us. Now the manager opens the restaurant bit and comes to give us a stamp. I inquire shyly about coffee. “No problem” he says, and goes to switch on the espresso-machine. Bolder now I ask for sandwiches. “If you can wait twenty minutes,” is the answer, and of course we can. Off he goes, preparing our food, meanwhile we have another coffee. He switches on the television for us, and when the sandwiches arrive I inquire about wine. “Of course, wine” he says, and soon we’re all having a drink. Our manager is by now really friendly and even feeds the dogs some leftovers.

We end up having a great time. Our new friend is relieved that we don’t want to stay, dogs are not allowed. We say goodbye to Chris and the manager and descend to the bridge. Here we pick up our trail again, find a good fountain and head out of town. We follow the river, and I would like a quick dip, but the banks are too steep. Around a water-treatment work and up the next hill. We find signs of horses on the track; some horses must be on the Camino. The Camino goes over the gap, and we can see the road underneath us. A wonderful view awaits us from the top, a hilly, rolling country, dotted with little villages.

We go on, eager now to find a shop. Soon enough we come to Maneru, a nice village. We park up in a little park and I go to find the shop. It looks very old-fashioned, but I get everything I was looking for, even stamps! Now it’s Rosie’s turn, she goes to find the bar to collect our Sello. We fill our bottles and resume our wandering. Half an hour later the tent is up and we have our dinner, and a good sip of wine. Life is not so bad after all.

THE FIRST REAL LUNCH, A MARKET ON THE HILL, AND OUR FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH THE MIRACLE MAN

The first pilgrims pass below us on the Camino before we’re ready, and soon after we join the crowd. We’re on the way to Cirauqui, a couple of miles away. We can actually see it from afar; it’s perched on the hilltop. Soon after nine o’clock we get into town. We find a shop at the bottom and get our bread and supplies. Outside we meet our miracle man for the first time. He is a nice Spanish boy, obviously having a lot of pain in his right knee. He speaks fluent English, and I ask him the word for cheese. “Queso,” he tells me, and that proves very helpful. He’s shedding some weight from his backpack, and we all know the reason. Too heavy. Up we climb, to the market square. The Camino goes out through a gate in a house, and the Sello sits there on a wee plank, free for anyone to use.

There are different stalls, there is a bank which is open, but not for business. The computer is broken down. The baker arrives with his van, a fish-van follows. We sit for a while and observe all the coming and going. There are lots of pilgrims, the old German pensioners amongst them. On the way down out of the town there is an old mined bridge where everybody seems to sit down for their breakfast, and we follow the good example. Some pilgrims find a fig tree, and soon we’re all scrabbling around. The figs are delicious.

Our little Spanish friend arrives and I give him a tube of arnica, and explain to put it on three times a day.

Then we’re on our way again, the day is nice and the country hilly. Up and down meanders the Camino and we are enjoying our walk. The book says it is only five kilometres to Lorca, but since it takes us more then two hours to get there I reckon it is more like five miles. This is the first time the book is definitely out with the distance, we will find more of the same later on.

At the village square we find a great fountain, with a big trough. The dogs get put in, Hamish sifting down and enjoying it, Shielasan disgusted with me. “Don’t I know that water is dangerous to royal collie dogs?”

The old Germans arrive and have a laugh, they are using the playground! Our Spanish friend arrives and puts his whole leg in the trough. The very best thing to do.

Down we go, and across the road we see that wonderful sign: bar. Thankful we tie the dogs up and enter. Coffee first and then we move into the dining room. We now enjoy our first hot meal of the journey, and it is wonderful! Soup, wine, tortilla for me, fish for Rosie. A wonderful flan (pudding) and a cup of espresso. I get some cigarettes and get a cigar, what luxury! Our little Spanish friend turns up, there are two sisters from Argentina, the Germans are having beers. It’s all fun and games.

We’re on our way again, the dogs on the lead, for the Camino follows the road.

Over a wee hill, then we get our own track again. It’s hot and we are drowsy from the good meal and the wine. We are going to Villatuerta, and just before the village we cross a big irrigation-ditch. I go in with the dogs, we have to put them on the lead, otherwise we wouldn’t get them out again.

Coming into the place we cross yet another medieval bridge. It seems a big place, but I can’t find a shop or a bar. At the church we stop to have a look, but it is closed. What the heck, let’s just go again!

By the book it is only three more miles to Estella, but it seems a lot more then that to us. We climb a bit, descent a bit. Then we climb a bit more. Then there is an old chapel on the hilltop and we can see a river down in the next valley. Sure to God the town must be there? But no, we cross the river on a brand new bridge, specially build for the pilgrims, and here are people walking their dogs. There are some old buildings, and in an orchard nearby two horses graze away, then it’s up and up again, a steep short climb. We have a rest there and see a magnificent Caballero thundering past. On we go, we’re tired, but we need the shops. The track becomes a tarmac road and finally we can see the town. Below us is the river and the new part of the town. We stumble in the old town and pass the pilgrim’s hospital. Nowadays it is just the hostel, and I go in there to collect our stamps. The place is teeming with pilgrims, and I’m glad we don’t have to stay there.

Somewhere we get our shopping, the road is blocked by enormous cranes, big containers of cement are floating high above us. Scaring! After a while we come out of the old bit, and now we’re on a mayor road.

Across from us is a homeopathic pharmacy, an amazing sight in Spain. We stumble up to the last bar of the town; Rosie is that tired she almost starts to cry. But another coffee sets us right again, we don’t have far to go. Just to the nearest possible campsite.

It takes a while though, first we have to climb a hill, then finally we leave the last apartment blocks behind us and find a bit of wasteland.

Within minutes the tent is up and we’re having our dinner, a bottle of wine to help it go down. The full moon rises above the monastery on the other side of the valley, it’s very beautiful and now I wish we had a camera.

At the bottom of the hill we can see allotments, one has even a wee swimming pool in the garden! But we’re too tired and it’s too cold tonight anyway, so we just go to sleep.

THE RETURN OF THE MIRACLE MAN AND A ROMAN BATH

Last night there was a split in the Camino, but I was too tired to pay much attention. So we’re on the right-hand side, and God knows where the other bit goes. It doesn’t matter much; we’ll all come together somewhere anyway. First of all we go down to the Camino, inspect the swimming pool. It’s nice, we could have a swim, but it’s a bit cold yet.

Even at this early hour there are machines working, and I predict to Rosie that soon there won’t be any fields left, there will be roads and more apartment-blocks.

We have very slowly come into wine-country, and now the hills are often covered in vineyards. As usual we are soon overtaken by other pilgrims, the young go faster anyway, and no one else seems to carry such heavy packs as we do. Before long we come to a man who stops us for a blather. “Oh yes, the Camino. Now first you will come to a hotel and there you keep to the right. Then there is a tunnel later on and you go straight”.

That’s what I make of it, and I tell Rosie. We thank him in our best Spanish and continue. Indeed we come to a hotel, but it looks closed. It’s only just after nine o’clock.

A bar a bit down the road is definitely closed, so we just keep going. And we do come to an underpass, just like the Spaniard told us. My Spanish must be improving to have understood that much. We walk on in the sunshine, big tractors ploughing the fields, here and there a vineyard. Around about eleven o’clock we see a sort of chapel, just before a village. The other pilgrims all hasten towards the bar but we have a good look and to our utter delight it turns out to be a Roman bath and not a chapel.

Steps go down to a big reservoir at the bottom, there is an overflow and the whole lot is full of nice clean water.

Just what we were looking for! Within minutes everything is spread out in the warm sunshine, the tent put up to dry and us two on the way down to the water.

Soap and shampoo and our minuscule travelling towel, in we go. We have a good scrub, all our dirty clothes get washed, and we feel much refreshed. Our other things have dried nicely in the sun, there you are!

When we are once more on the go, the washing is dangling down our backpacks. That is the way you do it when you’re a pilgrim. We enter a very quiet village, hardly a soul to be seen, but there is a sign: “bar’ and we find the fountain.

Let’s have that coffee now then, and that sandwich! We are in Villamayor de Monjardin, and we missed Monasterio de lrache with its shops and bars. Never mind, we get served by a strange old Dutchman. There are a lot of them, a Dutch group has taken over these buildings and run a hostel and the café. I don’t let on that I can understand Dutch, and enjoy eavesdropping. Strange folk these Dutchmen, so full of petty discussions and belittling remarks. They give me the creeps.

We collect our Sello and fill the water bottles; soon we’re on the Camino again. It is a long afternoon, still around seven miles to go to Los Arcos, a small town. We trundle through the heat, the fields barren, only stubbles left over after the harvest. Every so often we see an enormous stack, sometimes as high as a church tower. Straw, plenty of straw. A group of men is setting fire to the stubble in the distance, they must have waited for the first autumn rain to dampen the land, otherwise they could have set the whole country alight. The Camino is now a wide gravel road, brand-new. Even the ditches and bridges are new. The road is flatter and wider than our single-track roads back home! It’s about five o’clock when we stumble into town.

The Camino follows the back- alleys right up to the church. But first we find a shop and who is there but our little Spanish friend with the bad leg. But hey! the sore leg seems all right today, and apart from that he is not alone anymore. He has a girlfriend!

We talk and laugh and all agree that it really is a miracle. Two days ago he could hardly walk, and look at him now. He dances about a bit just to show us.

We get our shopping, a good lot this time. Coffee, milk powder and sugar, a bottle of wine. Bread and cheese and meat, sardines for the dogs, chocolate. Even some apples and some delicious cakes. The fountain is in front of the church; so it’s packs of again, fill the bottles.

Now I have to get some cigarettes and I also have a wee look in the church. This one is open amazingly enough. I set the electric candles alight and pray. After I come out of the church we go over the bridge and have our dinner in the park beside the river. To get our stamp I nip into the hostel, which is just down the road. Now we’re full of good food and wine and very tired, we need a campsite. Just past the town is a nice field with plenty of straw left. So we put the straw on a big heap and put the tent right over it. Never did we have such a soft bed!

A last sip of wine, a look at the moon, and we are in the land of Nod.

CAN YOU LOSE THE CAMINO? GRAPES FOR BREAKFAST, HOW WE SAVE AN AMERICAN GRANNY AND HOW WE MET THE MAN WHO WALKED BACK

We’re up early, have a coffee and start packing up. Even so there they come, the first pilgrims going down the Camino, still in the dark. Do these people really suffer with a mental problem?

Soon enough it is our turn to go and with the sun rising in the east, we follow the wide gravel track of the Camino to the west. The next place is called Torres del Rio, and about five miles away. The land is friendly, soft rolling hills, big fields of cereals interspersed with vineyards. Now and then we see the road, but we have our own track.

By ten o’clock we come into the village, to find a lot of pilgrims having their breakfast on the benches in the square. In a wee alley is a tiny shop, where we manage to get all our supplies, then we go to the bar for a coffee. It’s a very nice bar, an old stone building done up. New windows and doors, a wooden bar, nice wooden tables and seats and a terracotta floor. We have several coffees and collect our Sello. On the way out we find another fountain and a bank. A bank that is open! I have to go in and change my money. “Yes, sir, no sir, no problem”

We sit outside and inspect this wealth of Pesetas. Very reassuring! Busy thinking we walk out of the place without paying attention to the yellow arrows. We come to the main road but no signs of the Camino.

We turn left anyway, I am sure we will find the Camino soon enough. But we come to the top of the hill and still no signs.

I leave Rosie with the dogs and the packs and go scouting. It must be somewhere near!

After ten minutes I find the track, keep looking for an arrow, and finally spot one. I scan the hills to see which way the Camino turns, and after I am sure return to Rosie to tell her. We can just take the next track to the left and we will join the Camino at the next crossroads.

Luckily I was right, and soon we are following the yellow arrows once again. The hills are getting higher, and the track winds it’s way up and down, sometimes crossing the road.

At times we look down unto the road, at other times we can see it high above us. There are vineyards again, and plenty grapes, lovely grapes. God provides nicely for us today!

For weeks to come grapes are a big part of our diet, we never tire of them.

Neither of us can remember when we first came upon the signs of horses on the Camino, but this day we see them clearly and they are fresh. We come to a chapel, perched steeply above the road, and once past it we have to climb down again. For a bit we follow the road, then we have our own track again. Up the hill, and now we have a great view. Hills all around us, some with woodland on top, others with vineyards.

We come to a crossroads where the signs aren’t too clear. I’m just studying where to go when we hear this shouting in the distance. A single pilgrim is climbing back up to where we are. Ah well, that makes things clear. We wait to see what all this shouting was about, and that’s how we meet our American pilgrim. She was completely hysterical, but Rosie is good with people like that and gets her calmed down like nothing.

We listen to her story, which is every so often interrupted by “Oh how cute, oh he is so cute”, meaning Hamish. He doesn’t mind, laps it all up. After a while we are ready to go on when some one arrives from the other side. We say hello and talk a bit. Yes, he has been to Santiago, then he walked to Fatima in Portugal, and now he’s on the way home. He looks lean and healthy, jokes that he might now walk to Jerusalem since he’s still got six months guaranty on his boots. He is going home to Aries, in France. We wish each other a good journey and set of down the hill. At the bottom of the valley there are some nice poplars giving shadow, and since it is so hot we take a little siesta. The American continuous.

After an hour or so we get up again. It is a long walk along the valley, but really nice. But all good things come to an end and the next hill has to be climbed. Then the Camino runs out of track and the last two miles we have to walk on the road, in the sun, and it’s not nice. But we make the town; rest for a bit in the first little park before we climb up into the old town-centre. We are now in Viana, and it proves to be a lovely old town. Soon we are sitting in the square, sipping our cognacs and slurping coffee.

I leave Rosie to watch the dogs and go shopping. Within half an hour I found all we were looking for, and I return for another cognac. Heavenly stuff, but dangerous at the end of the day. Rosie talked some more to the American granny who has booked herself into this bar. We only manage to get just out of town, where we find a great campsite in an abandoned orchard. Soon the gentle sound of snoring fills the evening air.

ROSIE’S LEG GIVES WAY, AND PILGRIM’S POWER TIMES TWO

It is early morning and promises to be a nice day when we wake up in our neglected orchard. We have slept all right and nobody has disturbed us in the night, but I could hear the traffic-noise all night and there must be a factory nearby that produced a high pitch screeching noise all the time.

We collect some apples; it seems incredible that no one comes to harvest this fruit.

On small tracks we get further and further away from the town, first to the right of the road, then to the left. Finally we cross onto a small tarmac road and now the Camino is the road. Signs announce little hamlets, unbeknown to our book and map, but we never reach any of them. Then out of the blue Rosie falls down, full length, right in the middle of the road. She gives me a big fright, but I have to act fast. First I grab the dogs, take them to the verge, put my pack down and tie them up. Then I manage to take Rosie’s pack of and put it away.

Now it is time to help her up and get of the road. She lies there stunned, but I have to get her off the road, even if it is a quiet back-road, you never know when a car will come.

Rosie doesn’t seem to be hurt much, a rip in her trousers, some abrasions and a good lot of shock. We’ve had this before of course, she has this strange knee, which was very damaged in an accident and was never put right after. Sometimes it just goes, gives way and there she is lying down.

It can happen three times in a day or not happen for a whole year. We have a sip out of our magic bottle to ward of the effects of the shock and amazingly enough we’re soon on our way again. Rain threatens and the wind is cold. Past a church with a picnic-area and now the Camino leaves the road again. Out of a big straw-stack comes a tiny puppy to have a look, but we chase it away, two dogs are more than enough.

The Camino veers to the right where the main road is, and leads us through a bit of woodland. Hoof-prints of our elusive horses are clearly visible; a nice pile of fresh droppings tells us that they can’t be to far in front. Will we see them today?

We cross the road but stay in the trees, sheltered from the wind. Between the last trees we have a rest, I boil the kettle and we have a hot drink. We can see big buildings, factories and a motorway-cross in the distance. The small Japanese girl passes us and waves. She seems very nice but very shy.

I know the next bit of walking is not going to be nice. Big roads, cars and trucks and noise, but we have to get on with it. The Camino has it’s own new track, bridges and under-passes included. Once past the motorway we follow the hill on the right-hand side, Logrono must be right behind the hill, but we can’t see it. The wind drops, the clouds disappear and off comes the rain-gear. We have some grapes from the vineyards beside the track and come down the hill.

We’re amongst houses now, and an old woman stops us. She has set up her own little pilgrims office and gives us a stamp, presents us some figs. She also sells all sorts of cold drinks, but we will wait for a coffee in a proper bar.

Other pilgrims come and go, and soon we follow the lure of the shops and walk into the town. The Camino follows the back alleys as usual, but we find the town square eventually and have a look around. Most bars are still closed, but on the other side we can see a café that is open, so we pass the cathedral and get hold of a table. The dogs are glad to sit down, and I go inside to get us some breakfast.

Rosie has seen a shop full of hats and wants to visit it, so I give her some money and tell her to get a nice hat. I sit down and write some postcards, study the map and our guidebook, watch the other pilgrims come and go. I see the old granddad arrive; he is a wonderful specimen, white-haired, fit, full of vigour and very friendly to everybody. He has a coffee with this one, a beer with another, talks to everybody and generally has a very good influence on all and sundry. He speaks only Spanish, but what he lacks in knowledge of other languages he makes up for in volume. He laughs and jokes and he is as fit as a fiddle. We keep meeting him, soon we find out his name, Geraldo.

After a while it is time to go, on our way out we find a good Supermercado and get all we need.

Past a big fountain and now we enter the new town: The Camino follows the main road, and it is loud and noisy. After a couple of miles there is a pilgrim’s crossing, complete with flashing lights, which of course are ignored by the drivers, and we have to be very careful with crossing. In a nearby bar we can see the old granddad swigging a beer. That’s the way to do it! He catches up with us and takes the lead, the Camino peters out in an enormous building-site. Dozens of high-rises are under construction; cranes stretch their necks like a strange sort of enormous birds.

Instinct makes me look to the left, I know we have to cross a motorway, and I find it. Now for the Camino. After studying the terrain for a bit I find the under-pass, which will take us across, and yes, here is the Camino again. Granddad walks on, oblivious to our shouts.

Ah well, I think, he’ll find us sooner or later. The Camino is now a new gravel path, built for us pilgrims only. Trees line the track; benches every so often encourage a wee rest. And that is just what we have, a rest. It’s time for a bite to eat and to give the dogs their breakfast. Just when we start packing up there is old granddad arriving, he’s found the Camino back as well. It is the afternoon by now and the wind is fresh, rain threatening, but it only drizzles on and of. We walk through a plain, trees in the distance.

Many pilgrims overtake us; we rarely overtake anyone, apart from the Japanese lassie. Every time we sit down she overtakes us, and we overtake her when she has a rest. She likes the dogs, and sometimes she says a few words. Mostly she is extremely shy, and can’t speak English very well.

She seems to be going at the same speed as us, and so we keep meeting her. There are plenty others, the group of the six German pensioners, the elderly French couple, two sisters from Argentina, and a lot of Spanish folk. There is the odd Dutchman, a couple of Belgians. And of course there are the cyclist whom you rarely ever see twice, they come out of the blue to shortly disappear down the horizon.

The others all know each-other, since they share the same hostels, but we get to know them slowly as well, talking here to one, there to another. In the distance we can see the hills, and a motorway climbing up to the pass. Another big road comes from the left and seems to follow the ridge. A forest appears; full of benches and tables, the whole area seems to be one big picnic area, all centred around a big man-made lake. Logrono’s local Sunday outing space.

The Camino keeps changing tack and for a long time we can’t make out where we will cross the hill. Coming around a sharp bend in the track we now come upon a valley filled with little cairns. It looks most impressive, obviously everybody has been building these little heaps. Pilgrim power!

There is a poem written on a piece of paper, tucked under a stone. A prayer for peace really. We read it, and I put it back for the next pilgrim to find. It is only two weeks after the towers in New York have been blown up, and America is preparing to go to war in Afghanistan. Every body is worried.

Our architect, as I named the pilgrim who the has build all these little cairns all along the Camino, has found a lot of followers in this valley.

We climb on, and now we cm see we’re going to join the motorway to the right through the gap. It’s hot again and we pluck some grapes. The whole hillside here is full of vineyards and the grapes taste delicious.

At the top the Camino becomes a small tarmac road, high above the motorway which obviously has only been build recently, the scars in the landscape are fresh. Between us and the motorway is a high chicken-wire fence, and as we pass a sawmill we see another example of pilgrim power. Millions of crosses have been made by putting two slivers of wood at right angels in the wire. Very impressive and deeply touching.

On the other side of the hill we can see our goal, Navarette, in the distance. Between us and the town is another motorway, and we can see the bridges going across. I study the layout for a while and decide we will turn left on a track that seems to go to one of the bridges. No doubt it will go into town from there.

The yellow arrows want to take us to the right, where the Camino joins the main road again. No thanks; I’ve had enough of big roads for the day. Luckily my instinct was right and we reach Navarette by a back alley. It’s truly time as well, we’re tired and we’ve done a lot of miles today. We find the bar, the hostel is next door. Exhausted we sit down and have a cognac and a coffee. Other pilgrims are already there or arrive shortly; it’s like a big unofficial meeting. We still have to go and get our shopping and find a place to camp outside the town.

A Supermercado is on the way out, and heavenly laden we trundle out of town.

And what do the bastards do but put us on the road again! I’m appalled, but there is nothing for it. It is more then a mile before we spot a nice field not too near the road.

Tent up is by now such a swift routine that you hardly notice it, dinner and a sip of wine, and the night can come.

AN AGRICULTURAL SHOW AND A FIESTA, AND WHY SATURDAY EVENINGS AER TO BE DREADED IN SPAIN

When I wake up in the night for a pee I see the stars and a red light, just above the faintest outline of the church. Half asleep I assume there is a light mounted on the top of the cross on the church- tower, but in the early morning light I can now see that the light is on top of a huge aerial on top of the hill, in a straight line behind the church.

We make out way back to the main road and fill our water-bottles from a fountain some kindred spirit has put there, seemingly just for our sake. On this side of the road there is a small ceramics factory, with enormous big vases exhibited in the garden. They are taller then a person, wider than our kitchen-table, and you wonder how they make them, fire them and transport them?

The Camino is the road for another mile or so; finally we get our own track parallel to the road. Newly gravelled of course, like all the tracks in Rioja. New roads, new bridges, houses, motorways. New everything!

