Category: Soapbox

Part 46: Different

Posted on by Pete Schloss

           

May 21, 2013. Arzua to Arca O Pino Pedrouzo

Awake, I knew in my bones that this day was different. How was that possible? On the Camino the last 39 days we had experienced every kind of weather. The trail had presented us with every condition and trial. We had endured illness and injury. Each day had offered new friendships with like-minded people from the world over. At 19km the distance was not significantly different compared to any other day. So, how could this day possibly be different.

It weighed upon my spirit much like my pack bore down on my shoulders. This day, tonight, would be the last one slept on the Camino. Tomorrow we would walk into Santiago.

The three of us said goodbye to our hosts at Pension Casa Frade and left Arzua, the last major population center before Santiago, quickly finding ourselves embraced by the early morning peace of the countryside.

Kris and Christine kept close, a mirror of their friendship while I with wandering eye looked for photo opportunities.

I also played music from my iPod through earphones. For some Peregrinos it is deemed heresy on the Camino to conceal Nature’s music with that orchestrated by man. For me, Leonard Cohen’s “Suzanne”, and especially “Hallelujah”, among others provided an emotional soundtrack to the magnificent cinema that played out before me, one step at a time.

Country land, forest path, verdant canopied woods, It was a day that hinted at the reward to come tomorrow, a metaphor for the Paradise that many believe awaits us at the end of a life’s journey well lived.

As if to reinforce my thoughts I smiled as I came upon another allegorical example of the “now”, and the “hereafter”. The J. F. Abel Construction Company proudly presented “before and after” examples of structures that it had “resurrected” from one life into another. How lovely it would be to retire to Spain and settle into one of those enchanting homes with ancient roots.

The path provided other reminders of past travels and the venerated long forgotten.

There were also those who sought Santiago, only to have their journey rerouted to a more final destination.

At age 69, Guillermo Watt, a pilgrim on the Camino, died of a heart attack on this spot on August 25, 1993. Guillermo, variously identified as an Englishman or of Swiss origin, was only a day, 25km, from his destination. His monument reads, “He embraced God at the age of 69, a day from Santiago on August 25, 1993, now alive in Christ.”

Since Sarria the number of pilgrims walking the Camino had grown exponentially. We now frequently encountered organized groups who walked together, largely keeping to themselves.

Between 2013 and 2020 Kris Ashton shepherded 7 different groups on the Camino. Each of these were made up of members of a Colorado hiking club. Kris has also had the experience of walking a number of “solo” Caminos. In discussing the difference between these experiences she explained that in spite of her efforts to encourage the groups to spread out and embrace the multi-cultural friendships that the Camino offers, group members tended to remain consolidated. It would be easy to conclude that the members miss something important in not “mixing” outside the group. However, it occurs to me that a shared experience among friends who will remain in close contact for years to come also has special value.

Nearing our destination for the day we again had to hazard a crossing of the increasingly busy N-547.

Arca (parish) O Pino (municipality) Pedrouzo (administrative district), “Arca” for short, presented an unusual church that was worth a visit.

Igrexa de Santa Eulalia (Church of St. Eulalia) was “new” by Camino standards. The original 17th Century edifice was destroyed by fire in the 19th Century. Rebuilt, the church, also known as “La Iglesia de la Concha” (Church of the Shell), has a simple exterior, but features an unusual apse formed in the shape of a scallop shell, a symbol of the Camino.

There was also a noteworthy statue of a saint in the garb of a medieval pilgrim.

Often mistaken for St. James (Santiago), this was San Roque (born 1295 or 1348,  died 1327 or 1376). San Roque is the patron saint of dogs, invalids, falsely accused people, and plague victims, among other things. His fame and journey to sainthood began at birth when his “barren” mother, praying to the Virgin Mary, was graced with the child. Roque was born with the birthmark of a cross on his chest. He was reputed to be a holy and devout child into adulthood. Coming of age, he abandoned his worldly possessions and pursued a life of austere simplicity, ministering to the poor and those afflicted with the Plague. During the ravages of the “Black Death” he himself fell ill and retreated into the woods to die. He survived thanks to the help of a dog that brought him bread, water, and healed Roque’s wounds by licking them. Thus, statues of him are distinct for the presence of a dog with a loaf in its mouth, the lifted skirt with the Saint gesturing to a wound on his leg, and the garb of a pilgrim.

