Author: Des Grundy

As planned, short, leisurely and mission accomplished early on: Compostela, mass (well, I confess – inside joke – about 20 minutes of it, but I then felt the effects of my anti-emetic wearing off so caution dictated that I leave), check-in, shower, lunch. I mis-spoke yesterday: a Compostela is not a prerequisite for attending mass. Sorry.

What can I say?

Like most of the larger towns I’ve encountered along the Camino, modernisation and urbanisation means that the main drag into Santiago is long, ugly and boring.

The old city is another matter.

The God Squad has this placed locked-up, tight. Very clean. Lots of albergues, pensions and hotels. Lots of back streets, crisis-crossing with no apparent logic to the street plan. Many old, beautiful buildings. Saints and supplicants carved here. Crucifixes imprinted there. Gargoyles and serpents bulging. Virgins all over the place. This is a beautiful town but commercial change spurred by growing tourist volumes means it has lost some of its natural charm.

A couple of factoids to put volume and ugly commercialisation into perspective:

2016 – 277,915 pilgrims arrived

2006 – 100,377 pilgrims arrived

1996 – 23,218 pilgrims arrived

The Holy Compostelan Years of 2010, 2004 and 1999, when 25 July falls on a Sunday, had even-greater outsized attendance on account of the occasion. Yesterday, 506 pilgrims arrived in town. Today 767 (so far), according to official sources in Santiago. See https://oficinadelperegrino.com/en/.  It’s a growing business.

I’ve only seen Lina and Thibault so far today. Lina’s another Lithuanian who’s been wending her way to Santiago from St Jean Pied de Port, mostly solo. I think she’s gong onto Finisterre.  Thibaud’s not sure about his plans; he has some other friends to coordinate with, but think he may move onto Finisterre. I hope so. I saw Brea’ from Ireland late yesterday. I suspect she’s here too, but moving a bit more slowly under the intense sun. Yasser, Rasputin and Esther were a day ahead and are exploring Finisterre by bus. I may see them later for dinner. I recognise some other faces but only in terms of passing nods or smiles. Big town/lots of streets/long way.

Here are a couple of photos of Ultreia, an eight-week old Pitbull puppy that I met at lunch.  I asked to take the photos but I felt like a ‘manther’ approaching her owner, who is no older than my niece, and certainly violates the [age/2]+7 dating rule of thumb.  She then gave me the beast to hold….

Ultreia chewed my chin fuzz, gently but with purpose. Right now, her teeth are like blunted needles, but imagine her capacity with an exposed windpipe when she’s full-grown, 65lbs and pissed off…?

Nothing so cute as a puppy, particularly if it has a squashed face…

I need to excuse myself now and figure out how I exit Santiago and move on towards Finisterre. I hadn’t planned it in any detail (only got the book an hour earlier) beyond the intention of doing it – and tomorrow I do it.

I understand the exit route for the most part, but it’s not well-signposted at all – I’ve just walked it out a couple of kilometres in daylight. There are fewer albergues, there are many fewer pilgrims and it is less-well-signposted than the Camino Frances. More of an adventure?

It should be an early start but a shortish day of 22km+/-. The following two will be long days of 33km+… unless I change tomorrow’s routing. I’ve been told that lower (human) traffic volumes on Camino Finisterre mean you don’t need to arrive as early (1300) to be assured of a crib, but I’m not wholly-convinced. I’ll start early(ish) tomorrow to test the thesis and ask the proprietors when I get there. Boots on the ground and roots in the ground. Let’s see.

Doris just shot me a BBC headline about a van being driven into crowds in the Ramblas tourist area in Barcelona. No further detail.

I’ll be in Barcelona on Friday/Saturday, but nowhere near people.

I am a proponent of the death penalty for treason and terrorism. I’m a bit undecided on sedition, so call me ‘soft’. I can take the heat. If this is indeed terrorism, find ‘em and hang ‘em high, Generalissimo-style…

For those with a more numerical interest in the topic, see this: Official Table of Drops

Manaña.

Day 31 Photo Gallery

Dinner was fun last night, despite Angel thinking she was getting a vegetarian salad that turned out to have eggs and tuna in it – so much for “house salad” definitions. Rasputin ensured there was no food waste, however. Thoughtful chap. He also assisted with Yasser’s surplus whisky. Most accommodating.

Rasputin and Yasser had an 0500 train so they crashed on my floor until 0300. I didn’t hear them leave and they were the best of house guests – you’d never have known they were there.

Good night. Good Camino. Goodbye.

Via con Dios.