It must be Spain’s most prosperous province, but all this new gravel causes sore feet for the pilgrims, sore paws for the dogs. Often we find ourselves walking over the stubble parallel to the track, just to spare our feet and to save our dogs. There are times we think the dogs won’t make it and we will need a couple of days of. I even contemplate little moccasins for Shielasan.

The Camino often follows main roads for miles, just a ditch between us and the heavy traffic. I condemn the authorities roundly for that; the last thing a pilgrim needs is a big road beside which he has to walk.

At our first stop some other pilgrims pass us. The track veers of a bit from the road, and we climb a bit of a hill. We’re in undulating country, low hills and soft valleys. There are big field~ of potatoes, bigger fields of cereals, long since harvested and only the stubble showing. And there are vineyards, ever more vineyards. Grapes are Gods gift to the pilgrims, I’m sure of that, and they do keep us alive.

We’re on our way to Ventosa, and after that Najera. It is a hot day, and the Camino stretches in front of us. To starboard there is hamlet, but we by-pass it. Then there is a sudden turn in the road and we cross another road. Down we go into the valley where the new big road follows the valley floor. Our track follows the road and leads us to a picnic area. Breakfast time!

I put the pan to the boil for coffee and a whole flock of pilgrims descends on us. Another group of day­-pilgrims, doing only little stretches on foot, and big stretches by bus. We keep meeting these day-pilgrims, you can recognise them by their small packs and the lack of proper shoes.

For a while we walk beside the road, then there is a split in the Camino. Straight on, following the road, or turn left and walk in a sort of half circle.

For us there is no question, we’ re fed up with big roads. So we go for the smaller track and the little hamlets. Anything to get away from the big roads! The village isn’t far and soon we have our coffee and collect another stamp for our collection.

By now it is the afternoon and it is hot. The Camino follows the road most of the time, and now we have to cross again.

For a long time we’re on a slippery track, still wet from yesterday’s rain. Two hills loom in the distance, the Camino goes right between them. We take a rest in a ditch, there is no other shadow, and it is really hot. On the right hill is an old ruin, but we can’t make out what it has been. Once we come to the crest of the hill we can see the town in the distance. Still a fair bit to go. Slowly we descend to a concrete-plant, walk around it to a line of trees, and there are a big irrigation ditch. In no time at all I am in the cool water, with the dogs. How refreshing, how wonderful is cold water on your skin on a hot day! Now we really are getting into town, houses spring up, we pass some big sheds; there are allotments and irrigation channels, and then the first high-rises. We have made it. We spot a bar with a terrace, other pilgrims are already enjoying their beers, and we join them swiftly. Geraldo hands Rosie a beer, and I go inside to get some more. It is so nice to sit and have a good rest after you’ve done the days work!

We chat to the other pilgrims and laugh at Geraldo’s antics.

He is so funny. Now it is time to get into the old town and to find a shop. Najera is a nice town, and beside the river there are rows upon rows of big poplars, giving shade and shelter. We look for the campsite but we can’t find it at first. Once we finally spot it we built up the tent, but get chucked out by the owner because they are closed! I take it badly, I’m so tired, and I had all these nice ideas about leaving the gear and have a really nice walk around town, leisurely like, and maybe even a real dinner at night.

So all my plans are in disarray and we have to find another spot.

That proves easy enough, beside the river, under the poplars, half a mile out of the town. Quickly all gets put to rights again and I set of to go shopping, leaving Rosie in charge of the camp.

There is a brilliant Consum in town, and I get everything we need and a bit more. In the park beside the river is a big agricultural show, and on the way back I dander along to have a closer look. Tractors as big as houses, ploughs as wide as roads. All is big and new, stands with refreshments litter the park and the crowds are enjoying themselves.

Down by the river a donkey is used to ferry the children around, and some beautiful horses come galloping down at full speed. It’s a busy place and we watch all the going-ons from our tent. By the time it gets dark we are ready for sleep, but that is not to be. Because now the music starts and the fairground springs to life. There must be amplifiers as big as houses, the ground vibrates under us and the deep rumble of the bass-notes drowns out everything else. We have to shout to each other to make ourselves understood. The music drones on seemingly forever, and even after it finally stops there are cars and mopeds driving around all over. What a night! Oh yeah strangers, fear Spain on a Saturday night for they party and feast.

A JAPANESE FILM CREW AND A SCOTTISH PATRIARCH, AND THE QUIETEST DAY, AFLOCK OF PHEASANTS

By the time we wake up it has gone all very quiet. No noise, no cars and no one to be seen. By eight o’clock we’re on our way. A few revellers gather around a hamburger-stand, but all bars and cafes are closed. And we can’t get our stamp anywhere, but what the heck, there’ll be other places. We cross the bridge and walk through the oldest part of the town. Churches, a monastery, but not a soul to be seen. The Camino takes us up a steep slope and we have a great view from the top. The country is flatter now, irrigation ditches spread for miles and miles, vineyards and big fields as far as the eye can see.

A few other pilgrims pass us now, but we soon overtake them in turn. Out of a little woodland a flock of pheasants take off, only the second time we’ve seen them in Spain. We are still waiting for the first rabbits or hares; it seems there is no wildlife left in Spain.

The Camino stretches in front of us and it is very quiet. Sunday is the best day of the week for walkers, hardly any traffic. They’re all recovering from last night’s parties.

We have a wee rest at one of the irrigation ditches, the dogs can have a drink, and I wash my T-shirt. It is that hot that I put it back on wet as it is, and it dries within minutes. We arrive in a village, the Camino goes on right past it, but we go and have a look to see if there is a bar.

In front of a building we find our Japanese lassie, she thinks it is the hostel, but since it is closed anyway we keep going down the hill and we come to another road.

A sign says “BAR”, and that’s what we want. A bench has been provided outside, so we put our packs down and tie the dogs up, then I go and try the door. Although it looked closed it is open, and soon we are sipping our coffee. The red-haired lassie who became our miracle-man’s girlfriend is back with her former boyfriend, and no sign of our miracle-man. We never find out what happened to him, and why the lassie abandoned him.

They leave whilst we have another coffee and we never see them again. Returning to our dogs we find a big crowd. They are all looking at our two heroes, stroking them and taking pictures. They even get filmed, for there is a Japanese film-crew here, making a documentary about the Camino. Our dogs will be on Japanese television, isn’t that something?

Then the big moment arrives, for now our little Japanese friend comes down the hill.

As soon as they spot her mayhem brakes out. The film-crew is delighted to find one of their own actually doing the Camino and they do a live interview straight away. We are all told to shut up, and the camera rolls.

She does very well, our little lassie, answers the questions very seriously and tells them about herself. Of course we can’t understand Japanese, but that is the gist of it. When it is all over we get invited to come along to the hostel, so we can get our stamp.

An old patriarch sits at a table outside and we shake hands. He is from Scotland too, and pleased to see us. Dozens of people mill around and I go to have look inside. It is a very beautiful hostel, newly done up, and there is a big spread in the kitchen laid up for the film-crew.

I find a guitar and play away happily for a while.

We get our stamp eventually, and say goodbye to all the friendly people. What a day!

All afternoon we walk through the hills and valleys without seeing anybody else. It is hot, and we walk mile after mile. The main road in the distance has hardly any traffic on it today. We have a wee rest in a garden beside the Camino, and feast on the figs. In the clear blue sky I see a cross made by two aeroplanes. That must be a sign that we are doing all right. Then the Camino climbs up a hill and we come into higher country.

Big earthworks have been going on to the left and we wonder what it is going to be. I guess maybe a golf course?

To the right is a village, but the Camino takes us past it.

Soon after there is another village on the left. We go up to the church to look for a fountain, and find it in a little park. We have another rest, but since there is no bar or shop in this little place we are soon on our way again.

We never see any other pilgrims all afternoon, and not many other people either. We follow the road for a short stretch, then the Camino takes us across the hill. In the far distance we can see our goal, the town of Santa Domingo de la Calzada. Three miles to go, and the miles stretch further than ever. I’ve noticed that before, afternoon-miles are about twice as long as morning -miles. Finally we stumble into the town.

Enormous sheds on both sides of the road, equally big tractors and trailers. It’s a very agricultural big village really. The Camino takes us through a back alley and we come to the hostel. I collect our stamps and now it’s time for those coffee’s and cognacs. We find a little bar and by God, aren’t we glad to sit down! The dogs are too tired to stir, and for a while we just sit like zombies. But you recover a bit after a while and I go shopping. Just across the road, near enough. I get a bottle of wine, some sardines and cheese, and a big jar of asparagus, my favourites.

Another coffee in the bar, a last look at the crowds moving along and we’re off. Just before the bridge is a nice bit of woodland and we park the tent amongst the tall poplars. It is very strange to see an empty riverbed, but there is no water in this one.

The bridge looks superfluous, but maybe there is plenty of water in the winter? We eat and drink a bit and soon we slip into our sleeping bags

THE MAN WHO KNEW US, AND A MOST WELCOME MEAL, AND HOW WE SAID GOODBEY TO OUR JAPANESE FRIEND

Miracles are never far away on this trip, and most days we get our share. Always unexpected.

We are woken up by tractors driving past when it is still dark. So we’re up at first light and the pan is put to the boil. Rosie feeds the dogs while I am packing up, and we’re on the way. Just before the bridge there is a tiny chapel, with a fountain in front. So we fill our water bottles and cross the bridge.

For more then an hour we follow the road until we get our own track finally, and now the Camino leaves the road. We turn left towards a bit of woodland, then we turn right again and now the Camino turns into a tarmac road. It is another hot day and there are a lot of pilgrims about, cyclists as well.

We can just see a village in the distance when somebody approaches from the other side. It is a cyclist, with a little trailer and there is a big dog. A German shepherd.

Cautiously we wait, you never know with dogs. We are ready to put our two on the leads if needs be, but this time there is no need. The man on the bicycle stops and says:“Hello, you must be Tao and Rosie with the two dogs from Scotland!” Our faces must betray us, for he burst out laughing. His name is Ian and he is from the Island of Lewis in Scotland. We’re practically neighbours! But how does he even know about us?

Well, news travels fast on the Camino, in both directions. Ian is off to Santa Domingo, to buy real dog-food. He tells us to come and visit him in the hostel at Ponferrada, then he is gone.

We continue into the village, where we find a real bakery just past the church. We get our fresh bread and some wonderful chocolatties for breakfast, now we are looking for a bar. In a parallel street we find the bar TEO, and of course we have to go in there. We have our coffee’s outside, a bit windy but we enjoy it. Our Japanese friend arrives and she has a coffee too. Rosie disappears to get more chocolatties and we do have a very good breakfast. Life is good. Our little friend says she is not going any further today, she is not feeling too well, and so we have to say goodbye to her. We never see her again, but we hope she makes it to Santiago as well. She is very determined, and that can overcome all sorts of problems.

The good things of life aren’t over yet. We find a good wee shop, a Spar, and stock up. Then we’re on our way again, to Redicilla del Camino. The land is flattish now; the sun hot and about a mile before the village there is a picnic-area with a fountain. The fountain has a big trough and when I stuff one of my socks in the bottom hole it fills up rapidly.

An ideal place for a wash. Soon I’m sitting stark naked in the trough, and wash and scrub. Next are the clothes, and they all get scrubbed as well. Rosie has a go after I have finished, whilst I am dressing myself, and I have to keep an eye out for other pilgrims. None disturb our cleaning act and we walk refreshed and cool into the village. A little bothy has been put up for the pilgrims, to announce that we are now in CASTILLA I LEON. There are postcards, posters, T-shirts and what not in the little shop, and we also get our Sello.

We go to the church, which is open, and to the pub across the road which is not. But it will open at twelve o’clock, so we just have to wait twenty minutes or so. I take this chance to visit the church and say a wee prayer; Rosie sits in the sun and studies the map. The bar is neither very good nor very friendly, and after a cognac and a coffee we’re soon on the road again. The Camino crosses the main road again, we are on the way to Castildelgado, a tiny village.

Irrigation-channels are everywhere, and just before the village we see a man watering his garden from the channel. It’s nice to see a good vegetable garden, there aren’t that many nowadays in Spain.

We find a sign: “BAR”, and follow our noses. It is not only a bar; it is a big roadside restaurant, with dozens of trucks parked all around it. Suddenly we are very hungry and we go straight in. A waiter shows us to a table and the fun can start. The menu is in four languages, that makes it very easy to order and soon we are munching away. A bottle of wine comes automatically, and it does help!

Eating out in Spain is cheap for us, for less then a tenner you get a three course meal for two, inclusive all the trimmings.

Well satisfied we retrieve our dogs and packs and get back to the Camino. Our progress is slow, but we don’t care. We come to a tiny hamlet, where there is nobody around, but a very friendly dog accompanies us to the fountain, and shares our company. A lonesome cyclist arrives and inquires where we are. I tell him, and he starts to shout into his mobile phone, then he disappears full speed down the road, I raise my eyebrows, there are some people that....

Time for us to go as well. After crossing the road we soon come to another hamlet, only about ten houses, but it has a bar con shop. First we just sit on two benches, in the shade.

Then I go in-to have a look. The woman inside is so nice and helpful that I award her the first price for nicest person on the Camino! I get our coffees and cognacs and carry them out to Rosie. Later on we get some tins and the best apples we ever ate. I stretch out on my bench, doze a bit, Rosie gets her watercolours out and starts a picture. We have a good long rest, the dogs snoring underneath the benches.

Finally we get up and I return the cups and glasses inside. It’s about two miles to Villamayor del Rio, which turns out to be another tiny village. We’ve followed the main road on a new gravel path and it is no fun. The bar is closed but the fountain is working and the dogs get a swim. On top of the hill we can see the cemetery, surrounded by trees. There should be a spot for camping up there, and so we -leave the Camino and make our way up. Behind the cemetery is indeed a bit of ground flat enough to put our tent up, and soon we’re organised.

A walnut-tree invites us to gather the nuts, and soon we’re munching away. They go down well enough! Down to the right we can see and hear the main road. Ahead of us are endless soft rolling hills, to the left the land climbs higher and there are hills covered in forest.

Under a blanket of stars we go to sleep.

A STORK’S NEST ON THE CHURCH TOWER, AN UNWANTED MEAL FOR HAMISH, AND THE STEEPEST CLIMB OUT OF TOWN YET

We wake up to a nice morning. As usual the traffic noise has disturbed my sleep, but we’re fit and ready to go. We can see the main road going over a low pass in the distance and I decide not to go back to the village but to cut straight across the fields to the pass. We hope to save our dog’s poor paws a couple of miles of newly gravelled road. By now we have concluded that it is the gravel that makes our dogs suffer, and it is also hard on our own feet.

We follow the track, cross a minor road and continue on a track that seems to be going where we want to go. Just before the pass we join the road and find back the Camino.

We arrive in Belorado by a back alley and follow it up to the church. Here we see a magnificent stork’s nest on top of the tower. I’m glad; I always liked the stork-nests in Greece. I know that we won’t see a stork, they migrate in August, and we have October by now.

The hostel is beside the church, and I have a look inside, to see if we can get a stamp. The caretaker comes out and we get our stamp. We have a nice chat.

Her English is very good and she tells us she went to Santiago with her husband, several years ago. Then the husband died and now she is a warden in the hostel. We get up and follow the yellow arrows into the town-centre. In the park we put our packs down and have a rest. Then it’s time for the shopping and I find a great butcher. Laden with goodies I come back to give the dogs their breakfast. Shielasan devours her meat at once, but Hamish doesn’t even want to look at his. The blighter! Here is me thinking I was doing them a favour.

We have a coffee at the café on the corner, and I study the map. We enjoy being in a little town with plenty bars and shops, and we take our time.

Finally we fill our water bottles and make a move, it’s almost midday by now. We walk out of town on the main road, across a bridge and now the Camino gets it’s own track again. We walk through gently meadows and woodlands; the track meanders around soft hills and over flat fields. In the heat of the sun I loose all sense of time and space for a while and only come to when we get to Villafranca Montes de Oca, a small village at the foot of the mountains. From here we go up, high up.

We have to walk on the road coming into town, and it is not nice at all. All the traffic has to come through the village, which makes life very dangerous. Beside the church we take a rest. I go shopping, and we have a very nice meal a little later on. Many pilgrims climb up past us, only to return minutes later. The hostel is down the road, but they don’t ask us. Ah weel, such is life.

After dinner we fill the bottles and start our climb. For about a mile the Camino resembles more a stair, it’s that steep. When we reach a crossroad and I can see a field, we know that we have found our next campsite.

We have a lovely view over the valley, and before going to bed we finish the bottle of wine.

Will we not sleep just!

A WONDERFUL OLD COUPLE WITH A GOLF-CART, SOME CHURCHES AND THE WHITE HORSE

I have a dream, a very strange one. I’m driving around back home, delivering vehicles for Donnie, our local garage man.

I get so confused that I can’t remember where our own car is, but Roddy tells me and drives me to it. Then I take Rosie to our new home, which is in an old house in Spain. There are numerous rooms, all on different levels; there are two stables and a big walled garden that belong to the flat. I don’t remember why we are moving there, but it looks nice and welcoming.

We go for a walk and meet this little white pony on the town square. It says hello and talks to me. “I used to live with the last people in your new house,” the horse tells me. “And I like it there, so now I’m going to live with you”. Dreams are strange things!

The stars are clear; the weather is mild when I get up for a pee. For a while I sit in the tent opening and look into the night, smoke a roll-up.

Then I drift back to sleep, but at daybreak I’m up and boiling the kettle. A car comes rattling down the track, I can see the headlights coming and going. Who the heck would drive a track like this, I wonder?

The click-clack of pilgrim’s sticks on stone becomes audible. In the half dark of early morning the first pilgrims climb up the steep track, but they don’t see us. The dogs bark, and I tell them to be quiet.

Soon we’re on the go ourselves. Up goes the Camino, still steep in the beginning, but soon the track flattens out and we walk through a lovely forest. Beech and Oak, mixed with pine. Suddenly we come near the road, we didn’t even know it was there until we hear the cars. Down a steep slope to cross a small bridge, and just as steep back up on the other side. Then we are on the top, we’ve reached the height and the track becomes flat and easy to walk.

A radio-mast, a monument, time for a break. We meet the old couple and have a good talk with them. I have seen them in the hostel last night; they were ever so friendly in explaining to me where the shops were. He looks like a colonel, so I call him the colonel from now on. They are Americans, old and frail. Because they can’t carry much on their backs they have this golf-cart for their luggage. We just wonder how in earth he has pushed and shoved that cart up this far. They are an amazing couple, ever so friendly and polite. We will see some more of them later on.

We push on, waving them goodbye. The going is easy, the Camino is now a wide, sandy track and the colours are amazing. Hoof-prints and horse-droppings show us that the elusive horses are in front, following the Camino.

We sit down for breakfast and I put the kettle on. Afterwards Rosie does a bit of painting; she is intrigued by the colours.

Our old couple arrive and we have another blather. We’re about eight miles from San Juan de Ortega, and there is no shop, only a bar. So we get up and go on our way. It starts to rain and we put our rain-jackets on. It’s too late for the trousers; let the legs get wet then!

We set a very quick pace, and since the is no reason to stop we march ever so fast to San Juan. Once I hear church-bells ringing and tell Rosie we can’t be far now.

Finally we come to a clearing and we can see the church. It is enormous. Once upon a time there was a monastery here with over five hundred monks, they needed a big church!

We have a wee peek in the church then make a beeline for the bar. Thanks God we’re out of the rain.

A coffee and a cognac do wonders for the internal man, and then the wet clothes have to come off. Half an hour later we are dry, fed and watered and life looks very different. The old folkies arrive, and we have another talk with them. There are other pilgrims too, the bar becomes busy. The book says San Juan de Ortega has five inhabitants, and they were all in the pub when we arrived. I have a look around and find this wonderful stick in the corner. A real pilgrim’s stick. Since it begs me to buy it, I do just that, leaving my old stick outside later on, for anybody to find and use.

We dress in full rain-gear this time; neither of us wants to get wet again. By about halt past one we’re ready to go. Outside it is still raining, but that doesn’t stop us. After the clearing in which the little hamlet lies the forest closes in again and we’re walking on a wide sandy track, between trees.

The going is easy, slightly downhill, and after a while the trees lighten, there is a herd of cows, fences, and then we come over a wee hilltop. Down in the valley is a village, to the right a big quarry and a huge radio-mast.

The sun has come out of the clouds once more and I shed my rain-gear. But instead of going down to the village the Camino takes us around on a long winding track.

We are overtaken by some German couples; later on we overtake them when they are having their lunch. At the bottom of the valley we join the road that comes from the village and stop to have a bite to eat ourselves. The last of the food, we shall really need a shop later on today. We scrape the clay of our boots and go on again.

The next village is near, but doesn’t have a bar or a shop. We pass through and have a break on a bench just outside the village. It is hot again.

In this soft rolling country we can see the next church-tower from the distance, at least you know where you are going. We’re getting really tired now, but we have to reach the next place.

Atapuerca has a bar and a shop, says our guidebook, and I do hope we find both.

The sign: “BAR” pleases us very much and we follow the arrow instantly. It turns out to be a little restaurant, but we’re far too early for dinner. We have a coffee instead and then we explore the rest of the village. No stamp in the hostel, but a lot of pilgrims. Then we find the other bar, get a bottle of wine, a lump of cheese and a sausage for Rosie.

The bakery is closed, but we can come back later. For we can spot a picnic-area, shaded and only a few hundred yards away. That will make a good campsite for tonight! So we make our way over, the dogs are relieved to see that we’ve arrived for the night and go to sleep. I put the tent up and go to say hello to a little white horse, which is grazing in a circle, it being on a long chain.

It is the horse from my dreams, and I’m pleased. It is very nice to see a part of your dreams in reality.

Rosie goes back to the bakery and returns with a “pan”, now we can have dinner, and a good cup of wine. Our damp clothes are hanging from the branches of the trees, and peace reigns. I still remember the root of the tree that tried to bore a hole in my back in the night.

A CROWDED BAR, A FLOCK OF SHEEO AND A NIGHT IN THE PARK

It is another nice morning, another brand-new day. Eagerly we go on our way, today we will, God willing and Call-mac permitting, reach the big city, Burgos.

First we have to climb a wooded hill, and the track resembles more a riverbed for most of the way up. Then it flattens out and going down on the other side we have a magnificent view. More villages spread amongst the lower hills in front of us, in the distance the big town, vaguely visible trough the smoke. We can see the railway now, that explains the trains I could hear in the night. A motorway is also visible, another major road converging on the city as well.