As a patron saint of plague victims, veneration of San Roque has found renewed popularity in the era of COVID-19.

We bid goodbye to Kris before reaching our accommodations for the night. Kris wished to experience the meditative solace of a night alone and the solitary walk into Santiago the next day. We understood how our experience as a couple might become a distraction for her. With hugs held long we parted, no assurance that our paths would again cross.

Christine and I lodged at the very comfortable Pension Maribel. However, the delight of the evening was served at the nearby Café-Bar O Pedrouzo. Not a place for vegetarians, this restaurant was a tour de force for any meat lover. We were served one of the finest beef dinners that we have ever experienced.

It was a fitting celebration of our last night on the Camino. Tomorrow, Santiago.
Peace Everyone, and Buen Camino. Pete

Part 45:  The Iron Man of Galicia

Posted on by Pete Schloss

           

May 20, 2013. O Coto to Arzua

Awake with the dawn we bid our farewell to the “Two Germans” and stepped into the fog. It would be some time before the sun cut through the cold and gave us a better view down “The Way”.

We were three days and roughly 60km from Santiago. Our goal from O Coto that day was to reach the town of Arzua. It was a longish 20km haul for Christine, but she and Kris had arranged for the transport of their packs ahead to our destination.  Kris kept a light daypack with water, snacks, rainwear, and her dear stuffed bunny companion, “Marshmallow”. I continued to carry my pack.

Fast-forward for a moment to the present: I have known Kris Ashton for over 8 years and never have I known her to travel without the security of her little friend. That bunny has more miles under her feet than the little stone garden Gnome featured in the movie “Amelie”.

Perish the thought that anyone would ever think it clever to separate Kris from Marshmallow.

Many of us have small icons of comfort that we carry or wear by habit. For some it is a wedding ring, others a photo. We see sports figures wearing theirs. I have mine. There is an unexplainable solace found in these innocent talismans. To each her own. Marshmallow brings a smile to my face whenever I see her (him?).

Back to the Camino: On this day we would wind back and forth across the N-547 traffic artery. This was much less pleasant than the 6 or so rivers that we would cross with the aid of ancient stone bridges and stepping-stones.

Minutes on the trail and we came to the tiny village of Leboreiro, the river Seco, and the first of these bridges, Puente Maria Magdalena.

We also passed by the 13th Century church of Santa Maria. The church was closed, but this did not prevent us from taking in the beautiful relief of the Madona and Child above the entry.

Local lore says that hundreds of years ago a statue of the Virgin was found in a nearby fountain. The townspeople retrieved the figure and placed it within their church. However, the next morning the sculpture was gone, only to again be found in the fountain. This “dance” played out again and again over a number of days until the citizens decided to dedicate their church to Mary and carve her image above the entrance. Thereafter the statue was said to cease its wanderings and has remained within the church ever since.

A few kilometers later we came to another traditional Camino village, Furelos, at the banks of the Furelos River. We crossed on its ancient Bridge of St. John (‘Ponte de San Xoan”) which dates to at least the 1100’s.

By mid-morning we had made our way into Melide (pop. 8,000), a center of government and commerce in the region. Here we happily found a milestone reminder that we were now only 50km from Santiago.

This region has embraced a variety of inhabitants for thousands of years. Archaeological evidence of Celtic people, who pre-date the Romans, exists throughout the region. Remnants of the Celtic heritage also persists in the culture of Galicia.

In Melida is the 12th Century Romanesque Igrexa Santa Maria de Melida (Church of Saint Mary), a national monument.

Just beyond Melida we entered lowland woods where Eucalyptus trees became more prominent. This non-native species which can grow to over 300 feet tall, was intentionally imported from Australia in the belief that their fast growth (50+ feet in just a few years) would be a boon to Spain’s paper industry. Sadly, vast forests of native oak, once the foundation of Spain’s sea-power and “Armada”, were destroyed in order to make room for these monumental “weeds” which now account for nearly a third of Galicia’s forestlands.

At the stone crossing of the Rio Raido we encountered a man who had established a small stand where he offered words of encouragement to passing Peregrinos. He also offered to stamp the pilgrims’ “credenciales’. Curious, we stopped to visit and look upon the array of literature which graced his modest table. As he first stamped, and then hot-wax sealed, our “pilgrim passports”, parts of his story came to the fore.