A bit more of the mass I missed.

It was indeed overcrowded, in a foreign tongue, of a religion for which I care little and… the Botafumeiro was not to be swung.

The Botafumeiro is the “smells” of my ‘bells and smells’ rejoinder. It’s the historical equivalent of fumigation – arriving pilgrims were smelly (still the case), tired and unwashed (still the case). It was believed that incense smoke had a prophylactic effect in the time of plague and epidemic, and would be a cleansing agent (I use lavender essential oil, which is much easier to transport). So, the stinkers were smoked out and this became, over time, an “oration to God”. Uh huh…

The Botafumeiro is a large thurible that hangs by means of a system of pulleys from the main dome of the Cathedral. It takes eight men (in red robes) to move it. They are known as “tiraboleiros”. It weighs between 53kg and 160kg depending on the specific thurible in use, and the amount of fuel therein. At the top of the swing, the Botafumeiro reaches heights of ~21m. It swings in a 65m arc between the Azabachería and Praterias doorways at the nave ends of the transept. The maximum angle achieved is about 82° and can be reached after about 17 cycles, which requires about 80 seconds of swinging. I’m thinking this has more of a place in Rollerball circa 1975 with Messers Cletus and Moonpie rather than in a church ceremony, but until that mindset shifts, it’s an occasional attraction in Santiago (next up: All Saints’ Day on 1 Nov 17). BTW, the God Squad will rent it out by appointment. Well, of course they would…

On to today’s business.

Well, I awoke to good news and bad news.

The good (magic/terrific) was that Rachel and Jeff welcomed Poppy Amelia Marlaine at 1527 London time at a weight of 10lbs 3oz (oof!!). Rachel looked pretty tired but everyone is healthy.  It’s been a long road for the three of them. Jeff’s photos had you there with them. Right there and then. Literally. Thank you Jeff. Love the headgear, but why’d they not cover the goatee too…?

The bad (shocking/appalling/sickening) news, was detail about the Barcelona van attack killing 13 and injuring more than 100 in Las Ramblas, with the driver still believed to be at large. This is the worst attack in Spain since 2004. Once again, very effective “low-tech” attacks on “soft targets”. Hard to anticipate. Harder to defend against. Doris and I have meandered along Las Ramblas in the past. Wrong time. Wrong place. It amplifies one’s luck and vulnerability, at  the same time.

It also rained this morning which meant I delayed my departure until 0800. I only do ‘wet’ in the shower, unless completely unavoidable.

The hike was short at just over 21km, through forest and a couple of villages. I met a delightful Irish couple from Cork and we chatted over the last 7-10km. Terry is still recovering from the financial crisis that decimated his (large) plumbing business, but in typically-plucky Irish style, he’s rebuilding and winning. His girlfriend, Tina, was even pluckier. She sustained massive leg injuries in a car crash some time ago, yet she is determined to complete individual sections, to the extent the pain and swelling permits. She reminds me of a great friend who underwent catastrophic injury, only to be the hardest, most intransigent, most determined mofo that I know.

I’m berthed at Albergue Anjun, uncharacteristically the first Albergue in town.

Why?

Early there. No one else. Guaranteed bed. New facility. Ability to do laundry and have it dry (last part critical)… and the lady running the place had a bit of an overweight, earth-mama vibe going, which I liked. As I wandered out for sustenance and this blog, I was joined in the dormitory by an older, smelly white man with swollen ankles. He even smelled after his shower.  I opened all the windows. I still don’t understand why this needs to be so. Shower. Launder (clothes, towel, sleeping bag). Deodorise. Three steps to olfactory and dormitory harmony. It’s just not that hard.

I’m running low on lavender essential oil, so on the hunt.

Tomorrow is a long 34km stint to Olveiroa, with 2/3 of it on tarmac, which is NO FUN. Elevation changes make it ~37km equivalent. That’s about 7-8 hours hiking plus 1.5 hours rest, so assuming I get away at 0530, that should be a 1400-1500 arrival. For accommodation, I’m torn between the 46 bed dormitory at Olveiroa Xunta at €6 a night (“one of the more inspiring Xunta hostels, reconstructed from traditional houses on either side of a quiet village lane”) and As Pisa at €40-60 a night for a single room (“handsomely reconstructed traditional stone house with restaurant/bar and terrace that gets the evening sun”).

Let’s see where we are tomorrow. The day after is still 32km to Finisterre.

Ciao.

Stop press:  Bruce Forsyth has died, aged 89. I can’t remember when I can’t remember him in some low-rent, late Saturday afternoon TV show on BBC1 or ITV.