But first of all we have to go down to the next village, Cardenuela.

We come to the bar, which is already crowded this early in the morning. We recognise some of the pilgrims, others are new to us. With a bit of luck we just about manage to get a couple of seats on the terrace, and I go in to order some coffee. Although the barman is that busy, he never falters. One after the other gets served, calm, friendly and efficient. It’s funny to sit amongst so many other pilgrims and listen to all the different languages. There is German, Dutch, English and Spanish.

For every-one who gets up and leaves another one arrives, like a big honey-pot.

This must be the busiest bar we have seen so far.

After a while we move on. The Camino is the road now, but there is hardly any traffic. We walk past nice gardens with summerhouses, some quite simple, others elaborate structures. That makes a lot of sense; the big city is only half an hour away by car.

Another church, another hamlet, but neither bar nor shop, so we just continue. We come to a bridge over the motorway. The noise of the traffic is deafening and we’re glad to move on.

There is a split in the Camino here, you can go straight until you join the main road and follow that in to town for several miles, or you can go to the left and follow a quieter track. No need to ask which way we take. We walk around an enormous empty building, surrounded by turrets and barbed wire.

Obviously something to do with the army, but now long deserted. We’re crossing a plain now, and come upon a flock of sheep. Our dogs get put on the lead and we approach slowly. Always make sure the shepherd sees you, then he will normally call of his dogs and you can pass in safety.

And he does see us and calls his dogs. Three big German Shepherds obey his whistle instantly, to the great relief of Hamish.

It’s the first time I’ve seen these dogs used as they should be, they are sheepdog after all.

We take another rest, it is so hot. We can see the next village now, and we make our way slowly towards it. Castanarez is still about three miles from Burgos, and I can’t find a shop. The idea was to get our food here and camp just before the town, but needs makes laws and we will have to go into town after all. And it is too early to stop anyway.

We follow a big main road, cross a motorway and reach the suburbs. Luckily the Camino now takes a back-route, and life becomes bearable again. Behind the long wall of some big mansion we spot horses, real beauties.

We have another rest, I think we are so tired today from the heat, no so much from the miles we have walked.

We have to go through a little tunnel, under the railway and enter a big wide avenue. It’s a sort of ring road, which follows the river to the town-centre. It is lined with trees, there are wide pavements and we walk for at least another two miles.

There are football-pitches to our right, swimming pools and enormous buildings, all seemingly to do with sport.

I feel that we are wrong somehow, there should be bars and shops, so we cut to the right and soon enough we come to a big parallel road.

Any amount of shops and bars here! We see a nice café with a big terrace and have a rest. Yes, a beer would be nice. Since they are doing food we might as well eat a bit, and so there we are, eating our third lunch in Spain at half past three on the fourth of October, on a terrace in the sunshine, in Burgos.

It is my big daughter’s birthday; she must be nineteen by now. I haven’t heard from her and her sister Jessica for more then ten years. God give that they are all right!

The dogs get watered by the waitress, and I go to pay for all these luxuries and to collect our stamp.

Then we are on our way again to the city-centre. And that is still a long way. Traffic builds up gradually; there are ever more big crossroads. We find a pet-food shop, the first we have seen in Spain. We buy some tins of cat-meat, Hamish just loves the stuff. Later on we come across a chemist and we get some bandages that I have seen and want to try.

The woman speaks English and is very nice.

Finally we reach the centre, Rosie disappears into a sport-shop. I follow and start in my best Spanish.

“Do you have Camping-gaz”? “No”. “Do you know where I can get it?” “Well, try such and so”. Of course I can’t remember and kindly they write down the name of the shop and the address on a piece of paper. “Muchas gracias”

The big town-square is just behind the shop and I leave Rosie there with the dogs, plenty people to observe. I’m hunting for the camping-gaz, we need it and there won’t be any other big cities for a good while. I set of and ask a lassie, she studies the bit of paper and tells me I have to go across the bridge and then ask again. I meet some of the old Germans, eating ice cream. They’ve told us that they are only as far as Burgos this year, so it will be the last we see of them.

I find a bridge and cross it, on the other side I spot a Drogueria and decide to try my luck there. The shopkeeper looks at my piece of paper, takes me out in the street and points. If I follow this street, take the third road on the left I will be there!

And it is just as he tells me. Relieved, clutching my little canisters of gaz I make my way back. On the way I pick up an English newspaper, the Daily Mail. Rosie should be pleased with that, it’s her favourite.

I find Rosie and the dogs and we stow the things away. Only some food now and then to find our way out. The yellow arrows have long since disappeared, but I know the Camino will go passed the cathedral, so that’s where we go. The cathedral is massive and, no doubt very beautiful, but we are too tired to pay much attention and walk past it.

Up we go, and from the top of a fountain I try to get my bearings. I’m just looking for trees now; trees mean shelter, a park. Anything will do for tonight, we are too tired to get out of the city.

It takes a good while to get down to the river again, but finally we manage and find a big park. “That’s it.” I decide, and we look for a quiet spot. Beside the river we find a good campsite, there are still people around, but what the heck. Rosie is that shattered that she just creeps in the tent and goes to sleep. I would have gone shopping for some dinner, but “no thanks” she says. The traffic roars past all night and I don’t sleep much. At least I rest whilst I lie awake.

WHAT A SHOP, THE ARMY ON THE MOVE AND THE BEGINNING OF THE MESA

We’re up bright and early, and out of the park by eight o’clock. The first thing we come across is a little bakery where we find all that we need. We are sitting outside on a bench, munching chocolatties and other goodies. The woman in the shop is ever so friendly and doesn’t mind us coming back three or four times. Then we’re off down the road, a left turn, a right turn and another big road to cross, we’re suddenly in a big park. We come past the hostel, which is a collection of wooden huts. If we had known that we could have camped here, but we didn’t know. We have only walked then minutes or so, we could have done it last night. I didn’t know we were that near to the end of the city.

The houses recede and we go through a railway tunnel. We’re out of town! Big university-buildings left and right, a crossing and all of a sudden we come to a suburb. The Camino turns to the right and we leave the place on a little tarmac road.

The weather is nice, the going is good and it is ever so nice to be back in the countryside. We come past an enormous tree-nursery; there must be millions of trees! That is another thing to be said in favour of Spain, they do plant trees all over the place. As soon as a new construction is ready they plant trees all around it.

The road goes on, crosses a little stream, and we have a wee rest. Further on there is some confusion. The road is blocked, all sorts of signs, and then we see what it is all about. The old bridge has collapsed, the debris still lying in the river. Beside it is a new emergency bridge, nothing to stop the pilgrims!

We start to make jokes about pilgrim’s traps. “The Junta de Castilla y Leon announces that they have collected the remains of thirty-one pilgrims during the month of October. Other ways to get rid of the too numerous pilgrims are being studied!”

We have a bit of fun.

The track now leaves the road and turns right. Instead of going to Villabilla, the next village, we go now straight over the fields, to a distant line of trees. Coming nearer we can see an enormous amount of road-building going on, tracks everywhere and traffic waiting. We have to cross, get over the bridge and find the Camino on the other side again. We follow the road closely to the next village, called Tardajos.

It doesn’t take long to find the bar, and soon we are sitting on the terrace sipping our drinks. Until the rain starts.

We all seek shelter inside, and we have another coffee. The rain stops and I go shopping, crisscrossing the village since all the shops are in different places.

But I get all that we wanted and needed and return to the bar. Outside an endless caravan of army-vehicles passes. Has the war in Afghanistan started? We wonder, it could just be routine manoeuvres.

Time to go. We move out of the village and into the next one, only a mile or two away. There is nothing but a fountain in it, and we make good use of that, washing ours socks and filling our bottles.

It’s drizzling on and off, the sun coming out occasionally. We haven’t seen many pilgrims today. Off we go, on to the Mesa.

The Mesa is an almost empty and arid stretch, mostly a high plateau, between 800 and 1000 metres.

Most of it is white clay, half-empty villages spread far apart. The fields have long since been harvested and the land looks empty and barren. We walk trough a lonesome country.

All afternoon we climb slowly but steadily, there is no one to be seen. It’s hard to tell if we are on the top of a hill or not, the tops stretch flat like pancakes for miles. We do go down into a valley eventually, and we can see the village in the distance. It lies at the foot of the next long climb, but that will be for tomorrow. We have to walk the length of the village; most of the houses are crumbling and empty. There is not a soul in sight until we reach the bar. Exhausted we sink down on the bench outside.

After a while I get up to get us a drink, and the woman who runs the bar helps me to carry out all the goodies. Coffees and cognacs, even beer for Rosie.

We won’t go far from here and we can enjoy ourselves now. Before we take our leave I buy a bottle of wine, we have our food, so we can have a good dinner. We park the tent just outside the village in a field and relax.

The rain comes back in the night but we are warm and dry inside. We are in Hornillas de Camino and I think we’ve done very well.

A LOT OF CLAY, A LOVELY LITTLE CHAPEL AND A FAT LITTLE INNKEEPER

It has rained most of the night and we’re lucky that we can pack up just when it is dry for a short spell. Going out for a pee in the night when it is raining is one of these things you could do without, but we haven’t found another solution for that.

The dogs were barking earlier on and I thought I heard voices when we were having our first morning coffee, still in our sleeping bags. But as we get up to get dressed there is no one to be seen.

Trough persistent drizzle we make our way up the next long slope. The rain has done amazing things to the track, the white clay sticks to our boots in ever increasing quantities and walking becomes very hard indeed. Every couple of minutes we stop to scrape the mud of, but within minutes we are carrying ten pounds of quality clay on our boots again. We try walking on the stubble and keep changing from left to right in the hope to find the less sticky bits.

Down goes the Camino, into a little valley and on the left is a lonesome building. It seems to be a sort of chapel, we have come to Arryo de san Bol. It’s locked up however, and we seek shelter at the back. Kindly spirits have provided a roof over the terrace, and there are benches. Time to put the kettle on.

I’m just pouring the coffee when another pilgrim arrives, dripping with rain. He is a giant, French and very friendly.

We share our coffee with him, and in return he feeds Rosie on slices of cake. After our breakfast I fill the bottles from the spring and have a brief look around. It’s a nice place, you can have a picnic below in the wood, you can swim in a big basin if you want. A pity the chapel is closed, I would like to have a look inside.

Back into the mud, and up the next long slope. The mud seems to get heavier all the time, and we have frequent rests.

When we finally come to the next village, Hontanas, the mud makes place for a paved road. Thanks God! All the way down we scrape the mud of our feet, and never were we so glad to see the sign: BAR.

It is a truly amazing place. It looks completely medieval, implements dangling from the ceiling amidst sausages, a huge open fire is roaring up the chimney.

A very fat little innkeeper serves our coffee and cognac, grinning. But we can see he is wanting to go off, he’s ready to lock up, keys rattling in his hands. So we take our drinks outside and let him go. We finish our coffee on the bench outside and then go to have a look at the church. There is a nice fountain and I fill our bottles, wash my boots.

Then the bakery-van arrives and we get our loaf. It’s a lifeline for the old folkies living in the small villages, this van. Everyday it brings them the bread and the gossip.

There is poverty here, and they have the same old problems of all the rural areas. No jobs, so the young go to the cities and the old folk are left alone in their crumbling houses, hanging on to a life-style that’s become redundant.

In some villages there are less then one in ten houses still occupied! On the way out we pass the dosed swimming pool, don’t tell me they are not trying to make life attractive here!

Luckily the sun has dried the track a bit now, and the going is a lost easier. After a while the Camino becomes the road again, but there is no traffic to disturb us. We come to the ruins of a big monastery; it used to be a pilgrims-hospital, especially for leprosy.

By now it is hot again and the last couple of miles are hard going. Then we can see the little town of Castrojeretz coming near.

A ruined castle on the hill, and a big church with a cluster of houses at the bottom where we enter the place. We find a bar and have a good rest. I decide not to go into town tonight, we’re too tired. So I spy around for a campsite and soon we’re installed behind some wined houses. We have our evening meal and go to sleep, still feeling the weight of all that sticky clay on our feet.

THE VERY BEST BREAKFAST, THE STEEPEST HILL, AND THE LONGEST THREE MILES IN THE WORLD

It is Sunday morning and because the tent is facing east we can see the dawn coming, follows by a spectacular sunrise over the eastern horizon. For once we haven’t been disturbed on a Saturday night, the only one making any noise was a visiting dog.

Once we’re on the way the first thing we see is our little fat innkeeper from yesterday, going in to the bar. He certainly seems to get around. We make our way to the centre of the town and find the Taverna. It proves to be the best ban restaurant/hotel we’ve come across, and the Taverna wins the first price for bars.

Inside it is nice and warm, welcoming, extremely so. We get a big coffee straight away and the boss asks:”Desajouno?” I know that means breakfast and nod enthusiastically.

We get toast and marmalade, followed by another big coffee. The boss keeps a tame parakeet, which flies around, sits on the bar to collect breadcrumbs, and walks up and down. It’s hilarious.

Our little fat friend the innkeeper arrives, and the delighted parakeet flies straight onto his shoulder. He grins and brings the parakeet to me, but the little beast flies straight back to him.

The barman’s wife arrives with a bucket of leftovers and asks if she can feed our dogs? Can she not! The dogs are as delighted as we are. What a meal they have. The place is really a little hotel. The bar is full of long strings of garlic and onions; big bacon-sides are hanging down from the ceiling. We haven’t enjoyed ourselves so much for ages!

We study the pilgrim’s book and add our own little story; finally it is time to go. Rosie gets some tapas for on the road and we go looking for the bakery. The other shops are all closed, be we don’t mind much, our stomachs are full. Once out of town we make a beeline for the hills. At the foot of the hill we have to cross a bridge, then the climbing starts.

And it is some serious climbing, I’m going that slowly that Rosie takes the lead and disappears from sight. Shielasan stays with me, a worried look in her eyes.

She wonders what is wrong with me, going that slow. I’m darned glad to reach the summit; there is a little picnic-area where we take a rest. The other pilgrims have by now all passed us and it’s quiet again. We cross a plateau and have a lovely view from the top on the other side. We can see the Camino for miles, leading to a village in the far distance.

The descend is just as steep as the climb on the other side was, and we go down slowly and carefully. Down and down we go, looking at the other pilgrims we can see on the track far ahead.

After crossing the plain we come to a road, there is a little picnic-area once more, fountain, grill and all, and we have another rest.

A white van stops on the road, a young fellow comes out and stares down the Camino, disappears again.

It’s time to go, there is still a long way ahead of us. Following the road we see a village coming near and nearer, but we’re not going there. The Camino changes tack and veers to port. A big medieval bridge has to be crossed and then we take a starboard tack to follow the river. After a while we spot the village, Itero de la Vega. There is a shop and a bar, but the shop is closed.

So we go into the bar, get our coffee and cognac and I manage to order two sandwiches. Thanks God for that, we don’t have much supplies left!

We don’t stay long, it’s not a very nice bar, the telly is blaring and there is a crowd of bored villagers, typically spending the Sunday-afternoon in the only way available.

The book says three miles to Boadilla del Camino, but that is nonsense. It takes us more then three hours to get there, struggling against a strong wind, slowly climbing the low hills. There are the funniest little hills around, looking like miniature volcanoes.

We finally reach the village and we look out for a campsite~ but first I want to find a bar, have another hot drink.

But life is full of surprises. Beside the church is a sign “Albergue” and “Bar”, so I peek around the gate. I can only see some pilgrims sitting in a garden, so I turn back, that’s not what we are looking for. “Toot toot”, goes a car. I ignore that, who could be tooting to us here in Spain where we don’t know anybody?

But the car toots some more; a door opens and out comes our barman from the Taverna in Castrojeretz! I am most amazed to see him here, but then I remember that in a car you could get here in an hour, even it took us all day to walk. “What’s up?” he inquires. “Are you not going in?”

“No”, I answer, “The dogs!” And I point at our “Perros”

“No problem at all” he tells us, and disappears thought the gate. Within minutes he returns with the boss, his friend. The young boy we’ve seen earlier on comes out as well, he speaks a bit English. “Come” he says, and shows us the way. There is a big dormitory. “Take any bed you like,” he offers to us. I look at Rosie, and she nods. For once we will sleep in a hostel. “Dinner is at eight o’clock,” we get told and he disappears.

We get ourselves organised, then I go into the house, looking for some wine. I sit around the table with the boss and his wife and our barman from the Taverna.

The boss is asking lots of questions, and we converse in a mixture of French and Spanish. The mama, his wife, has done all the paintings that cover the walls, and I tell her that they are very good. She is pleased.

I go back to the dormitory to offer Rosie a glass of wine and find her painting. We meet the other pilgrims and talk a bit until dinnertime.

We all troop into the dining room, there are about seventeen of us. A lovely meal follows, the red wine flows freely and our tongues move freely as well We feel that we are really good pilgrims by now, having done about two-hundred miles, but an old Frenchman has come all the way from Grenoble, and has done over a thousand miles already.

That just shows you. There are two sisters from England, our vague pilgrim from Hounto with his friend, a couple Spaniards and some Germans.

After the meal the pilgrim’s passports get stamped and it’s time to pay. Within half an hour we’re all in bed and it is: Lights out!

AN UNEXPECTED CANAL, SIESTA IN THE PLAYGROUND AND A FRIENDLY PRIEST IN THE BAR

Of course I can’t sleep on a thick mattress, my stomach rumbles with the unaccustomed evening-meal and all the noises sleeping people make in the night keep me turning over.

I’m-up a couple of times, for a pee, for a smoke, for a drink of water. By six o’clock I am definitely up, ready to light our cooker, then I think better of it.

I release our dogs from their shelter; the poor things weren’t allowed in the dormitory! We get breakfast and then it is time to say goodbye. It was nice to talk to the other pilgrims, but I am not going to sleep in a hostel again.

Sure, the place was nice, clean, brand-new, but no thanks.

We’re on the way. The rain has stopped and took the cold away with it. The morning is bright and fresh and we’re glad to be on our own again. Before long there is little climb and all of a sudden there is a canal!

A beautiful canal, lined with trees and the track is wide and sandy. It’s a real pleasure to be walking like this. Some of last night’s pilgrims overtakes us, we wave goodbye. Then we come to the sluices, and it’s just beautiful. Below us to the right we can see the town, Fromista.

We cross the railroad and come into the main-street. I stop in front of the supermarket; Rosie wants to go on to a bigger one. But I tell her this might be the only one, and I am right. We didn’t see another shop in the town.

The shop is a marvel. Not only has it got all the food you can want, it also has a hardware part, with anything from sun-hats to wine-casks.

I wish we could have bought a one.

We sit and eat our breakfast outside and go to the bar. We find if in the nearby square, and get our coffee and our stamp.

We meet the two English lassies from last night; one has a really bad foot. I told them last night to say a prayer, but it seems few people believe in the power of praying. I certainly do, and I can tell you that most little prayers get answered. But I think your prayers have to be sincere and to fulfil a need that is within your realm.

Not that miracles don’t happen all the time!

Once out of town the Camino is just the small road for a while, until we get to a big road and the Camino splits in two once more.

We take the yellow arrows to the right, to go through the little hamlets. For a while we just walk over the almost level fields, then there is a village. No bar, no shop, so we keep on going. After a couple of miles the next hamlet turns up. There is no bar here either, but now the Camino follows the river, and it’s nice walking beside the water. At the next hamlet we cross the river and there appears this nice playground. There is a fountain, there is shadow, and we decide to have a siesta.

Much refreshed and clean after our wash in the fountain we continue. A sign:

^”BAR” takes us to the left and we land in a tiny hamlet. We find out that the bar is closed, have a break anyway.

We have now joined the other track, so we follow the main road on a new gravel track. The road takes us to the horizon in a straight line, we walk and we walk.

It’s hot again, there is little shadow and we don’t see any other pilgrims. Sparse traffic on the road. Finally after a couple of years we see the town, Villalcazar de Sirga.

We climb up, past the hostel where a few pilgrims are waiting for the five o’clock opening. Then we get to the church and find the bar, in we go!

A busload of tourist is outside, visiting the church; this seems to be a real touristy place. I go to the bakery but it is closed.

On my way back I look into the tourist shop, and we’re lucky. Apart from all the tourist things he has wine and cheese in the shop. I also get us some postcards and now I can return to the bar. Meanwhile the whole bus tour has come into the bar for a drink and two men come to shake our hands. “Hello, my name is father John and I am from Montreal.” So the one is a priest, the other the driver of these tourist. They are all on a pilgrimage to Santiago, walking little bits and visiting the churches and monasteries on the way. It’s really funny. They seem to be amazed at meeting some “real” pilgrims, and they all want to see us.

I go to the church to have a look myself and say a wee prayer. It is time to look for a campsite; we’ve done enough for the day!

Down at the bottom of the town is a picnic area, with water and trees and shelter, and that will do just fine! There is hardly any traffic on the nearby road and we have an undisturbed night.

THE BEST TORTILLA EVER, A PETROLSTATION FOR PILGRIMS, AND A WATERLESS PLAIN

I thought it was a bit fresh when I made the first coffee of the day, but I didn’t know how cold it was until we start to pack up. I hand Rosie the dog’s bowl, and a chip of ice slips out of it!

I try to fold the tent and the bottom is frozen solid! Besides that there is a thick fog and you can’t see much.

Carrion de los Condos is about three and a half miles away, so we go for it. The Camino follows beside the road in an endless straight line; we warm our muscles and after ten minutes or so set a stiff pace. We can’t see the town coming nearer for we can’t see anything at all!

Very few people overtake us today, but we overtake quite a few. There is no point in stopping, it’s cold and damp and we need shopping anyway.

Just before the town the fog starts to lift and we can see the blue sky once more. We find a bar and tie the dogs to the backpacks. Time for breakfast! We get a slice of tortilla each with our coffees, and it is the best tortilla we’ve ever had.

We better have another slice, and another coffee. I study the book and the map, Rosie writes some postcards. Then it is time for a bit of shopping and the place is just grand! We find a clothes-shop where I get a new jumper, gloves and a hat. Rosie settles for new socks. Across the road is the bakery, beside it an electrical shop where I get batteries for our torch. In a sweetshop we get chocolate, and there we are. In half an hour we have found all we were looking for.

We walk down to the town-square, follow the yellow arrows to a bridge. We pass a big monastery, which is now a museum.