Ionut Preda was born in Romania to athletically gifted parents. Following in their footsteps he successfully pursued interests in gymnastics, swimming, weightlifting, track and field, and judo. In competitions he has won over 100 national and international medals. As he says on his Spanish language website (Ionut Preda – More Than a Path (masqueuncamino.com)), “My path was not easy, because at the age of 8 I suffered an accident… that caused the amputation of half of my right foot.”

In June of 2000 Ionut set off to bicycle around the world. He made it across Europe to Spain where, unhappily, his bicycle was stolen. Worse, the condition of his right foot was deteriorating, and it became necessary for surgeons to amputate the leg just below the knee.

Ionut remained in Spain, working and settling into the routine of ordinary life. “With the payment of rent, expenses, and with a sentimental relationship, there was not time left for the bicycle. I traded it in for a car… I led a quiet life, (but) something inside me was empty and the concern to help others was still within me.”

In 2009 Ionut received a call from Romania that his father was at death’s door suffering the ravages of cancer.  At his father’s side, Ionut promised his father that he would someday secure a Paralympic Gold Medal in his honor and memory.

His athletic accomplishments have occurred in spite of his “handicap”. Ionut has bicycled through 26 countries, walked the Camino, and he continues to work on a number of solidarity projects, the goal being to help others. “Traveling, God gave me the opportunity to meet a great woman who today is my wife… and rewarded us with Emanuel, our son. They fill me with motivation and the desire to leave a legacy, If I can, you can too!”

Now at 40 years of age (2021), Ionut Preda continues his pursuit of Paralympic Gold.  For his father.

Past the Rio Raido we continued for another 12km.

We walked through a series of small Camino towns and then across the Rio Iso on one more medieval bridge (Puente Ribadiso) in the village of that name (pop. 67).

More Eucalyptus woods and the quiet of the afternoon were occasionally broken by the distraction of road traffic from nearby N-547 that crossed our path a few more times over the distance. My thoughts returned now and then to Ionut.

 Arzua (pop.7.000) represented the final major population center before Santiago. We checked in to Pension Casa Frade for the night.

Dinner (for me) was classic Gallaecian fare, Polbo a feira (literally meaning “fair-style octopus“, pulpo a la gallega in Spanish, meaning Galician-style octopus) boiled octopus tentacles, seasoned and sautéed in olive oil. In the traditional manner, it was served on a large wooden platter and eaten with toothpicks. Marvelous!

At the time that I was enjoying this delicacy I was ignorant of the research that was revealing that these cephalopods, unlike dimwitted bovine, are self-aware and possess the intellectual capacity of at least a 4 year old child. Imagine what they would be capable of if Nature had not shackled them with only a two year lifespan.

If you enjoy eating octopus, as I once did, do not watch the movie, My Octopus Teacher.

Peace Everyone, and Buen Camino. Pete

Part 44:  The Simple Pleasure of a Simple Day

Posted on by Pete Schloss

 

May 19, 2013. Eirexe to O Coto. 16km

A day may be measured in seconds, minutes, and hours. Arbitrary divisions imposed by our ancestors. It may be measured by the spinning of our Earth before the Star which holds us in its grasp. It is a near endless dance imposed upon us by the celestial heavens. Precise measurements in each case, capable of being quantified and clearly expressed.

A day may also be cherished for the joy that it brought. Incapable of measurement and escaping quantification, except for the breadth of a smile, the gleam in one’s eye, and the warmth given to the Spirit. Today was such a day, a day of awareness preserved in the moments captured through the lens of this pilgrim’s camera.

Rays of the early morning sun broke through the canopy of trees that extended their branches from both sides of a country lane. Two women walked, bonded in friendship, one my wife. We set out from Eirexe for O Coto.

How can one not beam at the unexpected comedy of huge “ants” working in a garden at the side of the road. This was the albergue, A Paso de Formiga (“Pass of the Ants”), located at the tiny village of Portos.

Onward we walked with lingering smiles as we came to the hamlet of Lestedo. The skies opened for us in glory as we looked upon the simple 16th Century church, Santiago de Lestedo. A softer and more contemplative smile seemed appropriate.

Worn farm paths and ancient dry-stack walls declared the claims of generations of farmers to the land. We do not own the land, rather we are but caretakers of this world that will long outlive our kind.

A building moans its sad story with broken windows and moss-covered veneer. It also speaks to keep us on the road to Santiago with a freshly painted arrow.

I am reminded of a poem that my father often recited to me as a child as we drove or walked past some lonely forgotten house. “The House With Nobody In It”, by Joyce Kilmer:

“Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I’ve passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.