He wont resonate with non-UK people, but to those in the UK aged 20+, he had a consistently beloved place, in some guise, at some point, on popular TV over the last 60+ years.

Don’t make ‘em like that no more. Bruce Forsyth. Jimmy Edwards. Sid James. Kenneth Williams. Charles Hawtrey. Tony Hancock. Tommy Cooper. Frank Muir. Bob Monkhouse. Benny Hill. Spike Milligan. Harry Secombe. Peter Sellars. Ronnie Corbett. Ronnie Barker. Dudley Moore. Peter Cooke. Eric Morecambe. Ernie Wise. Frankie Howard. Terry Scott. Passing of a generation. No one to replace them.

Day 32 Photo Gallery

Wish I had more to say, but it is much of the same. The weather in London is foul, here it is delightful. There are a lot of tourists and few familiar faces. There are fewer facilities than earlier on the Camino. Prices are about 30% higher than Navarre, and food quality lower. The landscape is much the same as the last 30-odd days.

I started out at 0530 and arrived at 1345 after two relatively long breaks for coffee. The heat picked up quite quickly, making the going much harder from 0900 onwards. It’s not perspiration or physical, muscular effort, per se, it’s heat and pain in the feet. Discomfort. Both increase very quickly to produce hot spots and numb patches. Take the boots off for 15-30 minutes and they’re gone and I’m good for another 10-14km, the same again. Weird.

The pictures say more than words today (you’ll thank me for that)… except that they don’t capture the pervasive stink of manure and cattle-farming that has accompanied me for the last 200km or so.

I don’t know anything about cattle farming (milkers or beef for slaughter) but I do see a stark contrast here: cows freely grazing outside and cows trapped inside, in dank conditions, kneeling down or bent over on hard concrete with their necks and heads held in heavy grating (like an old-fashioned “pillory”), and food in a trough in front of them. I’m not really a bleeding heart about these things, but repeated sightings of the latter have made me increasingly uncomfortable and a bit sad. These beasts hardly look happy. Then again, how am I qualified to evaluate their happiness?

Today’s albergue is an anomaly. I was attracted to it because of the whimsical description in a couple of the books/websites, but it is basic. BASIC. On reflection, a bad decision.

It’s €6 per night (that is NOT the driver for me) but it is like a mini-commune/squat. You turn up to the “office” and read the instructions.: “Take any free bed. Come back here at 1900-1930 to pay”. So, I did.

The loos are basic. Paper, yes. Lighting, no.

The shower (strong, emphatic singular): basic (and sloshing in water from prior use) and a year-round arrowslit for light and ventilation.

There is a bar. Basic, and staffed by what I’m guessing is an over-weight, single-mother who is downright surly.

You can do laundry – by hand. Yay! Basic (let’s see how many of my clothes pegs are ‘liberated’ by the gyppos).

I’m an Adam Smith/John Hume fan of property rights, but this is quite different to anything I’ve seen so far. I’m simultaneously intrigued and fearful.

At 1500, the place was ~25% full. Since then I’ve seen a lot of hippie and gyppo-types looking for the place. I envisage a noisy, smelly night, but I am near a window (though too high and not big enough to escape through). There are only a couple of working power points to charge devices with. It’s 1800 now, and they continue to stream in…

Ah well, my last night in an albergue, so suffering must be good for the soul – and will teach me to spend the extra €34 in future…

I’ve depleted my supply of lavender essential oil, but in the “take what you need, leave what you don’t” basket in the previous albergue, I found tea tree essential oil. It’s a much more iodine and clinical scent than lavender, but it will be my antidote tonight.

Finisterre tomorrow. It’s about 33km to Finisterre, and a further 3.5km to the fabled lighthouse at the top of Monte Facho. Temperature here is 28ºC rising to 30ºC tomorrow. Finisterre, on the coast, will be 28ºC tomorrow falling to 22ºC on Tuesday (grr…). Muxia hasn’t made it onto the weather app but is ~28km north of Finisterre so should be about the same.

Finisterre lies 42.8848° N, 9.2717° W (42°52’57”N, 9°16’20”W).  It was long believed to be the most westerly point in Europe, but Cabo de Rocca in Portugal is 16.5km further west (38°46’51”N, 9°30’2”W). Despite this, it remains a whimsical, romantic, cathartic “go-to” destination for Pilgrims and other tourist suckers.

I have but two days of hiking left. It’s all passed so quickly. So much pent-up invective still to release…

Manaña.

Day 33 Photo Gallery