The only thing we need now is water, but we can’t find a fountain anywhere. Rosie suggests that a petrol station we can see in the distance will surely have water and right she is. Thankfully we pull in and fill the bottles. And since there is a little café as well we go in to have a last coffee, We also get our cognac bottle filled up, very handy these patrol-stations!

The café also has a wall full of the most wonderful pocket-knives, and it is very hard to remind myself that I couldn’t carry another ounce, and that I don’t need another pocket-knive. They’re beautiful and cheap. Ah well, you canni have them all!

So we leave Carrion de los Condos well fed and watered, rested but very heavily laden.

Soon we’re on the Camino, on our own. An endlessly straight gravel-track, trees to the left and right. Give them another ten years and you can walk in the shadow all the way. It is very hot, and there is little to interest the eye.

Then we come to the new stretch. Specially build for the pilgrims, twelve miles of brand-new gravel track as straight as a dye. Any twelve miles in a straight line would be boring, but on a new gravel-track it becomes purgatory.

We walk and we walk some more. The horizon doesn’t come any closer. We walk and walk a bit more.

After a couple of hours we come to the only picnic-area, to find the well out of order and the rubbish uncollected for weeks. Heaps of cans and empty bottles four foot high. It’s disgusting. The worst problem is the lack of water. Millions were spent on creating this track, and yet they didn’t even run a water pipe along. I am furious, which idiots built and planned this bit of the Camino?

We continue until we can’t go any further and put the tent up beside the track. We haven’t seen anybody for hours. We have our frugal evening meal and sit down to watch the sunset.

A lone pilgrim comes by and stops for a chat. It’s another giant, from Germany but he speaks English. He knows it is still three mile to the next village but it doesn’t disturb him. He’s young and strong, and one of his steps matches two of ours.

We go to sleep with the sound of a tractor working late somewhere on the plains.

A BREAKFAST FROM A REAL CHEF, A MISSING BAR, THE NASTY WITCH, AND A LOVELY CAMPSITE WITH A LATE VISITOR

Since we’re parked up facing the track you can face east or west by choice when sitting in the tent opening. And I sit there watching the sunrise over the plains whilst the kettle is boiling between my feet.

We can hear the tractors arriving from the far away villages for the day’s work. There is just enough water for our coffee and I wonder what the pilgrims do in the summer. You can only carry so much!

We set off, the eastern sky ablaze with colours, the Camino as straight as drawn with a ruler.

But we are lucky; we can see a couple of low hills coming up. There is even a bend in the road!

The village lies hidden in a fold in the landscape, and we can only see roof after roof slowly emerge from the valley.

We have come to Calzadilla de la Cueza, and we follow the arrows towards the bar. What we find is a real small hotel, nice looking and welcoming. A real chef appears and makes us a tortilla. That is not only very welcome, it is also very good, a lifesaver!

I even manage to get some bones for the dogs, so they can have their breakfast as well. We find the fountain in a little park, and fill the bottles. I feed a friendly dog along with our own ones with the left over bread, and we get ready to go. The world seems all right once more.

We cross a road and a small bridge, then the Camino takes us through wooded hills, vastly different from the plains. At the top we have a rest, enjoy the view. Down we go, to join the road and we see a village coming nearer at the bottom of the hill. There is supposed to be a bar here but it is closed, a shop has seemingly disappeared altogether.

That’s bad news; we do need a little bit shopping. Ledigos hasn’t much to offer to the pilgrims, but we stay for a while in the park, have a rest and dry the tent.

The book says that the next village has a shop, but that won’t open until five o’clock, and seeing that it is only two o’clock now we don’t have to hurry. A lot of pilgrims come past whilst we rest, most of them don’t even took at the village, pass on the main road.

We get on our way again, about two miles to go to Terradillos de los Templarios. At first I can’t find a fountain, and there is no sign of a bar or shop. I explore some more and find the “Albergue”. There is no bar, I get a stamp, and inquire about the shop. “Closed”, says the woman. “Open at six o’clock”, she shows me on her watch. I am appalled, it’s only just after four, and we only need a few things. But she is adamant, nothing doing.

I go back to Rosie to report, and we decide not to wait. Rather go hungry then give in to this witch. I am getting so angry now that I put a wee spell on her. I wish her a headache for the next couple of weeks.

Later on we hear from other pilgrims that she threw them out, made them go back to the last hostel before, because she was full. That is unheard of on the Camino. What a bitch!

With our water bottles filled we leave this disgraceful place and follow the track. It is about four miles to the next hamlet, and we manage to do around three of them when we come across this wonderful campsite. A tree-lined meadow, a stream running through, a working well beside it, and that is that, the tent goes up and we boil some soup.

My temper cools a bit but I still wish any nastiness upon the witch. She gets the first price for the nastiest person on the Camino. After our simple meal we explore a little.

Downstream, maybe a good hundred yards away we find a wee vegetable garden.

Some person must have done a lot of work here. There would be things to harvest, but I am not taking anything. I envisage an old man or woman coming out of the nearest village maybe once a week to do some gardening and collect some vegetables, and I am touched. Vegetable gardens are so rare now in Spain.

Just before going to bed, a lone pilgrim arrives. He is small; a real Spaniard and carries a wooden sword as a walking stick. He wants a cigarette and I give him one. Over the next two weeks we are to meet him frequently. He desperately wants to talk, but he can see we don’t understand much of his Spanish. Rosie is a bit weary of him, but I feel he is harmless, and quite friendly.

It is getting dark now and we go to sleep.

A FAST WALK TO A GREAT LITTLE TOWN AND HOW WE GO OUT OF OUR WAY FOR A BOTTLE OF WINE

It is day twenty-three and it is Thursday. We are well into October now. We have been on the go for more than three weeks and we feel we are very seasoned pilgrims by now.

Sometime yesterday we passed the halfway mark, and we’re proud of ourselves and our dogs. Life is once more very simple. You walk, you eat, you rest. No other demands, no post, no phone-calls.

Talking about the journey over the endless plains and the lack of water, we come to the conclusion that the wells on the plains have been deliberately dismantled, because the ground water has been poisoned by the agricultural chemicals used by the farmers. The authorities must have disliked the idea of poisoning the pilgrims, dismantled the pumps- ignoring the need of drinking water by the pilgrims.

Anyway we are past that stretch now and we do have water here. We fill our bottles and wash our faces. Breakfast is a cup of black coffee, and we are on our way.

First we come to San Nicolas del Real Camino, another adobe village without any shops or bars. Then it is a long stretch to Sahagun, and we are making good time. There is no incentive to stop, so we walk, and we walk fast.

As the book says, the entrance to the town is dismal, and even once we are in the town and have found our first bar, we don’t know what is awaiting us.

We have breakfast, chocolatties and cream-cakes, collect our stamps and go to the butchers for some real dog-food. They get their breakfast tied up to our packs on the terrace, and we cross the road to the Spar.

Then I have to go down to get some tobacco, and I find the most enchanting little town, a big “Plaza”, any amount of shops, and I return quickly to tell Rosie about it.

Soon we are sitting on the square, enjoying ourselves.

There are some market-stalls, any amount of supermarkets and banks. It is Rosie’s turn to go gallivanting, and I write postcards and watch the dogs, observe the people.

It is lovely to be in a little town where you know you can get anything you might want or need. Plenty other pilgrims are around, coming and going. We wave to the ones that we know.

Sahagun gets the three stars for the nicest little town on the Camino. On the way out we meet a large group of cyclist, repairing one of their bikes.

We’re on our way to Calzada del Coto, a little village with a bar and a shop. The Camino splits in two just before the village. The choice is between going past three villages to Mansilla de la Mulas, or to go there with only one village. Since we will need supplies the choice is easy for us, we will have to go through the biggest possible number of places.

Either way another long and straight stretch lies ahead of us. The funny thing is that we are so high up. Currently we’re over 2500 feet up, we’re walking well over the top of Ben Mhor! Yet it feels as if we were at sea level.

We carry a heavy load and we are going slowly. The village appears, but to get there we have to cross the motorway and actually follow the other route for a bit,

stop, so we walk, and we walk fast. As the book says, the entrance to the town is dismal, and even once we are in the town and have found our first bar, we don’t know what is awaiting us.

We have breakfast, chocolatties and cream-cakes, collect our stamps and go to the butchers for some real dog-food. They get their breakfast tied up to our packs on the terrace, and we cross the road to the Spar.

Then I have to go down to get some tobacco, and I find the most enchanting little town, a big “Plaza”, any amount of shops, and I return quickly to tell Rosie about

it.

Soon we are sitting on the square, enjoying ourselves.

There are some market-stalls, any amount of supermarkets and banks. It is Rosie’s turn to go gallivanting, and I write postcards and watch the dogs, observe the people.

It is lovely to be in a little town where you know you can get anything you might want or need. Plenty other pilgrims are around, coming and going. We wave to the ones that we know.

Sahagun gets the three stars for the nicest little town on the Camino. On the way out we meet a large group of cyclist, repairing one of their bikes. We’re on our way to Calzada del Coto, a little village with a bar and a shop. The Camino splits in two just before the village. The choice is between going past three villages to Mansilla de las Mulas, or to go there with only one village. Since we will need supplies the choice is easy for us, we will have to go through the biggest possible number of places.

Either way another long and straight stretch lies ahead of us. The funny thing is that we are so high up. Currently we’re over 2500 feet up, we’re walking well over the top of Ben Mhor! Yet it feels as if we were at sea level.

We carry a heavy load and we are going slowly. The village appears, but to get there we have to cross the motorway and actually follow the other route for a bit, then we will have to return to where the Camino splits up. Calzado del Coto is a friendly village and we find the bar straight away.

We have a cold beer and coffee, buy a bottle of wine for tonight. There are only a few locals in the bar, no sign of any other pilgrims.

There is no stamp in the bar, so I decide to try the hostel. But the hostel is closed. Hostels close at eight in the morning and open at six o clock at night. In between pilgrims don’t exist, at least they should not be heard or seen.

It’s a bit strange, this regime, but it does account for the pilgrims being on the move all the time.

We scramble back to the motorway, and find our own track, a new gravel-path lined with young trees. We head to the west, the motorway about half a mile away, running parallel.

I am getting really tired now, and carrying that bottle of wine is just the last straw. Rosie offers to take it, and the bottle switches hands.

The land is flat, acre upon acre spreads towards the horizon. Finally a bit of woodland comes into view, and we know there will be a campsite there. We keep going, me counting the paces between the trees, and the number of trees. I count hundred and seventy trees, each with twenty or more paces in between. But we do finally make it and put the tent up. I go and smoke a cigar on a bench, kindly provided by somebody, a cup of wine in my other hand.

There is even a little stream, so the dogs can have a drink. I’m really done for, and soon we are asleep.

In the night I can hear the motorway- traffic and once I hear ducks. I tell myself that that is nonsense, how could there be ducks in this waterless plain? The stars watch over us while we sleep.

BREAKFAST BESIDE THE POND, DUCKS ON THE LOCH, FISHES NIBBLING OUR TOES, AND A FLUYING MIRACLE BY NIGHTFALL

The dawn is breaking and we get up. This morning there are no pilgrims coming down the road, most will have stayed in town, and we did more then five miles since the town yesterday.

We follow the Camino, parallel to the motorway and suddenly I can’t believe my eyes. A big loch, probably shallow but enormous and full of all sorts of waterfowl is suddenly there. We admire it and wonder how there can be such a big loch in such a dry area. But now I know that I indeed heard ducks shouting last night.

After a while we come to another adobe village, Bercianos de Real Camino. It’s only just after nine o’clock and the bar is closed, as expected. It has a beautiful carved wooden door!

But then we find a wee Spar, which is open, and we go for the luxuries. Mushrooms, mayonnaise, chocolatties and a tin of real meat for the dogs.

We’re on our way out of the place when we find this wonderful big pond, including a picnic-area under the trees. So the kettle gets put on the boil and we’re ready for a big breakfast. I eat so much that I can hardly get up!

After the village the Camino becomes a small tarmac road, luckily with hardly any traffic. Slowly we can see the church-tower of El Burgo Rannero coming nearer and nearer.

Then we have to cross the motorway, for which purpose a nice tunnel has been build, and we march into the village.

It is a biggish place and looks old and neglected. Beside the church we find another little Spar and get all the necessities, now to find that promised bar! And the bar proves to be a miracle, quite new and modern, but with a good feeling about it. First of all we have a beer, it is hot.

They do serve a lovely meal as well, potatoes, onions, peppers and boiled eggs, but I am still so full from my breakfast that I can’t eat anymore right now. Rosie has not got my problem and tucks in, devouring her plate with relish.

There are a few other pilgrims about, and we have a chat with two men from Madrid. Our little swordsman is there as well. Rosie talks to a woman who had actually been send back, refused entry in the private hostel in Terradillos de los Templanos. I was right, that woman-boss was a witch and I renew my spells.

Anyway, we are in a nice village, fed and watered and stamped, well provisioned and ready for the next long stretch. Eight and a half miles to Reliegos.

It’s too much for this afternoon, but we will try and do as much as we can, four or maybe five miles.

It is another hot afternoon. Tractors plough in the fields left and right and the Camino goes on endlessly.

We walk, and we walk. Then we’re lucky; there is a wee dip, a river. Well, more a small stream. It seemingly comes out of no-where, but there are benches and trees, so we get down to business and have a good scrub in the fresh water. Hundreds of little fishes nibble my toes, and later on I feed them with little bits of bread. Eagerly they dive for the crumbs, it’s funny to watch them.

We wash our clothes, and last but not least the dogs get thrown in. You would think they might go in by themselves, it being so hot, but no. Lack of brainpower obviously.

Then we are back on the Camino, much refreshed.

The endless straight and flat stretches get on your nerves; our eyes want to see some more variation.

Sometimes you doze off whilst walking.

We can she a village in the distance, and then Rosie says:”But that is an airfield!” And she is right.

We take a rest to have a good look and a car arrives. Minutes later an ultra-light plane starts up and takes of. What a marvellous sight! It flies a big circle and lands again. Takes off and flies another big circle. Fascinating. Somebody must be getting flying lessons.

We can’t go much further now, too tired, so the next picnic-area is just right for us. We put the tent up behind some bushes, to keep the wind at bay and have a bite to eat. No wine tonight, but tomorrow is another day. The little plane flies over a couple more times whilst we slowly fall asleep.

ROSIE TAKES THE LEAD AT TOP SPEED, A SLEEPING VILLAGE AND A WONDERFUL WEE TOWN. A BIG SURPRISE AND SOME GOOD NEWS, AND THE COWC COME TO SAY GOODNIGHT

We wake up early and have our coffee. Packing up is by now such a routine and goes so fast. Still, for about fifteen minutes our campsite looks like a bombsite. Then things get put away one after the other and suddenly there’s just two backpacks.

This morning we set of in the dark; the dawn is breaking in the east. We know the Camino goes on in a straight line, so we don’t mind the dark. We come to a railway crossing; our book says it is another two and a half miles to the next village. After a wee sit-down we’re on the go again. Rosie takes the lead for once and sets a tremendous pace. I can hardly keep up with her!

Later she tells me she was just so fed up with the endless plains, she wanted them over and done with. So we arrive in Reliegos well before nine o’clock and of course the bar is closed. The shop as well, and actually it seems as if the whole village is still asleep, we see no one.

Once outside the village we find a sports-hall, with a water supply and benches. The kettle gets put on the boil and we have our breakfast.

Before long we’re on our way again, we can already see the town coming up in the distance. The land is flat now and the going is easy. Past some factories, and through bits of woodland. Over some little bridges, and then there is a big road. The Camino climbs a steep bridge over the road and we descend on the other side. A canal has to be crossed, and we come into a back alley. The last building in this street is a pub and it is open. Across the road is a church, I visit it later on, say a prayer and light some candles.

We have our coffees and collect our stamps; the woman in the bar is very friendly.

We don’t have to hurry anymore, we are in town!

After the church we visit the town-centre, a nice square, lined with trees. The dogs get tied up; they can have a rest and watch us going shopping.

We find a wonderful supermarket, a tobacconist with postcards and newspapers. Rosie discovers a hardware shop and emerges with a little bell for her pack, from now on I can always hear if she is near or not!

We sit in the square to eat our breakfast and the dogs get fed. The brandy bottle gets filled with real Scottish whiskey, and the rest goes into a spare new plastic bottle. Good Scottish whiskey for less then four pounds!

We write some postcards and I read the paper, then we go into another bar for a last cup of coffee.

Mansilla de las Mulas is a nice, quiet town. Maybe a bit sleepy, but very enjoyable. There are good shops and plenty bars.

We’re on our way again, fully laden and well fed and refreshed. I can already see the bridge leading out of town when here is an almighty roar. “Tao, Rosie”! It is our friend Ian, the travelling Scotsman.

Now I can see his bicycle, trailer and his big dog.

We get embraced and Ian tells us we are going for a drink, he has something to tell us.

Since there is a bar just opposite that is easy, packs off, dogs tied and in we go. Ian orders the drinks and we listen to his story. He has met a woman. They spent three days together and decided that not being together was no fun anymore, so they are going to get married and live in Denmark!

She has gone ahead and Ian will follow in a couple of days. He is on the way back to Ponferrada now, to pack his belongings. What a man!

We congratulate him, he seems hysterically happy and not quite in this world. He gives us a silver pilgrim’s brooch each and tells us he will come to collect them in Howmore. He even knows our little village!

We say goodbye and good luck and finally leave the town.

Thanks God we had a good breakfast, otherwise we would be drunk by now!

Once over the bridge the Camino runs parallel tot he road, four miles to the next village, Puente de Villarente.

About halfway we find another village, neither mentioned in the book or on the map. We veer of to port, to get to the church. A nice fountain, and a bit of grass, an ideal spot to have a bite to eat.

After a while we get up and go on, the Camino still closely following the road. Then an enormous medieval bridge comes into view. A wide river has to be crossed!

We have come to Puente de Villarente, and the village spreads along the road for a good bit. We have food and water, so we only want a bar, a coffee would be nice.

Just before the end of town we find a bar, and sit outside on the terrace. The bar is full of men, having there Saturday afternoon oft.

Once outside the place it is time to start looking for a campsite. We pass a hamlet and we can see the next village in the distance. But isn’t there a bit of woodland to the right?

Cows are grazing on the meadow, and we decide to go for the trees. There is a muddy bit to cross, I get trough all right but Rosie gets stuck, up to her ankles in water. “Come and help me”, she shouts!

I come and help her and we get to higher ground. Amongst the trees is plenty of flat ground and soon the tent is installed.

I sit down to read the Spanish newspaper and Rosie does a bit of painting, when suddenly a man appears. He is the cowherd, and comes to warn us that he will cross here later on. “Can we please keep the dogs on the lead?”

We have a good talk and he admires Rosie’s paintings.

Just before dark he is back, with his cows. Hamish hides behind me and Rosie in the tent, Shielasan is all ready to tackle the cows and has to be restrained. “Good night’s, says the cowherd. “Good night” say the cows. “Good night” we answer and go to sleep.

LEON, A NIGHTMARE FOR POLGRIMS. NOT HIM AGAIN, SOME STRANGE ANIMALS AND A WOULD-BE PILGRIM. HOW WE ARE SAVED BY A PETROLSTATION

It is Sunday again, and it is a nice, quiet morning, it takes us a while to negotiate our way back to the Camino, for we want to keep our feet dry. Eventually we manage and we’re on the track once more. The Camino follows the road closely. We pass a couple of houses and a farm with a horse grazing in the orchard. Then there is a compound with a high fence. Inside I see our first rabbits in Spain, big white ones, and I see a broomstick with washing-up mop on the top. But when I look again the broomstick has moved!

It proves to be an ostrich, not a broomstick at all.

We come to the next village but the Camino bypasses it. Straight up a steep hill, straight down on the other side. We’re just sitting down for a rest when this person on a bicycle swoops down on us. Sure to God not him again! Yes, it is Ian, on his way to Leon. “Hallo, hallo. What are you doing here Ian? You should be home by now”.

“Ach no”, he says. “I’m taking the bus tonight.”

And then Ian is off again. We keep going at our own pace. The Camino joins the main road and we climb the hill.

We have a great view over Leon; it seems a big, sprawling city.

There is no more Camino now; we have to walk on the main road, which is very frightening at times! Even on a Sunday morning there is traffic.

It takes us a good while to get down, past the headquarters of the bank of Spain, past the hospital. Then the new road veers off and we follow the old road into town. We march on, not a soul to be seen. A few shops are open, luckily, and we get our breakfast. Walking on the pavement we slowly near the centre of town, ever more cars and pedestrians, and finally a bar. Thankfully we sidle in and have a well-deserved coffee. But there is still a long way to go. Everywhere else in Spain the Sunday is quiet, but not in Leon.

My leg starts hurting again. It started yesterday just before we met the cows, and I can’t figure out what is wrong.

Finally the new buildings give way to old ones, and we are in the old town. We are looking for the cathedral, but before we find it we meet Ian once more. With dog, bicycle and trailer!

We have a brief chat and then we are on our way to the cathedral. By one o’clock we stand right in front of it, and it is most impressive.

The square in front of the church is full of people in their fineries. I spot the tourist office and go to collect a town-plan and our stamps.

Then I visit the cathedral to say a prayer and light some candles. That proves impossible, I can’t find any candles at all, but I listen for a while to mass, and pray. Outside Rosie is waiting, and now it is her turn to see the church.

A young man comes to me. He says he saw me in the tourist office and please, can I tell him what to do? He has just arrived and wants to start the Camino here. I tell him a bit and give him directions to the nearest hostel. He will find his way from there.

I am getting itchy now; it is time to get out of town. I know it will take a good while yet!

We walk through the crowded centre, out into the new town, following the endless pavements. No separate tracks for the pilgrims in Leon, just follow the main roads.

We manage to get a coffee and some ‘Tapas” in a little bar, and later on we find a shop. Bread and cheese and meat are our mainstays.

I get a plastic bag of pickles and munch my way through them, Rosie eats her apples.

There is a long narrow bridge over the railway, another main road. It is hot and busy, we long to get out of the town.

Then the Camino turns left, to cross a bit if wasteland. Here we have our delayed lunch.

Then we are back on the road and climb a hill. Just before the top the Camino takes a right turn and we go past little cellars, dug out of the hill.

It looks smashing. Later on I realise that this must have been the first village past Leon, but to us it all looked like an endless town.

Now we are higher up and walk through enormous factories and warehouses. We need water and I wonder will we ever get out of Leon.