I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;
That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.
I know this house isn’t haunted, and I wish it were, I do;
For it wouldn’t be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.

This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass,
And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.
It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied;
But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside.

If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid
I’d put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.
I’d buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be
And I’d find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free.

Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door,
Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.
But there’s nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone
For the lack of something within it that it has never known.

But a house that has done what a house should do, a house that has sheltered life,
That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,
A house that has echoed a baby’s laugh and held up his stumbling feet,
Is the saddest sight, when it’s left alone, that ever your eyes could meet.

So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,
Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,
For I can’t help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.”

Onward. Still we walked in the embrace of nature’s magnificent arbor.

It was a grand morning for all, save perhaps for a couple of creation’s children.

Eerily, just beyond as if to mourn the fate of those two, a fountain.

66km to Santiago. At the marker were three “lost soles”, deserving of a quiet laugh.

Our journey took us from the countryside through the sizable community of Palas do Rei (“Palace of the King”, pop. 4,500). The town, proud of its association with the Camino, exclaims the honor in the stones beneath our feet.

We happened upon a busy market and lingered long enough for a small boy to find fascination in Christine’s “grandmother hair” and her cowboy hat. This was joy incarnate for the two separated by culture, language, and age, briefly brought together for a moment of life.

Again, the day spoke to us in an image of confirmation.

Through Palas do Rei and across the busy N-547, Santiago now 65km by car, we entered the peace of a wetland forest.

Pilgrims, long forgotten but for their efforts, had placed stones to ease the way for future Peregrinos. Walking with dry feet is a “simple pleasure”.

Of course there were horreos. This was Galicia.

At the village of San Xulian (“St. Julian”) we passed the tiny 12th Century Romanesque church of the same name.

By afternoon we had been given a collage of sights, sounds, and smells of the earth. It was a grand three dimensional movie that played upon the cinema of the heart.

Finally, we came to O Coto and a large country house, “Die Zwei Deutsch” (“The Two Germans”) run, not surprisingly, by two Germans.

It was pleasant, clean, and quiet. Too quiet. Pent-up joy needed an outlet, a time to share and cherish the day.

After securing our rooms and taking a quick wash, we again wandered across the busy N-547 to the delightful bar and gardens of Casa de los Somoza. Christine was greeted like a long lost friend by the owner and his “best friend”.

We welcomed another pilgrim to our table and toasted a day well lived.

To quote Benjamin Franklin, “Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy!”  To which I will add:
Peace Everyone, and Buen Camino. Pete

Part 43:  The Pied Piper of Portomarin

Posted on by Pete Schloss

 

May 18, 2013. Portomarin to Eirexe

In 1958 a six year old boy sat cross-leg on the carpeted floor of his home, transfixed before a small-screen black and white console television. Haunting music played, composed by Norwegian Edvard Grieg (1843-1907), “In the Hall of the Mountain King” (from Peer Gynt Suite #1 Op. 46). The dashing American actor, Van Johnson (1916-2008) starred, dressed in medieval huntsman attire much in the fashion of Robin Hood of Locksley. Magic flute to his lips, his hypnotic melody drew thousands of rats from their hidden lairs. Down the avenues of the village of Hamelin they ran, out upon the town’s wharf where the rodents mindlessly cast themselves into the harbor waters and oblivion.

You might wonder what this has to do with our departure on May 18th from Portomarin, bound 17km for Eirexe. That  six year old boy was me. The image and music of that movie, so powerfully retained in my memory, was shaken into the present by the images I beheld that morning as we left Portomarin.

Peregrinos are not rats, and thankfully there was a bridge across the Belesar Reservoir, so no pilgrims were lost to its waters.

Each of us awoke that morning, responding to a call. It was not the call of a mysterious flautist, but rather it was the call of Santiago, 93km in the distance.

Our path that morning took us through lush woodlands.

We strolled down ancient stone walled lanes,

and past the occasional “horreo”, elevated grain storage structures designed to discourage thieving rodents. There was no Pied Piper otherwise available for duty. This one stone horreo, likely hundreds of years old, is located in the tiny village of Toxibo. It is in a state of excellent preservation. Note the decorative (and functional) rosette along with the cross and finial at opposite ends.