I am still waiting to get to the next village when we see a petrol station. Petrol stations do have water, we know that, and off we go. We slide down to the ground, we’re exhausted, after a while I fill the bottles and have a look inside. There is a little shop and we get some goodies.

When we come back out I see a sign saying; Virgen del Camino”

But that is miles away, I think. That was supposed to be five miles from Leon, and I can’t believe we are there! I go back inside the petrol station to collect our stamps, and yes, the attendant confirms that we are in Virgen del Camino.

Thanks God for that.

The Camino follows the motorway which cuts the town in half, and we come to the other side. A bar seems just what we need, we only have to get out of town and find a campsite, we can take it easy now.

A cognac is advised, a good rest.

Outside once more we have to cross the motorway and descend the hilt on the other side.

Then we come to the next split in the Camino.

“Take the left”,Ian has told us. “That is the nicer route”.

We follow his advice, but first we get stopped by some Germans. They want to know all about us and the dogs and the Camino. When we have answered all their questions we can go. Only up the next hill, please.

We find a spot out of the wind, overlooking the town, and creep in our sleeping bags. What a day it has been.

THE BEST STORK’S NEST IN TOWN, AND ALL THE SWEETCORN YOU COULD EVER WANT

We’re just about a mile out of town and all night I can hear the cars go by. Somewhere in the distance an occasional train goes thundering through the dark. My sleep is disturbed and I get up a number of times, looking down on the motorway.

Yesterday was such an endless struggle, I hate towns!

Of all the places we had to go through Leon was by far the worst. And nothing done for the pilgrims, not one bit of special track, not one quiet back-alley. Scandalous!

By six o’clock in the morning I’m boiling my first cup of coffee, by seven o’clock we’re packing. Even so we can see the first pilgrims passing on the nearby track. Soon we follow them.

The sky is clear, there is a bit wind, a few clouds. Now we are going into a real rural area, but before we come to the first village there are big road works. Through a tunnel we arrive in Oncina, a tiny place without shop or bar. But we fill our bottles at the fountain and chase of a pack of dogs that try to frighten us. Soon we are on our way to the next village, Chozas de Abajo where there should be a bar.

We climb small hills, up and down goes the Camino. After crossing a railway line we come into another hamlet, not mentioned in our book. There is no bar and no sign of life, so we keep going.

Up the hill and into the forest. Once at the top the landscape flattens out and we walk over a pleasant upland. Grass and heather, bits of woodland. After a couple of miles the Camino goes down and we reach Chozas de Abajo, where we find a great bar. Breakfast!

We get half a loaf each, piled high with cheese and tomatoes. Other pilgrims come and go.

Now we will go to Villar de Mazarife. The Camino once more becomes the road, but it is small, and there is no traffic to disturb us. We meet a man walking his dogs and have a chat. “Where are you from? And are you going all the way?”

They love to talk these Spaniards, never mind if you speak their language or not. And I must say, it does help, I learn so much Spanish and I enjoy it too. Picking my brains to try to understand them, and then try to find the words to answer them.

We’re not all that fast today, we must be still tired from yesterday’s ordeal. Even the dogs look slightly dejected.

From a distance we can see the next church-tower looming, later on the whole village spreads below us.

The church has a magnificent stork’s nest on top of it, but coming nearer I can see that there are really four nests, beautifully arranged. Villar de Mazarife gets the first price for stork’s nests on the Camino.

Secretly I have two lists. One for places where there is a stork’s nest on the church, and one for the ones without a nest.

The ones with a stork’s nest are the blessed towns, the others are not.

We come to a halt at the church. Across the road is a shop, on the corner a bar. That is the way we want it!

We go shopping first, and since the shop is going to be closed down, everything is reduced and cheap. Rosie gets lots of socks, for twenty-five pence each. Coffee is next on our list, I have a beer as well. A pity they don’t do meals in here, for once we would be in a pub at the right time.

About seven miles away is the next village, Villaventa, but we decide that it is too far in our condition, so we will just go halfway and look for a place.

On the road again, we are surrounded by endless fields of sweet corn. The land is well irrigated, and the maize grows shoulder-high.

We find a nice campsite beside a wee river, under tall poplars. We stop early today, it is hardly four o’clock.

We do a bit washing, and we have another big sort-out of all our belongings. It is amazing how much we can throw away, reluctantly, but we got to keep the weight down. Soon there will be mountains to cross. A bite to eat, a bottle of wine and an early night.

A VERY SPECIAL BRIDGE, A GREAT GIFT, AND A STUPID MISTAKE

We are up very early; the dawn is just breaking when we are on our way. Fog hangs in the valley, and we can’t see much, but that does not deter us. We know we only have to follow the road. However, we do dive in the ditch every time we see the lights of a car coming, they could not see us in time.

An enormous farm turns up, and I can she a sign saying:“Experimental “. That explains those endless rows of maize.

We know by experience that if you come to a place too early, the bar will be closed, and so we just past Villaventa, and stop a bit later on to make our own coffee. It is fully light by now and the fog has disappeared. The landscape is flattish, big fields crisscrossed by rivers and irrigation-ditches. Occasional bits of woodland to please the eye.

Now there is a railway line to be crossed, but no train coming. We put the dogs on the lead and we hurry over.

We are on a track again and the going is easy. There are some signs of road building, a deep gravel-pit has been dug, and is now filled with water. Then there are roofs to be seen, we are coming into the next place. Past a factory, a sharp turn to the right and suddenly we are standing on the main road. There is a bar at the corner, and in we go. “Yes please, two coffee’s, and two doughnuts”.

On the look out for shops I make a mistake now, follow the main road and we cross a big river. We should have gone straight on, to enter the town over the medieval pilgrim’s bridge.

Never mind, we get to the centre in a roundabout way, but we do get there. We have arrived in Hospital de Orbigo, a small old town, cobbled main street, medieval houses.

We find the little park and put our packs down. Now we are ready to explore. Up to the bridge first of all, and it really is a beauty.

A look at the church and a visit to the shop. Heh, black pudding? Is that really black pudding? Yes it is, and that’s the dog-food sorted. I go to the bank, but they don’t want to change my money or take my cheques. What the heck!

In another shop I find the stamps and buy some postcards. Every time I get back to the dogs there is somebody else talking to them. A lot of the pilgrims know them already, and everyone seems interested in their welfare.

Lucky dogs!

We take our time, have a bit to eat and write some cards. Finally our bottles get filled and we’re off.

At the end of the village there is another split into the Camino, and this time we take the right hand side, to be away from the main road. It is still flat and there is still a lot of maize, the whole area is well irrigated.

The next village, Villares is only just a good mile away, and we reach it easily enough. No bar and no shop, so we don’t stop, just walk straight out of it.

We see our first mule, roped behind a little white van, it looks ridiculous. Then we cross a road and are out of town. A nice meandering track follows, and takes us to the top of the next hill.

We have a rest and a bite to eat. It is hot again and we need to sit in the shadow. The bakery-van passes and he blows his horn.

Half as hour later he comes back and blows his horn again. “Hello, Bye-bye.” We could see Santibanez de Valdeiglesia from the top, and we take a shortcut over the fields to get there. Another deserted village, the bar closed, the hostel open but almost deserted. I go inside to get our stamps, and we find our little swordsman there. I give him another cigarette.

I was looking for a fountain, but we can’t find a one, so we leave the village without filling our bottles. How stupid can you get?

We have to pay dearly for that mistake later on.

On the way out we come past a big garden, sweet chestnut-trees, vines, vegetables. Two women are working, harvesting. The old woman beckons us to come nearer, and then she fills our hands with sweet chestnuts. Big bunches of grapes follow. They are so nice and sincerely pleased to give us these gifts, that we are deeply touched.

They give our moral such a boost! They deserve a place amongst the nicest people we met on the Camino.

Soon we are away in the hills, it is easy going, for the hills are low, but the track is bad at times. We follow the meandering Camino through fields, over hills and through bits of forest. Somewhere in a nice shady spot we have a rest. Then there is a higher hill to climb, and we can see a lovely valley below us. That would be a nice place to camp, but when I check our bottles I find that we have hardly any water left.

We look for a ditch, a river. Anything would do, but there is no water to be found. We will have to keep going until we find water, like it or not.

I’m praying for water, and get a mental picture of a concrete trough full of water. We do actually find that trough at our next stop, beside a deserted farm building, but the water doesn’t look to clean, and we decide to go to the next village. We have a rest and I give the dogs water from a rain-barrel. Two pilgrims arrive and we have a chat. Another pilgrim arrives and we find out that they are all three from Austria.

Soon we are on our way again. Over the hilltop we can see a line of trees and I think there must be water there.

We come to a valley, and I can see the track will go to the village in the distance, but the Camino wants to go left. I follow my instincts and we go straight. The track leads us indeed into the valley and eventually into the town.

More and more trees surround us, vineyards appear, and we can see big poplar trees at the bottom. We even stop at a pumping-station, we can hear the water rushing underneath us, but we can’t get to it.

At the brink of exhaustion we enter the village, manage to get to the main road and now we find a fountain. Across the road we can see a bar, and that would be just what we need right now.

“A very big dram, and a coffee”, please. We are in San Justin and we have done well over fifteen miles. We recover for about an hour in the bar and then make our way to the river. We know there will be a good site there and we’re not disappointed.

The tent goes up in the high grass between the poplars, the bags go in, and we have a last sip of the whiskey-bottle.

In the gathering darkness a flock of sheep pass by, an enormous sheepdog wants to have a sniff at Hamish, but a whistle from the shepherd sends it back. I only get a glimpse of the beast, from the tent; it looked as big as a horse!

Good night to all and sundry!

A SHORT WALK INTO TOWN, A LONG WALK OUT. A FLOCK OF SOLDIERS, AN EMPTY VILLAGE, BUT THE COWBOY BAR SAVES US

It is still pretty dark when we cross the bridge. The traffic noise has woken me up numerous times during the night. For the bridge has a sharp bend at either end, and all traffic needs to slow down. The grinding of the gears does something nasty to your sleep.

Once on the other side the yellow arrows take us down on a nice track, parallel to the road, the river somewhere on the other side.

We pass a long and endless factory, and I still wonder if it was the dairy plant? That’s because all the milk we have seen in the shops seemed to come from Astorga.

A small Roman bridge, a turn to the left and we’re on to the main road. A double railway crossing with the bells just starting to ring when we pass. We stop to have a look at the passing train. We follow the road into town, ignoring the Camino, which no doubt will take a roundabout way and enter the city through some back alley.

I’m wanting my coffee, so we make a beeline for the nearest bar. Well before nine o’clock we are sipping our coffees and eating fritters.

We try to find the city-centre and find a bank. It has just opened and they cash my traveller cheques without any problem. Suddenly we have a wealth of Pesetas.

Work is going on all over the town, resurfacing and paving, and the noise is deafening at times. In front of the cathedral we wait for a while, but when it hasn’t opened by ten o’clock we go shopping. Up and down the little lanes. A bakery here, a butcher there. A spar provides the foodstuff and then I go looking for a “Tobaccos.”

We find each other in the square again, pack all our purchases away and go for a last coffee, and to get a stamp.

This time we have a third of a bottle of whiskey left, we can’t drink is all, and we can’t carry anymore.

For the first time in our lives we have to throw whiskey away. It is hard, but there was nothing else we could do.

It is time to leave the town, and we pass the cathedral again, filling the water bottles at a tap, looking for the yellow arrows. For a good mile we walk on the pavement of the road out of town. It is cold today, the wind blows down from the mountains, and rain threatens every so often.

When we come to a chapel we put all our warmest clothes on, and we have a bit to eat. Then we go on, cross the motorway and now we are really out of town, into the wilderness.

For a while we follow a small road, until we come to a place called Murias de Rechivaldo and we spot a sign saying: “Bar”.

We follow the arrow, cross the road and find not only the bar but also several dozens of soldiers! They are inside, they are outside, they are everywhere. Smoking, drinking, eating and joking. Girls as well as boys. They must be having their lunch-break, riffles are put down whereever possible, and we can only find a place at the bar.

The barman is busy, but we get our coffees, and his wife chooses this moment to come in with a freshly baked tortilla.

I snatch the opportunity and raise two fingers, and then point at my stomach. That much sign language goes down well, and soon we are eating our way through a big slice of tortilla each. Delicious! The corporal, or who-ever was in charge of the soldiers whistles, and within minutes they are all gone. The barman and his wife have their own lunch whilst we relax at a table. It is time to go again.

The wind is still as cold as ever, and with the threatening rain we better put our waterproofs on. Outside the village we have a choice of three tracks. One is the old road, just sand, then there is the brand-new gravelled road, and there is the Camino itself, also gravelled and about six foot wide.

Mostly we follow the old road, to spare our dog’s paws. What a luxury, to have three tracks to choose from!

Some cyclist pas us, a few pilgrims overtake us, but there are not many today. The road climbs slowly, and the going is easy. Far away in the distant we can see the mountains.

They don’t look all that high. We come to a village, totally devoid of life. The two bars are closed, lots of ruins show that most folk have moved away. We see no one at all, and after a short break, sitting on a bench in the rain, we decide we might as well go on. You only get cold if you sit still in this weather! Our guidebook warns about the mountains, they have obviously never climbed a Scottish mountain. But the empty villages do pose a serious problem, lack of supplies.

We continue onwards to El Ganso, climbing steadily but slowly through the drizzle. The Camino follows the road most of the time.

El Ganso looks just as bad as the previous village, Santa Catalina de Somoza, but bless the folk, we stumble straight into the Cowboy Bar.

The fire is on, the door open; a few other pilgrims are eating and drinking. Our little swords-man tries to get dry in front of the fire! The motherly barmaid hands us wine and cognac, two coffee’s please as well. We sit down, completely worn out. But for now we are saved, and have time to recuperate.

It has been a long and tiresome day; wind and rain are not good companions for pilgrims. On the wall in the Cowboy bar is an Arabic wall hanging, and here we finally find our missing camels!

I must say imaginary camels, for that is how it started. On our walks last year we took imaginary camels with us, and we had a lot of fun with them, but this year we lost them soon after Saint Jean, only to find them back in the cowboy bar!

We manage to get out of the place, just, and find a sheltered spot under an oak ­tree. It is damp and wet and getting dark, but inside the tent we are dry enough. We go to sleep, all curled up in our little mobile home. I pray for better weather tomorrow.

MEET A BILBO BAGGING’S FAN IN AN EXCELLENT HOTEL, SEE AN EMPTY CAFÉ, MEET THE INVISABLE MAN AND FIND THE HOTTEST PUB OF THE YEAR AT THE BOTTOM OF THE CHIMNEY

The dawn breaks and I get up. The morning is fresh and quiet.

In the near dark I can hear a car coming down the mountain. Oh yes, we are in the mountains of Leon, but despite the guidebook it is not too bad. This morning Rosie looses her watch, it seems to just have disappeared, and we will have to do without the time of day.

For once the track is never steep, it climbs slowly and steadily. And we only go up to 1500 metres, starting from a 1000. (3000 ft.) The lack of shops is far more serious.

We are on our way to Rabenal del Camino, another small village. The going is easy; we see no other pilgrims and only a few cars, one school bus.

By ten o’clock we arrive, to find a magnificent bar, part of a small country hotel. It is warm, clean, welcoming and utterly charming. Thick old stonewalls, a low-beamed ceiling, wooden furniture and a stone floor.

We have our coffees and a big breakfast. Another man sits reading a book at the bar, and I can’t stop myself; I have to inquire what he is reading.

“The Hobbit”, he answers. “Since we are nearly coming to Galicia I thought I better read something appropriate”.

He is as crazy as only Americans can be, but nice enough.

I wouldn’t carry a book up here, that’s for sure.

We talk a bit and he tells me he has just been to Pico de Europa, for ten days, since he wasn’t in a hurry.

Well, that is a good thing, some one not in a hurry.

We collect our stamps, and I’m just filling our bottles when the bakery-van arrives. That is a bit of good luck, and I get our bread and some croissants. The day has cleared a bit, but the wind is still fresh as we struggle up to Foncebadon.

Most of it is in ruins, that’s what we see when we come nearer. Some houses are still upright, and there is one obviously brand-new. We find the bar, which has also been recently built, but it is closed, firmly locked.

Oh well, we’ll boil our own coffee then, out of the wind on the porch, and the dogs get their breakfast.

We’re just packing up when our Tolkien tan arrives. I inform him politely that he’s missed the coffee by mere minutes, and he joins us on the way up. The ‘Cruz de Ferro” is on the top, informs us our guidebook. The Camino follows the road, occasionally taking a short cut across a bend in the road. Sometimes the road is the Camino, a narrow old tarmac road. Funnily enough they have painted the middle line on the road, as if it were much wider. Two cars couldn’t pass each other. It is just like our single-track roads back home.

We can see the cross and the chapel, and enter, glad to be out of the wind. I light some candles, say a prayer and add some coins to the pile already on the table. The little church has a good feeling to it.

Then I go to add our stones to the pile underneath the cross. Five stones, one for each of us. The iron cross itself is full of little bits of paper. Prayers, poems, some begging for special favours. It is quite touching, so many prayers, so many people giving thanks to God.

Inside the chapel Rosie and the hobbit-fan are chattering away, but I know there is still a long way to go and break up the party. Leaving the American behind we make for Manjarin, another ruined village. We’re on the top, but we stay high for another four miles before going down. The wind is cold and Rosie is tired, but I know we have to get down of the mountain, like it or not. Otherwise we will freeze and run out of food.

The book says a friendly fellow runs a private hostel in Manjarin, but when we find it we are dismayed. A very rambling lot of sheds and huts, full of dogs and cats, screaming cockerels and noisy hens is what we see. I go into the porch to find a stamp, postcards and little religious items, but the man has gone inside and never ventures out again.

He knew fine well we were there; obviously he didn’t want to see us. Strange character!

On we go, around a long hill, past a radar station, down onto the road. The book says this is the highest point of the Camino, and I get a kiss from Rosie. Now for the valleys.

It still takes a while, one bend after another, then the hills fall away and a beautiful view opens up to us.

We can see the town in the far distance, villages here and there, sprinkled over the hills like jewels.

Range after range of wooded hills and far away mountains. We have a rest, out of the wind in the long heather.

Then I push on, I know we have to get down, the bad weather can come anytime up here. All afternoon I drive Rosie merciless, she’s tired and wants to stop, I tell her no, keep going.

Mostly we just walk down the road; once in a while the Camino takes a short cut. This is slate-country, and you can see why the people have originally used the slates for their roofs.

Every so often we can see where the elusive horses have gone down before us, have slipped. The dung-heaps we find are old now, three or four days. Suddenly there is a sign announcing:” Bar, in the most beautiful part of the Camino”.

We’ll see about that!

The Camino leaves the road and turns to the left. Far away we can see mountain villages dotted on seemingly unclimbable hills.

The track becomes steeper _and steeper. Is this really the right way? In the end it is like going down a ladder, we go extremely slow and careful. All of a sudden I can see a roof.

I find myself almost looking down the chimney. Then there is another roof, and another still. We have come to El Acebo, a tiny mountain village, perched high on a hill.

The road is the main street, houses with overhanging balconies to the left and right.

The ground floor is for the animals and storage, upstairs is for the people. It looks very picturesque and old, friendly.

We find the bar, a wood-stove gives of a tremendous heat. The place is like a sauna! We slump into some chairs and we get a big cognac. Later on we have a coffee and a bite to eat. I feel we could do with a room tonight and inquire, but they only want to send us to the “Albergue communal”. No thanks!

A Dutch couple we met in Rabenal is having a meal and Rosie chats to them. I go out and collect the dogs. Some cows are coming up the road, followed by a herd of goats.

Then the herdsman arrives and shakes my hand, strokes the dogs. He throws a flood a Spanish at me of which I understand less then half, so I just keep nodding. He is a real character, and later on I see him joking with his neighbours.

Finally Rosie comes out of the bar and we put our packs on. Since we are too tired to go anywhere we want a campsite here and now. We walk down the road and find a perfect spot beside the last house. Thanks God!

The tent goes up, sleeping bags in, and off to bed.

We’re over the mountains, we’ve done it. Tomorrow we only have to walk down to get into the town.

MORE ABOUT THE ELUSIVE HORSES, A MASSAGE CENTRE UNDER A TREE, A VERY SCARED DOG, AND A REAL LUNCH.

WATCHES FOR SALE, THE BEST SUPERMERCADO EVER AND NO BETTER PLACE TO SLEEP THAN BESIDES A CHURCH!

We are up bright and early and have our coffee before packing up. The light is growing stronger whilst we start, well before eight o’clock. We haven’t seen or heard any other pilgrims yet, so today we must be the first on the Camino. Ha! That is what you think.

Hardly out of the village there is fresh pile of horse manure. Very fresh. I look and study it, and we decide that it is completely fresh and can hardly be an hour old. The horses and their riders must have holed up in this village for some days, and they must have sneaked past us just before we got up ourselves!

All day I am on the lookout, expecting to see them any time around a corner, somewhere ahead of us. But I am going to be disappointed, the horses remain elusive.

We come to the next village, Riego de Ambros, and it is just as lovely as El Acebo. The road goes straight through the village, houses with overhanging balconies on both sides, a big fountain with a long trough, flowers every where. It is too early for the bar to be open, and we just have a rest in the garden, the owner’s dog barking furiously.

We have a new delight, hundreds of sweet-chestnut trees line the road, and we can pick our breakfast whereever we like.

It is a lot warmer then yesterday, and I can identify the villages we see left and right perched on the hills, on our map.

For a while we leave the road and come down steeply over a rocky stretch. In a bend of the track I can see a tree with a tent under it, covered in plastic sheeting. Out of it pops a manly, who greets us friendly and starts to inquire about the state of our feet, ankles, and knees. All in fluent Spanish. After a while I understand that he does massage, and is looking for customers.

Since our pains and aches aren’t any worse than normal, I don’t want a massage and we leave the manly waiting for the next pilgrims.

We follow a small valley downwards, and after a while we can see the road deep below us. Further away we can see a village, a church-tower.

It is Molinaseca, and it is the next stop on the Camino. Slowly we descend the steep slope, and then follow the road. Past a church, over an old stone bridge and now we are on the main road. Rosie sniffs and declares she smells cider. I sniff as well and agree, she is right. Definitely the smell of freshly made cider! Although the are plenty of “Bodegas”, there is no sign of a “Bar”.

Suddenly a small dogs comes out from a side Street. It takes a look at Hamish and Shielasan and turns tail. Howling as if the devil was on its heels it runs away, as fast as lightning.

I laugh so much that tears are streaming down my cheeks. Our poor dogs hadn’t even seen the beast!

There is a fountain, a little hotel, and I just wonder if we can get breakfast there when the boss turns up. Rosie goes to ask him, and yes, within minutes we’re sitting inside having breakfast. Very good!

The man speaks good English, and is ever so friendly.

After another coffee I collect our Sello, and pay. The price is normal, I had been a bit doubtful, it being such a posh place.

The book says there are shops here, but we can’t find any.

Never mind, we’ll find a shop in Ponferrada. We walk; it’s only about four miles to town.

After a while the Camino leaves the road and we follow a nice track through vineyards. In the middle of no-where there are roadworks going on, deep trenches for new cables beside the track. We can see the town, but not how we are going to get there. Then there is a little village, called Campo, but without a bar. We follow a little road and arrive in a suburb. Then there is a high bridge to be crossed, another medieval one, the Camino turns left. Under a railway tunnel, steeply up an alley, and presto, we’re in town.

Ahead of us we see a bar, and since we are hungry and they do food we have lunch.

Up the outside stairs, into the dining room. The waitress speaks only Spanish, and her explanations about the food on offer are a bit of a problem, but in the end we get a very nice meal, with wine and coffee after, and all very cheap as well.

Outside the rain has started again, so we don our raingear, and make for the centre. Across the road, past the castle, up to the cathedral.

It is closed of course, and we have a wee rest in the park. I collect our stamps from another bar, and we discuss what to do.

It’s only three o’clock, the shops will be closed. “Ach,” says Rosie, “lets just go anyway”.

And so we clamber down a steep cobbled alley, and find ourselves staring into a jeweller’s shop. There are watches in the window. Shall we just try it? The door is open, and the shopkeeper understands that I want a cheap watch. He chooses one and shows it to me. He adjusts the time, even puts the alarm on, and we are back in business. A watch is not necessary, but it makes things easier when I can check our progress, and guess what time we will arrive in the next place.

Continuing down the alley we come to a big road. This is the end of the old town, now we enter the new town. We ask a young couple where we can find a Supermercado and get directed down a big road to the right.

And that’s where we find the very best supermarket in the world a little bit later. It is called “Familia”, and fills the basement of a whole block of flats. It is enormous, and it is open.

In we go. You can buy anything under the sun in here. We replenish all of stores, including batteries for our torch, wine, real cat-food. We get cheese and meat, apples and tomatoes, tinned delicacies for Rosie, and the lot comes to less then nine pounds. Outside we eat the jar of asparagus first of all, then pack our purchases away. My, are the packs not heavy now?

I spot a Ferroteria and inquire about “camping-gaz” No, they are sorry, not in here.

Glad that we didn’t have to wait until five o’clock we get on our way. First we cross the big bridge, then we turn right. The Camino follows a wide avenue, and we walk in the shadow of the trees. There are plenty of high-rises, but they are all well spaced, parks and plenty of grass in between. A friendly, well planned town. Slowly we near the last block of flats and it is time to fill our water bottles. So we stop, I go to a nearby bar and Rosie feeds the dogs.

Then we leave the town behind, come past some big slack-heaps, and the road turns to the left. It is quieter now; the Camino goes through the grounds of a hospital. It looks like a little village, just a big collection of little houses. Maybe it is more an old folks-home. Somehow I know we are going to find a place soon. Following little lanes, villas left and right, set in big gardens, we come to a church. Around the church is a park, and we find a marvellous campsite between the trees.

The tent goes up and we start on all our delicacies and the bottle of wine. Slowly it is getting dark and we prepare for the night.

Sleeping beside a church is very reassuring, you feel protected.

MILLIONS OF STARLINGS, THE BIGGEST MARROWS IN THE WORLD AND A REAL WINE FOUNTAIN

I hadn’t reckoned with the streetlights. Not that they mattered that much, but when I wake up and have to go for a pee, the whole park was brilliantly illuminated by dozens of orange streetlights.

I also didn’t reckon with the starlings. Whilst falling asleep you could hear them coming in to roost in the trees all around us, and now, disturbed by me, they start to rise. Thousands and thousands of them, all fluttering their wings and protesting. What a din!

It takes a while before they settle down again.

In the early morning light, later on, we can see them. The treetops are black with them. I never saw that many together before.

I’m having my first coffee at down, and boil another pot when Rosie is ready to get up. Whilst she is getting dressed, I go to have a look at the church. It is a nice one, consecrated to Santiago de Compastella, so we are in the right place. Beautiful murals all along the front display Saints and scenes of the pilgrimage. I try in vain to get in, but the church is closed.

In the half dark of early morning we’re on our way. Soon we leave the suburb behind and we have to cross underneath another motorway.

The Camino takes us to a tiny village, but there is neither bar nor shop to be seen. We keep going, walking between well-irrigated fields. Big, big marrows lie piled high beside the road, sometimes there are stacks beside the houses.

Some are that big that a single one would fill a wheelbarrow.

Another mile or two, and we come to the next village. There is a bar, and better still, the bar is open.

We are in Fuentesnuevas, about four miles out of town. A big group of Spanish pilgrims come in, and sit down to breakfast.

We finish our coffee, collect our stamp and it is time to move.

A couple of miles to Camponaraya, a bigger place with plenty shops and bars. It takes us a while, but the doing is good, the landscape nice and flat and just before the village we meet an old couple driving a donkey in front of them. Donkeys are so sweet!

We find a shop and then sit down in the nearby park. Time for breakfast. After filling our bottles and a chat to a French pilgrim we are on our way again. I post some cards and then we come to the market place. A big fountain scares the living daylight out of Shielasan; please don’t let me get wet!

In a little bakery we get our bread and chocolatties, that will do nicely now. Just after the village there is a big wine-coop, outside is a fountain which spouts real wine!

Of all the things in the world! We have never seen anything the like.

There are a good three miles to go to Cacabelos, the next town on the Camino. By now we are in the region called “Bierzo”, a fertile area with lots of vineyards and fruit.

After crossing the motorway we walk through multi-coloured vineyards. The autumn-colours are at their best, and meandering through the hills is just wonderful.

Down a hill, past a little stream, across a bit of woodland. Up the next hill. We have a little rest before the next hill. A pilgrim passes us, some more. “Bon Camino!’

Let them go, we can’t keep up with these young ones.

On the top of the hill we have to cross a road, then the Camino goes down towards the little town. Boys are playing on roller-skates; they walk up the hill, only to race down from the top. It’s nice to watch them.

The book says something about free wine tasting for pilgrims, but we find no sign of that. Never mind, we can drink all the wine we want anyway!

We walk to the nearest bar and have a coffee and a cognac, very nice, thank you. Around the corner is a nice shop, we get some fruit and I buy a lot of vegetable seeds. They get put in an envelope and send straight back home. Although it certainly looks like a big village, there is a town-centre with plenty of shops and offices. The rain starts again and we put our raingear on in the shelter of an arcade.

On the way out we find a new kind of hostel. Beside the church, against a long wall, there is a row of wooden huts, each with it’s own door. Since we haven’t got our stamp yet I go in, find the office and get our stamp. I’m glad we don’t have to stay here.

Then comes the bad part. Although we are in a lovely hilly country, and we can see numerous tracks across the vineyards, the Camino follows the road. Worst, we have to walk on the road. Thought the drizzle, dogs on a very short leash, we struggle on all afternoon. Which idiots have designed this part of the Camino?

A tiny hamlet shows up, and we have a sit-down under the roof of an open byre. More rain, more walking on the road, it is no fun at all. Finally the Camino turns away from the road, and we follow a nice track up a hill. We pass an artist’s open-air gallery, but the place is fenced in and locked. I would have liked to take a closer look at the statues, but no.

We sit down again, and who arrives but our little Spanish swordsman, Don Quichotte.

He is streaming wet, but smiles and waves a bottle in front of us. “Want a sip, mate?”

“Yes please”. I give him another cigarette in return and for a while we sit chatting and smoking. Come on, it is time to go. The next town can’t be far now!

Villafranca del Bierzo is a tiny town at the foot of the mountains. We make our way to the square and find a bar. Thanks God we are out of the rain! Lunch-hour is tong past, there is no food at this time of the day, but a coffee and a cognac do help. I go shopping and try to find a room for the night. But it is the same old story; nobody wants to take us with the dogs.

Never mind, we will just have to get out of town and find a campsite. We study our guidebook; there is a choice of three routes from here. We decide to take the right-hand track and get ourselves ready to go.

It is hard to go out in the rain at the end of the day, but we have no choice. We make our way down to the bridge, and find our yellow arrow on the other side. The track is like a stair, uncannily steep. We just release the dogs because I am sure no car could drive up or down this track, when two cars do come down. I still can’t believe it; even in a four-wheel drive I wouldn’t go up here!

There are no more vehicles after that, and we go up and up. For about an hour we climb as we have never climbed before. We’re looking for a campsite, but the mountain is so steep in all directions that there isn’t an inch of flat land.

We simply have to keep going.

I’m waiting for Rosie to start moaning, but not a squeak out of her. Nimble as a mountain goat she hurries up the track.

I am amazed at her, it has been a long day already, and my own knees are starting to wobble.

Far up the mountain we do find a spot at last. On a sort of plateau there is a sweet-chestnut grove, and we find a flat place for the tent. Even the rain stops now, and we have a wonderful view over the town deep below us. The stars come out when we have a last sip and creep in our sleeping bags.

The chestnut trees are standing sentry all around us.

MILLIONS OF SWEET CHESTNUTS, THE REAL BEAST OF BURDEN IN A BEAUTIFUL FOREST, A VALLEY FULL OF ROADS AND THE BEST FISHES ARE FRIED!

It is still dark when we get up. I’m just boiling the kettle when I see a flash of light in the distance. I keep looking and there it is again. It must be a pilgrim climbing the steep track we climbed last night, but in the dark? Oh well, I say to myself, you never know with the pilgrims!

By first light we’re on the Camino once again ourselves. We leave the chestnut-grove behind, with those millions of uncollected sweet chestnuts. We could have collected a lorry-load no bother.

It is dry and the track goes up a bit more. I can see vaguely some ruins down below, and a sort of hut. Through the forest we go, and slowly we climb to the top.

Once out of the trees we can see for miles. High, steep hills, our track winding it’s way around the tops. Sometimes we get a glimpse of the valley below, and we can see the big new motorway they are building in the valley. For hours we walk in the sunshine, high up, and it is truly beautiful. A few pilgrims pass us, but most folk will have taken the lower route. They save themselves a long climb, but they don’t know what they are missing!

I wouldn’t have missed these views for anything.

We come to another big chestnut- grove, and here are people gathering the nuts. Cars are parked, baskets get filled, and some little bonfires are lit. We see a donkey, the panniers on but still empty. The owners are collecting the chestnuts; she is patiently grazing, waiting for them to load her up when they are ready. We can see a village to the right, but the book says not to go there, the Camino will shortly go down to the left. And so we stumble through the chestnut-forest, it is very beautiful. A dog belonging to some of the gatherers decides to come with us, his master calling out again and again. In vain.

In the end we have to shoo him away, two dogs is more then plenty, thank you. And then we go down. Just as steep as we went up last night. Very very slow, with our heavy backpacks we have to be careful. A fall could mean a broken leg or worse!

Lower and lower we get, with every turn of the track. Now we can see that a big section of the motorway isn’t ready yet, and still closed for traffic. Work is going on high up the hills to secure the rocks.

After what seems ages we finally get down to Trabadelo, we have done more then eight miles since Bierzo. We can’t find a sign “Bar’, so we ask the first person we encounter. “To the left”, he says, “Over the bridge, and you’ll see it”.

Soon we are sitting in a great roadside café, eating big sandwiches and sipping our coffees.

We collect our stamps, pay the bill and then we’re back on the Camino. On the old road we leave the village, then we go under the new motorway bridge. So far, so good, but then disaster strikes. We have to go on the road. The Camino is nowadays normally the old road. The new road takes the cars, and all the heavy traffic goes on the motorway. But because there is this bit where they are still working on, we can’t use the old road (safety), and all the traffic has to use the new road as well. Big trucks come thundering towards us, the dogs and us are all terrified. Somehow we manage the three miles to La Partella, but it is nerve shattering.

Then luck smiles at us, for here is another big roadside restaurant. We tie the dogs up on the veranda, and Rosie sits down. “Only a coffee for me” she says. But I tell her that we are going straight in, we are going to have our Sunday lunch! For it is just coming on for two o’clock, and this is a big restaurant. Inside there is place for hundreds of people, we get escorted to a table and sit down. There is a bit of a problem with the menu, because of our lack of Spanish, but in the end we get a magnificent meal. Rosie gets soup and then two fried trout, with vegetables and chips, and I get a plate of ham and peppers, then omellet with chips and salad.

We both have pudding,”Flan” and coffee afterwards. And we manage to drink a whole bottle of wine with it.

We have so much leftovers for the dogs that they can have their Sunday lunch as well.

We fill our water-bottles and get underway. For another short stretch there is all the traffic on our road, then the cars go one way and we the other.

The Camino is the old road again and the going is nice and easy, we just follow the valley’s floor.

We are going pretty slow, all that good food in our stomachs! But we don’t have to go far today, we have done all right, and so we start looking for a site.

We get to Vega de Valcarce, and jokingly christen it “Las Vegas”. Once outside we find a place soon enough. Down a track, across a little bridge, and into a nice bit of forest, just beside the river.

We put the tent up, it is just after four o’clock. By five o’clock it starts to rain and we go inside. It never ever stops, all night the rain drips down on us. But we are warm and secure inside and we dream and sleep.

WELCOME TO GALICIA IF YOU LIKE THE RAIN.

CLIMBING UP A RIVERBED IN TORRENTIAL RAIN, SAVED BY THE RESTAURANT ON THE TOP OF THE WORLD, AND OUR COLDEST NIGHT!

It rains when we go to sleep, it rains when we have to go for a pee in the middle of the night and it rains when we get up in the morning.

I can manage to make us a cup of coffee with the tent-flap just a little bit open, the cooker balanced between my feet.

So the start of the day is not too bad. But then the fun starts. Try to get dressed in full raingear, starting from being naked, inside the tent. It is possible, but not easy.

First of all the dogs get chucked out in the rain, merciless. Rosie has got to stay in her sleeping bag and don’t stir! Then I can start. To put my boots on is the hardest bit, tying the shoelaces almost impossible. Now it is Rosie’s turn, so I have to get out in the rain. Under a tree I manage to have a smoke and wait.

Inside the tent there is a lot of rumbling and grumbling, but finally she comes clambering out of the tent. Now it is my turn to go inside and pack everything in the right order in the right pack.

First Rosie’s pack gets done and out it goes, then it is time for my own. But I have an additional problem; the tent needs to go in before the other things, so once it is packed, the rest has to come out, tent in and then the rest back in, and fast please, don’t let anything get wetter then needs be.

What a palaver! The sleeping bags are wet at the bottom, because the dogs were wet when they came in the tent last night. Normally we would just stop somewhere around midday and put everything out to dry, but today isn’t going to be like that.

We get underway, luckily the next village is only about a mile away and soon we walk into Ruitelan. Amazingly enough we find a bar that is open, and we all pile in. The dogs get put in a corner together with our packs, and we have coffee and toast.

And we get our stamps.

So far no sign of any other pilgrims today.

After a while we have to face the music again, and so we’re off to Herrerias and Hospital Engles. That is only a mile or so, and we reach it soon enough. An old woman comes from the other side, she wears those funny wooden shoes, with high heels and blocks underneath the toes. Just than a car passes, and she stumbles as she tries to get out of the way. But I don’t see that, I just hear a thump, and then there is a woman lying in the road. I think she has been knocked down by the car and get a big fright!

Luckily she has only stolpered and quickly gets back on her feet, thanks God for that!

The village stretches, and now we come to the end of our little valley.We join the small road again and up we go.

Through thick forest, pretty steep, and through unending rain we climb and climb. Luckily there are no cars. Actually it seems as if we are the only ones daft enough to be out on a day like this. Our guidebook says there is now a wonderful track straight to 0’ Cebreiro, five miles away from here, but it takes ages before we reach the beginning of the track. The good book also says: “Cyclist on the road, and in bad weather don’t use the track!”

Ah well, this isn’t bad weather, is it? It is only raining.

Anyway, I am sick of roads and we take the track. At last the dogs can run free, and we go up. Soon the track reverts back to the riverbed it must have been originally, and we fight our way up in torrents of water. Trees all around us, slowly they start thinning out and then there is a roof.

Where there is a roof there must be a house, and we keep going. Yes there is a house, and nearby is a village as well.

It is a real old-fashioned mountain-village, hand-made slate roofs, thick stonewalls, small windows. We even find the bar but it is closed in winter, and the Spanish winter starts in September.

We seek shelter under an overhanging balcony, just to be out of the rain for ten minutes. Two old folkies sit above us, peeling the corn.

We get up and continue. Another bit of riverbed, then the track levels out and we come out in the open. We expect to see something now, but the whole landscape is covered in thick fog. Only occasionally do we get a glimpse of green hills and mountains.

We come to another hamlet, no-one to be seen. I dive into a big open shed, expecting Rosie to follow me. So I put my pack down and turn around. No Rosie. I look outside, no Rosie. Where the heck is she?

I put my pack back on and go outside again, tell the dogs to look for Rosie. Shielasan goes forward, and I follow. We find a disgruntled Rosie, who never saw us going in the shed and just kept going, until she realised we were not in front any longer.

So much for our co-ordination!

We find shelter in an abandoned house, in the cow-byre at the ground-floor. It must have been used for the last time years ago, and never been cleaned since, the cow-dung lies solidly over a foot high!

Ii’s nice and dry and mature, what a blessing would that be on our garden! A Spaniard comes in for shelter too, but doesn’t stay long. Another group of pilgrims in big rain-capes trundles past.

Out into the rain again, there is nothing for it! We must be near O’Cebreiro, the Camino stays on the level, takes us around the hill side.

Then comes the glorious moment, a big granite slab informs us that we have now entered Galicia.

Through the fog and the rain we can suddenly see some buildings, then we’re on the road. A coach is parked to the right, some people are walking about. A voice informs us:”On the right, through the wall”.

We climb through the gap in the wall and another building looms up. To my utter amazement it proves to be a bar. We have arrived in O’Cebreiro, and we are so glad to get out of the rain. The poor dogs get tied to the packs, in the porch.

A big Spanish dog barks at them, then is shooshed by the owner. We go into the bar and get ourselves a bit of anti-freeze. All of a sudden there is light, and warmth, and civilisation!

Cognac is the Spanish tipple, and my, it is nae so bad! An old man sits in a corner, reading his book, later on a younger man joins him, and we hear them talk. Americans, obviously. But they don’t talk to us, well that is fine.

If they want to keep themselves to themselves they can just do that. I have a look around the bar, they sell all sorts of post-cards and trinkets, pilgrim’s shells and crosses, religious stuff for the tourists.

Behind us in a corner is the crew eating their lunch, and through the open door we can see the dining room. What better remedy against the cold and wet then a good hot meal?

So, in we go. We get put at a table and a flood of Spanish informs us about the choices of the menu.

I must have answered the right things, for we get a marvellous dinner, Rosie gets her meat and I get my omelette.

There is soup first of all, of course, and a bottle of wine to wash it all down. Then there is a flan and a coffee to fill any gaps, the bottle of wine is almost empty by now.

Meanwhile the room has filled up, the two Americans, a Spanish family, a lonesome Spanish pilgrim next to us, and then the fun starts. An enormous group of tourists comes in, one after the other. By the time they are all seated I have counted thirty-three, and discovered that they are Germans. They must have come on the coach we saw parked outside.

Their leader says a prayer, all say:”Amen”, and tuck in.

Germans love their food, and today there is plenty and it is very good. First a good plate of soup, and then an endless amount of meat and chips. The wine flows like rivers, the fat drips from their faces and they have the best time of their lives.

I go over to their leader to have a wee chat. They come from Aachen and do the Camino in stages, the main lot visiting the churches and monasteries, the odd ones walking selected stretches. They are all in good spirits and wish us well.

I manage to get a big bag of leftovers from the waitress, that will do nicely for the dogs, thank you.

Outside it is still raining, and the clouds cover everything, so we hardly see anything of the village, just a couple of shadowy buildings.

The Camino is the road once more, at least we can’t loose our way!

It is a good two miles to Linares, and we are on the height, so the going isn’t bad, almost flat. We come to some houses, one proves to be a bar and we enter, glad to be out of the rain once more.

The bar appears to be a shop as well and since Rosie has complained that her jacket is not really waterproof, we buy her a new one.

We don’t need much else, and I inquire about a room.” Not with the dogs”, the woman explains.

That leaves that much settled, we will have to go on. Our guidebook says there is a nice hostel in the next village, Hospital de Condesa, so after a while we get up and go out in the rain once more.

Most of the time we walk on the road, we’re high up but can hardly see anything. We go over the “Paso de San Rogue”, just over 1100 metres, and slowly make our way to the next village.

A big bar / con restaurant is the first thing we see, but it is closed because of it being extended.

In the centre of the village we ask around for the hostel. Whilst we are still talking to a farmer, a fat woman waddles up to us and starts shouting:’No Perros, no Perros!”

Obviously she is the warden, and although we try to argue our case, there is no arguing with this woman.

One of the very few times we could really have done with a shelter and some warmth, we are out of luck and dejected we leave the village.

Once on the road again we condemn that warden, it would have taken so little to help us, but no, she had to hide behind instructions, stick to the rules. Whereever rules are more important than people, humanity goes out of the window!

I put a spell on her and hope she suffers as much as she deserves. Wardens should always help pilgrims!

We trot through the rain, finally we can’t go any further and climb a slope that leads us to a big meadow.

The bottom bit is just flat enough for our tent, and we are sheltered from the winds by trees and bushes.

For once the rain stops, and we put the tent up. I boil us a pan of soup, we are not that hungry after our big lunch, but the sleeping-bags are sodden, our clothes are damp and we need something hot to warm us inside.

And so starts the coldest and most miserable night of our whole journey. Perched high on the mountains, in an ice cold wind with wet sleeping-bags and shivering dogs. It takes me ages to get warm enough to fall asleep. All night the rain comes down and the wind howls over the mountain.

Welcome to Galicia.

TEAR4S AND COGNAC, A REAL ROUND HOUSE AND GETTING WARM AFTER ALL

All night the winds howls around us, coming and going like ghosts in the night. It howls and jammers, stops for a bit only to begin again.