We passed through a few more minuscule settlements, Ventas de Naron being notable as the site of a historic and bloody 9th Century battle between the Christians and Moors. The Christians prevailed. Around the same time that the battle was fought, the bones of Santiago were said to have been discovered and the Camino was thus born.

Further down the road a surprise “pop-up” hailstorm made for some lively moments.

Nearing our destination for the day we came upon the remarkable 17th Century stone cross, “Cruceiro de Lameiros”. On one side is displayed the crucifixion of Christ and at the base a skull and crossbones.

On the opposite side the “Virgen de los Dolores” (Virgin of Sorrows) is carved and at the base on that side nails, a hammer, tongs, and a ladder are depicted, all symbols of Christ’s removal from the cross.

Another stone cross, this one atop a stone wall, marks the location of an ancient pilgrim cemetery.

Christine, Kris Ashton, and I chose Pension Eirexe for our lodging that night. This well appointed private facility had a room for 4, featuring two bunkbeds and a private bathroom with shower. The room was reserved for use by pilgrims. We decided to preserve some privacy by sharing the cost of securing the empty 4th bed.

A nice dinner, some wine, welcome companionship and hot showers closed out the day for each of us. I climbed up into one of the top bunks where I lay awake staring at the ceiling.

At 12:29 a.m. I wrote the following:

“Sleep is elusive tonight. The Camino is life compressed. Deep friendships that are forged upon the path may last but a day. I share The Way with countless pilgrims. Mostly we are unaffected by one another, barely aware of those like-minded souls who are seen within the horizon of a moment. Beyond that horizon of place and time are those born to the Camino a day, a lifetime,  or centuries before my first steps toward Santiago.

I am only a few days from the completion of this Journey. Past tense, which has been unconsciously creeping into conversations among Peregrinos, now becomes noticed. This is my 35th day on the Camino. The Camino carries each of us. Each step has become intensely personal, moving each pilgrim along with a few grains of sand. Grains of sand which have been moved countless times and which will again be moved by the millions of Pilgrims who follow. Over the course of a thousand years the accumulated result is a track worn deep enough that the trail creases the land, in places it is a trench that conceals those who walk within it.

A Peregrino friend, who has now returned to her home in the Netherlands, encouraged me to occasionally stop and look back to see where I have been. She explained that where you have been often looks different when viewed from where you now are. It is that way tonight. The excited optimism of earlier days is now colored by my reflections in the rear view mirror of this Journey. This is day 35 on my Camino, and year 61 of my life.

1:40 am. The Camino is life compressed.”

Peace Everyone, and Buen Camino. Pete

           

 

Part 42:  Portomarin, Keeping Its Head Above Water

Posted on by Pete Schloss

 

May 17, 2013. Barbadelo to Portomarin

The rain of May 16th continued into the 17th, thankfully with less energy. 18km separated us from our destination for the day, Portomarin. This was our 35th day on the Camino. We had whittled down 820km to just over 100km, one day and one step at a time. Our arrival day in Santiago looked to be May 22nd, only 5 more days.

First about our goal for the day, Portomarin:

With fewer than 2,000 inhabitants the town is certainly not a tourist destination. Yet, it has held a prominent place with pilgrims as an important waypoint since the inception of the Camino. It was founded in ancient times at the site of a 2nd Century Roman bridge that crossed the 340 km long Mino River. The “old” Portomarin featured the imposing 12th Century Romanesque church of San Nicolas, also called the church of San Xoan de Portomarin due to its association with the Knights of St. John. There were also the 10th Century Capela de San Pedro (Chapel of St. Peter), and the 52 “Spanish Steps” that were once part of the original Roman bridge that crossed the river to the village. These images are from the 1950’s.

In the 1950’s  Spain’s Francisco Franco sought to build a hydro-electric generating facility by erecting a dam 40km downstream from Portomarin. In 1963 the Belesar Reservoir project was established, threatening to submerge the entire community of Portomarin beneath the reservoir’s rising waters.

The townspeople responded by moving the two churches, the “Spanish Steps”, the main elements of the town square, and other selected historical buildings from their original locations to the bluffs overlooking the river valley. Stone by stone these buildings were disassembled, the stones numbered and transported up the hill where they were painstakingly re-assembled as part of the “new” Portomarin.

The waters of the reservoir are subject to significant changes of depth due to drought and drawdown of the impoundment for the generation of electricity. At times the level is so low as to reveal the old bridge and remnants of  the “old town”, a virtual Atlantis that can be explored with wonder.