We have to get up and dress in still damp clothes, wet boots. The sleepingbags are even worse now, the wet dogs have left their moisture on them, and it is cold and raining. Dark clouds chase over us, the view is very limited.

We get down to the road and start walking.

And loh and behold, within twenty minutes we come to the ”Paso del poya”, 1234 metres high, and the next thing we see is two buildings. Two bars!

We take the one on our side, it is open, even if we seem to be the only guests. I order two coffees and cognacs, we need some warming up.

Rosie dissolves in tears, she is utterly exhausted and miserable, and I have to comfort her and cheer her up. ”Darling, we’re over the worst now, come on!” It takes a while to calm her down, but finally she understands that the worst is really over, this afternoon we will be down in the valley and it will be warm again. Two cognacs, three coffees and four eggs later she can laugh again. The woman looks after us, stokes up the fire, makes us breakfast. And by God, don’t we need and deserve it.

After a good while we get on the way again, the Camino follows the road closely, slowly we are going down.

At times the clouds lift a bit, and we get glimpses of a wide landscape, hills and valleys stretching in all directions. Little hamlets dotted in the green hills, very beautiful.

The next place we come to is called Fonfria, and we follow the sign “Bar’, by­passing the village.

And there is the most marvellous roundhouse, newly build and just beautiful, and what is more, it is also the bar!

We get in and enjoy ourselves. Coffee to warm us up, a fire to dry our backpacks and the house is as beautiful inside as outside.

But they don’t have any postcards of the house!

Once outside, on the road again, we start to go down seriously, on our own track. We by-pass some hamlets, and loose some more height. Other pilgrims pass us, a whole group, one of the pilgrim’s busses probably.

We come to a village, and have a rest. We are in an old mountain village, roofs made with hand-hewn slates, stonewalls, little windows. The road is full of cow-­shit, because we are now in Galicia, and that means we are in cow-country. We have a rest, Triacastella must be near. It still takes us a good while to get there, and when we finally do arrive it is just past two o’clock and the shops are closed.

Since we do need food we will have to wait, and so we go into a bar first of all. Afterwards we walk around a bit, find the other shops and bars, and just outside the town we find a great meadow. Beside the river, sheltered by trees and bushes, just the place to have a good rest.

The tent gets put up, so it can dry, the sleeping-bags get hung over a fence, and soon all our belongings are hanging out to dry in the sun.

We even have a wash ourselves, and clean some socks.

Then it is time to just relax in the sunshine, and it does us the world of good.

I write a post-card to Ken and Stella, telling them how we didn’t know they had put Mount Everest in Spain.

Just after four o’clock we pack everything back in our packs, all nice and dry! Then we go shopping. The shop is a marvel and we get everything we want and need, even a paper.

There is still some daylight left, so we fill our water bottles and get under way. Following the yellow arrows we soon get into a side valley, on a small tarmac road, but there is no traffic. Apart from us four there is nobody else, and we dander along.

Another mile or so, and we come to a little bridge. Just beside the river is a most inviting campsite, and soon the tent is up, the food spread out, and the bottle of wine opened. This is a very different life from earlier on, and we enjoy ourselves.

A cowherd drives his cattle home on the road past us, a young lassie disappears on the track above us, to return shortly with her own cows.

“Buenos noches”, she calls and “Good night,” is our answer.

With the sound of the singing stream in our ears we fall asleep, warm and dry in our tent.

GALICIA’S MAGIC HOLDS ME IN IT’S SPELL, A HOLE IN THE WALL THAT PROVIDES EVERYTHING AND A MARVELLOUS PRIEST

It is morning, the promise of a nice day is in the air, even if it is chilly right now. We are up early, refreshed by a good night’s sleep, assisted by our singing river. We walk up the road, change to a track and come through our first hamlet. You can smell the cows, but there is no sign of life.

Outside the place two men are trying to start an old JCB.

The sun won’t reach us yet, we are at the bottom of the valley and the hills are steep. The track winds through the forest, little meadows come and go, and our tinkling little stream comes dancing down.

Life is gorgeous.

The Camino turns to the left and we climb the hill, past a lovely picnic-area with a big basin and fountain. But we don’t need a rest yet, or water either.

A young couple passes us, holding hands. It is nice to see people like that, even if it is a bit impractical on this sort of journey.

Once on top of the hill we come out into the sunshine and the next hamlet comes into view. Farms, houses, wood-smoke rising from the chimneys, and all very quiet.

We are on the road now, but there is hardly any traffic. Following the crest of the hill we have a lovely view, far over the hills and valleys below us.

Autumn is at it’s best now, the trees are magnificent in all their glory. Any colour under the sun strokes our eyes, the weather is nice and mild.

Then we meet a couple of Americans having breakfast, but we go on for a bit longer. We know from the book that there won’t be any bars today, so we make our own coffee and have breakfast in a lovely spot. We are still high up and have a wonderful view.

Breakfast is very nice indeed, and the dogs get their share.

Two German lassies come past, inquiring where the next bar is. I tell them:”ln Sarria”. Then the other couple catches up with us. Seeing the cooker she tells us she never had a cup of tea for weeks, which I find a bit strange, seeing that most bars will sell you tea just as easy as coffee.

We get on the way again, transformed by our magical surroundings. Galicia is beautiful, magical.

We are walking in a time-less place, hills, valleys, trees and little meadows all over. Although there are no shops or bars for many miles most of the time, there are houses and people, dogs and cattle everywhere. You can’t feel lonely in Galicia.

Slowly we have come down the hills quite a bit and now another hamlet comes into sight. It is called Furela, and the book says there is a kiosk.

We find it easy enough, and now we find out what kiosk means in Spain. There is a hole in the wall and a friendly woman sells you anything through the hole!

There is also a jumbled garden with hens screeching and dogs barking, and some chairs and tables.

So we sit in the sun and enjoy ourselves. The two German lassies are here already, sipping their beer. Obviously they are lesbians, lovers, but one is in a bad mood and moaning like hell. I felt the nicer looking one should clout her one over the head, but she doesn’t. We finish our beers and collect our stamp, get ready to go. The dogs all start their frantic barking again, time to go!

It is hot and our speed diminishes, we are on the way to Calvor, a biggish village. But when we arrive we can’t find a bar or a shop, so we keep going. We take a rest outside the village, in the shadow of some apple-trees. The view is stunning. Far in the distance we can see the town of Sarria, all around us are soft rounded hills, and little valleys stretch for miles

Up we get once more. We are getting tired by now, After crossing the main road we go down a little track, it turns sharply to the left and now we are really going down. Very steeply, but luckily only a short stretch.

At the bottom there is another road, houses. We follow the road and come into a modern suburb, full of new buildings, cranes and appartment-blocks under construction.

Sarria is obviously a boom-town.

We have to cross another medieval bridge and see a flock of geese, grazing on the meadows beside the river. I shout: “Rudolf”, but they don’t pay any attention. Rudolf is our gander back home in Howmore.

Up we climb to the main road and find a Ferroteria. Iron-mongers sell camping-­gaz in Spain and I try my luck with this one. Yes, they do have camping-gaz, and I return with a spare canister.

That is one thing sorted!

The Camino now takes us up a flight of stairs, followed by a steep road. Old Sarria is build around a hill top, and it takes our last bit of strength to carry ourselves and our packs to the top.

But there are rewards! A bar appears, chairs and tables on the pavement, and minutes later we are sipping a cold beer.

The nearby hostel has a stamp, so I get our passports sorted.

We are darn well knackered. We will have to get out of town later on, but first: rest.

We sit sipping our coffee and watching other pilgrims come and go. Finally we get ready to go and heave our packs on our backs. Up it goes, the church is at the top of the bill, and the Camino always passes the churches. We find a shop, and whilst I am doing the shopping Rosie is talking to a man outside.

When I come out, she goes in to get some more things and I talk to the man, He is a priest, and speaks English. He learned it in London, where he was sent for a year when he was young.

Then he spent sixteen years in Africa. Now he is glad to be back home. He’s got to go, he has to conduct a funeral service.
It was nice meeting the priest, nice to receive his blessing for our pilgrimage.
We climb to the church and fill our water-bottles, now we need a place to camp.
But first we come to another church, that is where the funeral takes place, for it is
teeming with people.
Beside the church is a school, lessons must just have finished for the children are coming out, get collected by their parents and carted of home by car.
It is pandemonium. They all carreer down the steep road which we have to follow, and for the next twenty minutes it is busy like hell.
We turn right at the bottom of the hill and most cars turn to the other side.
Suddenly there is peace again. Then we cross a little stream and the Camino meanders through the fields. Cows are grazing, birds singing. It is a peaceful landscape, and we are enjoying
ourselves. The track follows a railway line, and soon we find an ideal campsite.
We have our dinner and a good sip of wine.
Late in the evening a train comes past, and another one, a long goods-train rumbles by a bit later. That one returns at around two in the morning, scaring the living daylights out of us, because it sounded as if it was coming straight through the tent!
But trains don’t disturb me like cars, I sleep quite well.

It has been a fantastic day, walking through a magical land.

WE START IN THE DARK TO FIND A SWIMMINGPOOL FIT FOR KINGS, A MEAL FOR QUEENS AND THE LONGEST BRIDGE IN THE COUNTRY

It is still dark when the first train rumbles by and wakes us up. Well, time for coffee then, and to get up.

It’s that early that we pack in complete darkness, with the help of our little torch. You can tell Autumn is getting on, it is half past eight now before it starts to get light.

Anyway, we walk slowly, using the torch once in a while. The first bit is fine, a nice track beside the railway, fairly straight. Then we have to cross the single-track line and put the dogs on the leash. Hardly are we on the other side when we hear a train coming. Then there are the lights and boomdaraboom, the train passes. Now we follow the railroad on the other side until we come to a small bridge. Rosie has to stay close behind me. “Careful now!

Then the track winds its way up a steep hill, and under the trees it seems twice as dark. Once we get out of the trees and on top of the hill we are fine, there is a bit light. We can see streetlights in the distance, and keep going. The village of Barbadelo where we arrive next, is still asleep. The streetlights help us, but daylight is coming now.

We pass the hostel, some pilgrims are waiting outside on the steps. A bit further on we come to a crossroad, where according to the book there is a bar. We do find it, but his closed. Far too early for bars!

We have a rest and eat some apples, then we are on the way again. There is a lot of dew on the grass all around us, and the hills and forests look lovely in the early morning light. Mist rises from the valleys.

A beautiful picnic-area is next, with an enormous trough, big enough for a swim. And if it had had not been so cold yet, we would surely have gone in!

Two Spanish girls arrive to have a rest as well, and we chat away. They look like nurses, and one has her legs all wrapped up in bandages. But they are all smiles and laughs.

Were now on a plateau again, and we see the hills rise and fall in the distance. Then we cross a road and we are in for a surprise. There is a bar, unmentioned in our book, but it is there and real and open and very welcome.

We are going to have our coffee!

Two Spanish pilgrims are already inside, and we all smile and say Olla. That is Spanish for “Hallo”, and it took me a while to learn.

The bar is new and shiny, and we are in Belante. It is neither mentioned in the book nor on the map, as so many of the hamlets in Galicia.

On we go, the day is nice now, little hamlets are everywhere around us. There are cows galore, little meadows, rivers and woodland, all mixed into a perfect landscape.

We walk transfixed and under the spell of our beautiful surroundings. Most of the hamlets don’t have a bar or shop, they are too small. I like the feeling that them are people everywhere around us.

Around midday we come to another hamlet, and once past it, around a sharp bend in the road, I see tables and chairs.

A closer look reveals a bar! Inside we find our little Irishman who started in Leon. He is having breakfast. Soup and bread, homemade cake and a good glass of wine!

It is our turn next, and when I see the cake on the counter, the order comes fast. Yes please, we will have coffee and cake and then soup and bread and wine. The friendly woman brings it all out to us, we’re sitting in the sun and eat like kings. Lovely!

A young bitch comes to sniff at us, she must have puppies, but we don’t get to she them.

The two nurses arrive, more pilgrims come.

We have a good rest, collect our stamps and say goodbye to every-one. We know we have to get to Portomarin today, that is where the nearest shops are. We walk through the lovely countryside, a bit up, a bit down, the track circling around the hills and valleys. We come down to a crossroad, where another bar announces itself. “No thank you, we are still full from our lunch!”

Beside a little chapel we have a wee rest, then we follow the Camino once more. On top of the next hill we find a good spot for a little siesta, and this gives the other pilgrims time to catch up. One after the other they come and go, we just sit and watch. Then the funniest one of all arrives. A young man comes skipping past, dances and sings, totally oblivious to the world.

Once he is past us I remark to Rosie that he could have walked through a herd of elephants without knowing it. He must have heard my voice, for he starts looking around. Finally he spots us and waves. “Bon Camino!”

On we go again. My leg gets worse and worse and I need to sit down.

We find a bit of grass beside a ditch, and we sit with our feet in the cool water. It does help, I start feeling better. After a long rest we get on our feet again. Down through the forest, until we come to a road. And before us lies the widest river and the longest bridge we have seen in Spain yet.

On the other side, perched on the hill, is Portomarin, a newly build town. It was build to replace the old town, which now lies at the bottom of the loch, created to generate electricity.

Slowly we cross the endless bridge, then we have to climb up to the town. A sign “Supermercado” takes us up a steep stair, and we come out on a playground. Well, would do as a campsite, maybe later on. Another stair takes us up to the road, and there is our shop! It must be past five o’clock, the shop is open and we get a lot of supplies. Then we take the dogs to the park and tie them up. We are just going to the nearest bar to have a coffee. We tell them to keep an eye on our belongings, and the poor things are that tired, they lay down straight away!

We find a bar and have our coffee. The woman gives us two very large cognacs and we wonder will we ever get up again?

There is no stamp in this bar, soon the way back I pop into the hostel. I get our stamps all right, but I take a look around and see all these bunk beds. That really gives me the creeps and I hurry out. “Lets go”, I tell Rosie, “They have bunk beds in there!

Of we go to collect our dogs. The playground has filled up with children by now, so no camping there. We decide to get out of town and follow the yellow arrows. Down to the road, across a bridge and up the next hill!

Just before the top there is a field, a small bit is flat enough to take the tent, and soon camp is prepared and we sit down to our dinner. We can’t finish our wine tonight, we are too tired.

Darkness comes early and swift, I sit with a last smoke in front of the tent, watching big cement-mixers unloading at some project across the hill. They must be working overtime, I wonder vaguely, before creeping in my sleepingbag and drifting of to sleep.

We are getting nearer and nearer to Santiago, and the only thing I pray for is that my leg will keep up long enough. Day after day my prayers get answered.

AHUNGRY SIAMESE CAT, TWO LONG LOST LASSIES AND A FABULOUS WATERING HOLE. ANOTHER LUCKY LUNCH AND A DOG-BREEDING FARM

We are high up above the valley and so were above the mist that fills the valleys all around in the early morning. I have learned that much in Galicia, you camp high up if you can, otherwise you spend all morning walking through the mist. At first light we are up and ready to go, and soon we emerge from the trees at the top of the hill. The going is good, the weather nice.

After a couple of miles we come to a road and take a left turn. The Camino is now a nice track beside the road. There is a big factory, and I study it for a while before I can figure out what it is. It must be a brick-work.

We keep switching sides, have to cross the road every so often. Once in a while the Camino takes a shortcut and we loose the road for five or ten minutes, then we follow the road again.

After crossing a bit of woodland we go down, and find a picnic-area at the bottom. There is a fountain as well, and soon the kettle is on the boil and we have breakfast.

Then we walk to the next hamlet, where we find a bar. It is closed, either too early, or because it is winter, Never mind, we had our coffee anyway!

Up over a hill, and we have our own track again to the next village. Just outside the place we get another nice surprise, a Bar!

There are tables and chairs outside, so we sit in the sun and enjoy our coffees. We have a big piece of cake each, and I get company.

A Siamese cat decides she likes me and jumps on my lap. Then she wants to share the cake with me, and I have troubles getting any myself. She is greedy! Hamish stares at me. “How can you be nice to a strange cat’, he says. “Just put her down and let me of the lead, and I will show you what to do with cats!” But he stays put, and the cat and I finish the cake.

We get our stamp, and now we know we are in Castromayor.

We talk briefly to some English pilgrims on bicycles, and on we go. Yesterday I found that we could do with a wash, and I prayed for an opportunity. A nice spot and neither too late or too early, because of the temperature. Around midday is the best time for a cold-water bath.

As so often I get a sort of mental picture, we shall find water in an unusual place. And now we are going to find that place.

Just beside the road, blocked from view by some rocks and bushes, lies a small pool, completely screened. Rosie has found our waterhole, and soon I am ready to go in. It is amazing, warm even and invisible from the road. You could only see our heads from there.

I soak and scrub, and dive in completely. It is lovely.

Here we are, having a bath just beside the main road, in the altogether, and no one can see us.

Then it is time for the clothes. Scrub and rinse, and scrub some more. It is just another little miracle.

We are just packing up when who arrives but the two English sisters whom we have last seen at the hostel where we spend the night.

That is weeks ago by now. They are very pleased to see us and tell us we are doing amazing. They had a long rest and came by bus and train to Ponferrada. Now they try to walk the last bit.

Then we are of again, the washing dangling down our packs. We come to a T-­junction.

From here onwards we shall leave the main roads and go across country again. But at the junction is a bar: “The Black Labrador” and they do food and we are just in time to have lunch. We are very lucky today! It is a hilarious affair, the waitress has no English, we have only a smattering of Spanish . She explains the menu, but we can’t figure out what “Pollo” (Poljo) means, until she starts to imitate a chicken. Ah, pollo is chicken, we understand. It is Rosie’s turn to imitate a chicken and we are all in stitches! So Rosie get her chicken and I get my omelette, and both of us get soup first and flan after. The customary bottle of wine arrives and get drunk, and we have great fun. Coffee please!

The two sisters have arrived and get lunch as well, a big Irishman asks where the heck we are and I explain to him, and show him the map.

Our book calls this place Hospital de Ia Cruz, and the map calls it Rio. A bit confusing, but we are in Galicia after all.

We collect all the left-over bits of bread, since we won’t find a shop today, and I get cigarettes and chocolate from the bar.

Now it is time to fill the bottles, and say good-bye to the stuffed Labrador sitting in the hall.

Our two dogs get a bit of the leftovers, and we are on the way again. The next village is called Ligonde, about three miles away. The Camino is the road again, but since there is no traffic it doesn’t matter. We come past a farm where there is an uproar of barking and yapping. We have a look and see endless rows of wire-cages. It must be a dog breeder, even if we can’t see the dogs. By now we are looking for a campsite, but the hills are full of spiky gorse. There is nowhere to put the tent up, but then a little voice in my head says:” Keep going, on the right you will soon find a sheltered place”.

So I do as told, and within ten minutes is Rosie who finds the place. Just beside the Camino a little meadow has been cut back and cleared of gorse, and it is surrounded by hedges and trees. There you go, put the tent under the trees and get ready for bed!

Another little miracle.

RALLY DRIVERS ARE MAD, A SPECIAL CHEESE AND SAUSAGE, AND A CAMPSITE IN THE MIDDLE OF A VILLAGE

Ever since we came to Galicia we Follow the same pattern. Up a hill, down on the other side to cross a stream or river at the bottom of the valley, and then up the next hill. We are going across country, and have to traverse the watershed again and again.

Luckily the hills are getting lower and lower, but still the going is not all that easy. In the mornings there is a lot of dew, so the tent is always damp. And at night it gets really cold now. The Camino itself is very good mostly, much better then elsewhere. Occasionally we even come across workmen improving the Camino! Every half kilometre there is a mile-stone, with the distance still to go and the name of the hamlet you are just crossing.

That is very handy, and we know now that there are less than a hundred kilometres to go, a mere sixty miles or so.

We are on our way at first light again, around half past eight. Ligonde is there straight away, but of course the bar is closed. Another mile or so takes us to Airexe, where they have a bar as well, but that one is also closed. We are too early for bars today!

But we fill our water bottles at the fountain, look at the hostel, and of we go. The Camino is the road once more, another small country road, without traffic, so it doesn’t matter too much.

Around an hour later, after a bend in the road, following the valley’s floor, there is a building.

It isn’t till we are in front of it that I realise that it is a bar. La Calzada, which means: the shoe.

A good name for a pilgrim’s bar!

It is brand-new, and not in our book, it also comes at the right time, for I was just starting to think about breakfast. And that is what we get, a real breakfast and plenty of coffee. And a stamp. The woman who owns the place comes out with two bowls, our hero’s get fed as well!

Oh yes, there are nice folk everywhere.

It is another couple of miles to Palas de Rei, a little town, and we set of again, our condition mightily improved by such a good breakfast.

We follow the curves of the hills, little hamlets spread left and right, rivers tinkle and the birds sing in the trees. Our two crows are there again as well, we have seen them every day and I am sure they are the same ones, following us all the way.

Sometimes I even think that they came all the way from South Uist!

Ah weel, when there is churches and crows, you can’t go wrong, can you now? A pile of horseshit on the road indicates that our elusive horses are still in front, a day or two ahead I would say. We get to the top of the hill and see a big sports-complex laid out in front of us. Football-pitches, a big park with picnic-places, an enormous hall.

A big swimming-pool as well, We must be getting near the town. And yes, going slowly down hill, we come to the town after another mile or so.

There are streets and houses and there is a lot of noise. More noise then normal, and by the time we get to the main road we can see why. Rally-cars race up and down the streets! It spoils it a bit, I would have liked the town a lot better without the noise.

The dogs get tied up as usual, and we go shopping.

We get all we want, even tobacco and a paper, and a bottle of Scottish whiskey. Our packs are heavy when we walk out of town, but soon we sit down and have our lunch. That lightens the load considerably, and also, it is nice to know we wont have to starve.

Down we go to join the main road again, and just here the rally-drivers have their service-areas, and the noise is deafening. Trucks, vans, cars, piles of tires and equipment, and the rally-drivers revving their vehicles.

We get past all these cars as fast as we can, luckily we get our own track again, and climb away from the road. My, what a noise!

A bit further on we have to cross the road again, the cars are racing past and we have to be extremely careful and fast in crossing the road.

Then the Camino swerves down to the left, and the road goes to the right. Thanks God!

Peace reigns and we can enjoy walking once more. It is another four miles to Casanova, but we pass so many hamlets that we don’t have a clue which one we are in.

By around four o’clock we pass through a village on the back road, and here is an old woman standing in her gate, showing us a big cheese.

“Do you like cheese?” And she disappears inside, to return a bit later with another cheese, nicely wrapped up. It is lovely, handmade sheep’s milk cheese, Of course I can’t resist, we buy the cheese, all four pounds of it.

Then she wants to sell Rosie a homemade sausage as well, and Rosie can’t resist either.

We get a taste, and it is good! But, the weight of all this!

It is not that we don’t want all this stuff, we most certainly do, but how to carry anymore than we do already?

Somehow we manage. The woman now tells us that we are in Casanova, and that there is a hostel here. But that is not for the likes of us with our dogs, and we have to keep going.

Down we go. Out of the village, into the valley, and across a stream. A bit of woodland, and yes, there would be a possible campsite. But a farmer is working there, and so we continue.

Up the hill again, where we find a small road that takes us to the top. Some of the rally-drivers on the way home come roaring towards us, and we have to jump in the ditch.

Then we come to a junction. There is a small bar to the left, but it is closed. Across the road is a country-hotel, which only serves residents. That is a pity, because they have a nice garden with a terrace.

The Camino now leaves the road, and we go downhill once more. Another mile and we are in the next hamlet, Leboreiro. Says the book, but you never know here in Galicia .

The names in the book are often given in Spanish, instead of Callego, and anyway, the numerous small hamlets never have their names on a sign.

At the very best you’ll find a milestone with a name on it.

We come to a stream, and on the other side of the old stone-bridge is a nice field, surrounded by trees and bushes.

We are too tired to go any further, so we slip through the wire-fence and put the tent up in a corner. We are in the middle of a

village, but no-one can see us here, and within halt an hour it will be dark anyway. We have a great meal, wine and cheese.

Darkness comes swiftly and we go to sleep, the noise of the rally-cars still coming from the distance.

A SUNDAY MARKET, AN EXTRA DOG AND A PLEASANT PRIEST, A PILGRIM’S SWIMMINGPOOL AND THUNDER AND LIGHTNING TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT, AND A ROOF OVER OUR TENT!

As usual we are up early, the dew sparkles in the early sunlight as we are on our way by half past eight. Soon we leave the village behind us and come to the main road, for a while we follow the road on the other side.

Then we come to a factory, and the Camino goes it’s own way again. Fierce dogs are patrolling inside the wire-fence, frightening us and our little heroes. Down we go, through the forest, and we arrive at the river. The next village, Furelos should be right next to us, but is invisible yet. For once I am hungry and we stop for a bite to eat. Then we follow the road downstream and come to the Roman bridge. On the other side is the village, and we can see a woman washing clothes in the traditional way, in the river.

There are supposed to be bars in Furelos, but this early on a Sunday morning they will be closed anyway, and we don’t go looking for them. So we walk through the old village, admire the houses. The smell of cows hangs heavy in the air. Then we have to climb the hill to get up to Melide. We can see it is a new town, with building still going on.

We arrive via the back street and change to the main road. I want a bar, and bars are rarely on the back roads.

And we find a bar that is open, and very nice. The waitress gives us a slice of the Galician speciality, sweet-chestnut cake, with our coffee. It is delicious, and we enjoy it. Time to collect our stamps and have a look around town.

So we dander up the bill, inspecting the shops en route. At the top we come to the market square and we see the market-stalls being set up. We are very lucky, today is the big market, and the whole hill top is covered in stalls. Cars and vans, still unloading, throngs of people milling around, we need to take a good look! My eyes fall on a big truck full of brass and copper pots and pans, there are boilers, complete distilleries, bells, plates, wonderful stuff. I wish we could take some of these things home with us.

Rosie goes for the clothes, of course, how she wishes we could buy some and take them home. But we can’t carry any more, and have to just look. The only things I buy are some little goat-bells, and they soon tinkle away from dogs and backpacks.

Around the corner we find the vegetable market, and I find a bakery. We buy some supplies, again we have to be careful, can we carry that?

But we have to get going, and we do, reluctantly. First we climb the last bit of the hill, to a chapel, then we go steeply down.

A dog has been following us since the town centre, and doesn’t want to leave us. I have to pretend I am throwing stones at her before she turns and disappears.

Our own two dogs are more than enough to cope with.

At the bottom of the hill we have to cross the road, and we come to another village, not mentioned on the map.

We find another bar, and we might as well have one more coffee, we don’t know where the next bar will be!

We sit on the terrace, watching the tame birds in their cages. The woman comes out and asks if she can feed the dogs? Yes please, and so they get a big piece of meat each, that keeps them happy. “Muchas gracias!”

Up we get again, it is hot and the packs are heavy. The Camino is now a nice track, following the valley, crossing bits of woodland, little meadows left and right. I am getting dizzy and very tired. My leg starts giving me hell and tear will collapse.

Then there is a little bridge, a great place for a break and a dip in the river. I eat and I drink, I stand for ages in the river, then I dive in completely, a couple of times. I start to feel like a human being again. A good sip from the brandy bottle, half a tablet of chocolate, and slowly I become my good old self.

Meanwhile Rosie has her own wash in the river, and when we are all done the dogs get thrown in the river. Hamish enjoys the water, but when looks could kill, Shielasan would have killed me many times over.

Much refreshed we walk on, Gross another little stream. Just before we enter a bit of forest a group of horseman comes galloping down, we get to the side and let them pass. It is a magnificent sight!

About an hour later they return, and we let them pass once more. Beautiful horses, and very good riders!

We meet a German woman, cooling her legs in a stream. “Bon Camino!” Later on we meet her in the bar in Boente and talk a bit. She complains a lot about her legs. What the heck, we are almost there, don’t moan, just keep going!

The bar is not very attractive, and we don’t waste time, back to the church, it was open when we arrived, and I promised myself to say a prayer.

A very nice priest is delighted with us pilgrims. He has a French lassie in there already, and now he says a special prayer for us and gives us his blessings. He talks to us for a while and gives us a stamp. That is how we have two stamps from Boente.

Half a mile out of the village we cross underneath the road through a tunnel. On the other side we find a picnic-area, and we sit down to eat some bread and cheese. I was so hungry suddenly!

Clouds are crowding in from the south, and by the time we get down to the little stream it starts to rain. Standing beside the swimming pool we put our raingear on. This is the first time we have seen a real swimming pool, built for the pilgrims. In the summer it must be a Godsend.

It is raining seriously now and we climb the next hill. Down into the valley, and now thunder is rumbling. We walk through a nameless hamlet, join a minor road. The lighting comes nearer and nearer and the thunder gets louder and louder. We keep going, we are still in the open, but we can see the trees on the nearest hill.

Suddenly an earsplitting explosion. The lightning has struck not more then twenty paces away. “Run”, I shout to Rosie.

And we run as fast as we can to the nearest trees. That was close!

We got a nasty fright there.

Up goes the Camino, through the trees. Then we come down on the other side and beside the Camino is an open shed. We move inside, to get out of the rain. The thunderstorm is moving away, but the rain is still heavy.

We sit under a big roof, it is an open shelter for the cows, and today for us. Waiting for the rain to stop we debate what to do. It’s about five o’clock now, near our normal time to stop. If we stay here and put the tent up under the roof we will at least be dry and our gear will be dry. If we goon everything will get damp and wet when we put the tent upon some wet grass.

Soon we decide to slay, and I put the tent up. We have a cup of soup, a sip from the bottle and prepare for the night.

A late pilgrim passes on the track without seeing us, a couple of dogs come to sniff at us but get chased away by our heroes.

It is getting dark and we go to sleep.

WHERE HAVE ALL THE PILGRIMS GONE? AND HOW I LIGHTEN MY LOAD, A BIT OF CLEANING UP, A GARDEN PARTY, AND A NIGHT IN THE FOREST

By morning it’s dry again and we are glad we stayed here. All our clothes are dry, and so are we and the dogs. I have collected some rainwater last night, so we can have our coffee. Soon we leave our shelter and join the Camino once more.

Up a low hill, across the main road on a high, new bridge. There is no much traffic to be seen and no pilgrims at all.

On the other side the Camino takes a left turn and we go down into the next valley A milk-tanker is collecting this mornings harvest from the numerous farms. Then we cross a small medieval bridge and see the hostel on the other side. We are in Rabadiso do Baixo, a tiny village. No shops and no bars.

We turn left to join the main road, and follow beside it up the hill. From the top we can see the next town, Arzua.

A bit down, a bit up, soon we arrive in town and now we are looking for a bar.

We find a big cafe and get a good breakfast. On the way out I get some bread, and we collect our stamps. We come to a wee park where gardeners are raking the leaves into big piles. Ah yes, it is autumn.

Time to go shopping. And we find a great shop, get all what we want and a bit more.

The dogs get some real cat-food, we have our jar of asparagus.

We can’t find the yellow arrows on the way out, so we do as the book says. Stay on the main road until you come to the hostel, the track will lead you from there back to the Camino.’

So we walk on the road which takes us in a wide half circle down to the bottom of the valley. There is the hostel, and there is the yellow arrow!

Let’s go, info the forest and down the track!

For the next few hours we walk through eucalyptus trees most of the time. We fill our water bottles at the fountain in a hamlet and I put my head under the spout as well, it is that hot!

A lassie walking in front of us returns, she has forgotten her stick and hat at the fountain. A smile and a wave of her hand and she is of. We follow slowly. We have a rest in a little meadow, and I decide to go through my pack again. I chuck all my spare clothes away, keep only one set.

We talk about the lack of pilgrims. “Where the heck have they all gone?” I ask Rosie. “I thought that the nearer we got to Santiago the more pilgrims we would see”.

But it is the other way around. Yesterday we saw only six or so, and four couldn’t even say hello. Today we’ve only seen two or three, and two couldn’t say anything. They had this strange look in their eyes, they walk like maniacs!

At least we can still laugh and joke and talk. We still enjoy the Camino, but I fear the others have gone around the bend.

After what seems ages, walking through the eucalyptus trees, we finally come to a village. There is a fountain with a trough at the top, under some trees, and I take this opportunity to wash my hair. Rosie washes her socks, we rest and fill our bottles.

A quiet village, some hens are scratching, the cows must be in the fields. We walk down the track and around a corner there is this most welcome sign “BAR”.

There you go, another miracle!

The bar is just a simple wooden hut in the garden, benches and tables are provided under the trees, and we sit down.

Yes, we’ll have a coffee please, and some of that cake!

We have a great time. The two old folkies who run the bar come to sit with us and we talk. Despite our lack of knowledge of Spanish we get on fabulously. Rosie gets herself another slice of the sweet-chestnut cake and a beer, I switch to the wine.

A single pilgrim comes down the road, without looking left or right he disappears. What is wrong with these people?

This is the first stop for six miles or so, and there is nothing for another two or three miles! Meanwhile we are having a great time, lets have some more of that wine! We manage to get on our feet again, but we are not going far from here. Another mile or so, and we come to a plantation of young poplar trees. Between them, on the grass is plenty space for our tent.

A nice sheltered spot, and soon our camp is arranged. I have a bit time to read our guidebook, and study the map.

A little bit to eat, a last sip of the bottle and we are ready for bed.

ALL ALONE ON THE CAMINO, A TOWN ON THE HILL, PLENTY EUCALIPTUS TREES, A TINY BIT OF THE RUNWAY, A MAZE OF LITTLE ROADS, AND OUR LAST NIGHT UNDER THE STARS

We were camping almost beside the village and there was a lot of noise last night. Tractors coming and going, people walking by, dogs barking. Luckily there was not much noise from the road, although it is quite near. We pack up and go, Salceda is only a mile away. Soon enough the Camino veers to the left and we are beside the road once more. A hamlet with a bar, but it is closed, too early in the morning!

Up the hill in a long, slow curve, then under the road in another small tunnel, and we come out on the other side to find a park.

It is another picnic-area, with a windmill!

That is obviously to pump the water from the well, a gallant thought for the sake of the pilgrims.

We keep going and soon we can see a crossroad at the top of the hill. There is a bar at the crossroads, and we tie the dogs up outside. In we go: “Can we have breakfast please?”

Yes we can, and we do.

The bar is clad in wicker-work, a specialist in willow-weaving has been doing this job. Very nice indeed!

After we finish our coffees we get ready to go. Cross the road, get to the top of the hill, and now the Camino takes to the left, following the old road. We walk down the hill, the going is very nice indeed now. Then there is another hamlet, Santa Irene, very small, but there is a hostel here.

We keep going, just following the valley. Soon we are in Arua, the next hamlet and we change sides again. We are on a nice small road, and stop for a break beside a little stream. Let’s have a bit to eat, the breakfast in the bar was a bit meagre!

Two pilgrims walk past, they don’t even wave at us.

We can see the town now, upon the hill. It is called Pedrouzo. But the Camino doesn’t just turn to the left at the main road, it crosses and takes us in a long curve through eucalyptus trees up to the back.

Still in the forest is a big school, swimming-pool included.

Then the Camino does one of these nasty things, it turns right, bypassing the town.

We can’t have that, I want my coffee, and we need shopping, so we turn left and go into town.

A big “Supermercado” fulfils all our wishes, and we sit outside in the front and devour all the luxuries. A jar of asparagus, a lot of mandarins for Rosie and some real cat -food for the dogs.

Then we go to the café at the corner, and sit outside in the sunshine, sipping our coffees.

Rosie visits the bank, and only then are we ready to join the Camino once more. There were no pilgrims in Pedrouzo, there are none on the Camino.

For long hours we walk all alone through the eucalyptus forest, mile after mile, often in long straight stretches.

Where is everybody today?

Then there is a round-about, a lot of cars. The Camino turns left, down the hill we go, and past the landing-lights of the runway.

Somehow we have almost circumnavigated the airport, and we can only see this extreme end of the runway.

Up the hill to the left, then cross the road. We can hear singing and joking in the fields, people are harvesting the corncobs.

We turn to the right once more and come through a tiny hamlet. A very expensive looking restaurant, a newly restored church.

It looks beautiful, but it is closed. We have a short rest. Up the hill goes the Camino, but I am sick of hills and think I know better. I feel the other road will take us to the next village.

Well, this time I am wrong. The other road takes us only to a main road half a mile away, and there is no sign of yellow arrows at all.

So we have to turn left and climb the hill after all. Luckily we find the Camino soon, and turn right on the track, into the forest.

A Spanish pilgrim comes hurrying back, he has lost his papers, have we seen them?

No sorry son, but we hope you’ll find them.

We wish him luck and continue.

There is a maze of little roads now, we keep chancing tack that often that I loose track completely. Where the heck are we going?

Then the Camino takes a sudden turn to the left, and we are on the main road. Now for that bar!

But the bar is closed, so we return to the corner where we left the Camino, and there is a shop. We haven’t found a fountain for ages and we need water, so I am going into the shop to get our bottles filled. Once inside I decide I might as well take a bottle of wine, and then I return to Posie.

She is grumbling by now, sheer tiredness.

But we don’t have far to go. At the bottom of the road there is a nice meadow, beside a stream and sheltered by trees and bushes.

Just what we were looking for!

Up goes the tent, in go the sleepingbags, and out comes the food and wine. We are that late today that it is getting dark already, and soon we are ready for bed,

For once I don’t know where we are, it should be Lavacolla, but I’m not sure.

Ach, let’s just creep in those sleepingbags and forget about walking for a while!

This will be our last night of the journey, our last night under the stars.

THE LAST DAY. WE FIND OUR ELUSIVE HORSES, FIND A CONCENTRATIONCAMP FOR MENTALLY DERANGED PILGRIMS, COME TO THE CATHEDRAL AND FIND THE PILGRIM’S OFFICE.

A plane taking off from the nearby airport wakes us up, and I have my first coffee at six o’clock.

By seven o’clock we are getting up, and I boil the kettle whilst Rosie gets dressed. It is still dark, and there is fog. I can see the streetlights and cars passing on the nearby road.

By eight o’clock we are on our way, walking very carefully in the dark. At every crossroad I have to check for yellow arrows, just in case the Camino takes an unexpected turn. Up the hill for a bit, then we come through another hamlet, and the streetlights show us the way.

Daylight is very slow in coming today. We stay on the hill, but can’t see anything for the lack of light and the trees.

We pass a huge office-building, and an endless stream of cars comes towards us. We have to be careful, they can’t see us in the dark!

Then we come to a junction, and have a rest. Behind us I can see a big sign:”Camping Monte del Gozo”. I tell Rosie that we shouldn’t be here all that soon, I thought that was miles away.

It is not even nine o’clock and we are only three miles from Santiago. The light gets stronger now, and we continue. Up the hill, past the television studios of “Television Galicia’. We joke that they should come out and interview us. What a chance for an exclusive interview with two pilgrim dogs!

Then we turn right into another small road. Straight on, over the hill, and then steeply down.

Just before we join the main-road we turn left however and come to another village.

Coming out on the other side there is a big memorial, afterwards a nice big field. And there, grazing away are our elusive horses!

No sign of the riders, I think they must have gone into town on foot, to spare their horses another town.

The Camino takes us now down a long slope. On the left we see an enormous amount at wooden huts, all nicely lined up.

“That is the concentration-camp for all those pilgrims who have gone around the bend,” I tell Rosie.

Then the town comes into view, and we arrive at the top of a long flight of stairs. We sit down and watch. Time to have a sip and to congratulate ourselves. We have made it, we can see Santiago de Compastella!

Down the steps, careful now!

Across a big road, across a bridge and across another road. Then we are on the main road into town.

Beside a church is a café, come on, let’s have that coffee!

Then it is time for the last mile, and soon we walk into the old town. The cathedral now disappears from sight, too many high buildings around us.

But we keep going, and then the big moment arrives, we are standing in front of the church.

We have indeed come a long way to get here.

We go in to say our prayers. It is all very emotional now, and I feel so glad and proud, all at the same time.

I visit the crypt, where the bones of Saint James are kept.

I pray some more, wander around the church. It is very big and beautiful. We have arrived at eleven o’clock, almost to the minute six weeks from when we left Saint Jean.

It is Wednesday, the 31 October.

After the cathedral it is time to find the pilgrims office.

We have to fill in a form, our pilgrim’s passports get checked, and then our names are written on the Compastella.

Now we are almost holy!

Supposedly all our sins are forgiven, and we can start with a clean slate.

Trembling and with tears in our eyes we go down the stairs to collect our dogs.

They have done just as well as we did.

Now it is time for that dram! And we go to look for a bar.

With the help of our own legs, with a lot of stubbornness, good luck and answered prayers, by the grace of God, we have done it.

We have walked five hundred miles through every kind of weather, through every kind of landscape.

Without mishaps, without accidents and injuries.

We must have been very lucky, thanks God!

SOME REMARKS

A pilgrimage like this is a very big event in your life.

It needs a lot of planning, training, equipment and money.

For the ones walking without dogs there are hostels in almost every village. Most of them are cheap and well run. But if you sleep in the hostels, you will have no privacy. You share the dormitories with any amount of strangers.

However, you need far less equipment and you can walk more miles in any given day.

Water and food are easily obtainable during most of the Camino, however, some stretches have shops and bars far in between, and everybody faces the same problems.

One thing all pilgrims have in common, you need a lot of training and very good shoes.

A lot of people don’t finish the Camino because of poor preparations and they are in too much of a hurry.

Take your time.

The Camino is not only a physical journey, it is a social journey as well. You need to meet the people on the Camino, and the ones who live in the area you walk through.

Most of all the Camino is a spiritual journey. You need time to think, to reflect, to pray.

A pilgrimage is a journey towards God, and towards your inner self. Take your time for that!

Spain is a wonderful country. It seems very prosperous and modern today, which never ceased to amaze me. When I visited Spain around twelve years ago, I had a very different impression.

What intrigued me most of all is that the people are so friendly and relaxed, yet they must work hard and efficiently.

In more then six weeks we never saw an angry person, nobody shouting or arguing, no accidents and no drunks. A very well balanced people and well behaved.

They don’t seem to suffer from the conflict between work and life, like all the other peoples now a days.

Very disturbing to me were the closed and locked churches.

A church is the house of God, and should be open at all times for the ones that want to visit God’s house.

Religion seems to have disappeared at the same rate as economic welfare has appeared.

Spanish is a wonderful language. Learn it before you go, if possible at all. People do want to talk to you, and they want you to talk back.

The autumn is I think the best time of the year for a pilgrimage. The heat of the summer has gone, and there is the added pleasure of the harvest. Figs and apples, grapes and chestnuts add to your diet, and come mostly for free. The water was safe to drink everywhere, we always drank from the fountains and never once got ill.

Few people walk back, but I would seriously consider that. Most of all, take your time.

It is easy to do many more miles in a day, but how long can you keep doing that? Six weeks seems a long time, yet I would say, take more time still. Even ten miles a day would be a very good average.

For all pilgrims some things are the same. You need very good shoes, preferably boots, well worn in. You need good, reliable raingear. You need warm clothes. Most of the Camino you are high up, either on the mountains or on high plateaus. A lot of the pilgrims do the Camino in stages. If that is the only way you can do it, fine. But since the pilgrimage is such a big event in your life, try to do it in one go. Once you are past Leon, somehow you know you will finish. That is a nice, subconscious feeling.

Personally I wish the Camino would avoid all big cities.

For walkers there is nothing worse then walking on the pavement of big, busy roads for hours. The guidebook from the Confraternity of Saint James is very good, reliable, and has been a great help to us.

No doubt the minor mistakes will be rectified year after year.

Walking with your dog is possible, but remember that keeping dogs as pets is quite alien to the Spanish mind.

They do keep dogs, but they never take them into shops or bars. If you walk with your dog, leave it outside, well tied up.

And be prepared to camp. Neither hostels nor private rooms will accept you with your dog.

Flocks of sheep are rare and far in between, but do put your dog on the leash when you see sheep. Make sure the shepherd has seen you, and give him time to call his dogs and move his flock out of the way.

A walking stick can help to keep the sheep-dogs at a distance. Just pointing your stick keeps most dogs at bay.

Spanish sheep-dogs are big, enormous, but seem to be quite shy and very obedient.

If you want to go, prepare well, train well and ‘ BON CAMINO’.

One last remark. I only kept a diary for the first five days, after that just walking, seeing, smelling and feeling kept me fully occupied. So most of this book was written long afterwards back home. There will be many things I have forgotten. Reflecting on our walk now, it was most enjoyable, it was a truly big and wonderful thing to do.