Back to our day on the Camino:

There was some regret that we had to leave the very pleasant confines of Casa Barbadelo. More an economy resort than albergue, we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and a departure that was later than allowed by most albergues. In spite of the light rain, our spirits were high.

Before leaving the tiny village we stopped to stroll through the 12th Century Romanesque church of Santiago de Barbadelo and its adjoining cemetery. This national historical monument was once the site of two monasteries that date to the 10th Century. Only traces of the monasteries remain.

While some humans may find the dampness of Galicia annoying, the flora and fauna flourish in the frequent rains. The change of climate is the result of the prevailing winds that have crossed the Atlantic Ocean. These breezes have absorbed moisture for thousands of miles only to release their damp burden in the lush green mountains of Galicia.

About an hour out of Barbadelo we came upon an interesting fountain surrounded by a wrought iron fence which was decorated with sculptures of scallop shells.

What drew my eye was an odd cartoonish creation that seemed to be a caricature of a Peregrino. I had seen this same “mascot” on other occasions. This one discharged water from its “mouth” into the large basin, being the worse for wear as algae beneath the spout gave the impression of green vomit.

This Camino ”mascot”, known affectionately by some and derisively by others as “Pelegrin” was created in 1993 as a modern commercial promotion of the Camino during that Holy Year. Designer Luis Carballo sought to use simple cubist shapes to make an image that he hoped would become long associated with the Pilgrimage.

This was much in keeping with similar cartoon “mascots” of the time, most notably “Curro of Expo 92 in Seville,

and Cobi, mascot of the 1992 Barcelona Olympics.

Pelegrin’s image could be found on t-shirts, caps, and a wide assortment of Camino souvenirs. Trying to further capitalize on this short-lived success, other “mascots” followed. There was Alberte Permuy’s “Xubi”, an odd multi-colored integration of a walking staff and gourd, conventional symbols of St. James and the Camino.

“Pingrino” was created in 2010 by Javier Iglesias as a cute penguin outfitted in Peregrino regalia.

Of course, how could Camino promoters possibly fail to bring COVID-19 into a memorable design.

I am left to wonder why the Camino, already rich with well-known images of Santiago, yellow arrows, and scallop shells, just to name a few, needed a cartoon mascot. Creations based upon other poplar images, not to mention human ones, already abound.

On our way to Portomarin we crossed the “magic” 100km countdown to Santiago. This would have been an excellent place for a celebration, but after a picture we soldiered on.

Beginning at Sarria, the path of the Camino acquired a significant influx of new Peregrinos. Many of these pilgrims new to the journey were easy to identify. Among the “tells” were items not often seen over the preceding 700 kilometers: blue jeans, tennis shoes, makeup, and clean clothes, just to name a few.

Tour buses also became prominent. On occasion we would observe these buses stop in a town, disgorge a score of passengers who then would charge into churches, restaurants, cafés, or government buildings in search of a stamp for their credencial. Once obtained they would stampede back to the bus which then headed down the road for their next scavenger hunt destination and “stamp”. As the black diesel smoke cleared I was left to wonder if any of those “busagrinos” would seek a Compostela in Santiago. Not my problem, not my concern.

As we neared Portomarin the Belesar Reservoir first came into view, followed by the town on the opposite side from us.

The reservoir was near capacity. Images seen of the bridge at low water in the years that followed were eye-opening.

Notice the old bridge at the base of the new one. 

The long walk on the bridge above the water led to the “Spanish Steps”, a tough climb at the end of a long day.

We walked through the center of town, taking in the restored business district and fortress like church of San Nicholas. The church was not open. The interior image is courtesy of the internet.

Our accommodations for the night were at El Caminante Pension, a private Albergue that featured “Pelegrin” on its marque.

It had an excellent restaurant and bar. It was our good fortune to be joined at table by other Camino friends for a dinner selected from the special Pilgrim’s Menu.

Typically, “pilgrim’s menus” provided a salad course, main course with protein and vegetable, and a dessert for around 10€ per person. Also included for the price was a choice of either bottled water or wine. Over the weeks that we walked I can’t recall anyone opting for water, nor do I recall the flow of wine ever ending before it was time to leave the table.

Best of all, our room provided exceptional evening and nighttime views of the village.

With only 92km separating us from Santiago de Compostela, a shadow of sadness began to cast upon my thoughts. Why must all good things come to an end?

Peace Everyone, and of course Buen Camino! Pete