Camino to Santiago de Compostella - Blog 3

So, in the last blog I described the awful weather I had had. I woke up next day at El Acebo to blue skies, sun. 'Great, fantastic, this is more like it' I thought to myself. Having walked this stretch before I knew the Camino was a very steep and stony descent. I was not prepared to risk turning my ankle or worse, breaking my leg in a fall, so I decided to take the road instead. I discovered later it was two kms longer but at least it was smooth and not stony and I was in no danger of an accident!

I arrived in Molinaseca, the next town and felt OK and thought I could continue to Ponferrada, another seven kms but on flatish terrain. Molinaseca is a very picturesque town with an old Roman bridge over a river, and an agreeable walk along the river.

As I came over the bridge, who did I spy but the two ladies from Hertford I had met in the refugio the night before. I joined them for a coffee then a tortilla and then a beer, by which time I had decided it was too late to get to Ponferrada and I would stay in Molinaseca. In fact I decided to stay two days there and rest and recuperate after the rotten weather I'd had earlier. Next day was Sunday so I was able to go to Sunday Mass.

I stayed in a lovely refugio, privately run so that one can stay more than one night. It was right beside the church of St Nicholas de Bari and I had an ordinary single bed as opposed to a bunk bed. There was a small kitchen/relaxing area - it was perfect. There was a supermarket in Molinaseca but small and expensive. I wondered that such a large place would not have a bigger supermarket but another pilgrim, Muk, (more of her later), found that apparently there used to be much work in the town from a local mine but the mine had closed and now many of the properties were second homes, owned by people from Madrid, Barcelona etc who came only at weekends or holiday times and would shop in larger places like Ponferrada. Thus, there was no requirement for a larger supermarket - the one there was mainly catering for the pilgrims and tourists. It is a story repeated in the small villages and seaside towns of the UK.

By now I realised I really did need a sleeping bag. Also, I hadn't brought a fleece with me. The Paramo was indeed rainproof and warm enough but I needed a fleece as well. There was a large Decathlon in Ponferrada so I decided I would go there and buy what I needed. This I did. The only problem was I had to walk an extra two kms from the refuge to the shop, and two kms back but at least I was able to do this after I had registered at the refuge and left my backpack there. Mind you, the weather was so nice, I thought I probably won't even need these again. I was wrong!

The refuge had a good kitchen and in Molinaseca I had bought a packet of tortellini which was probably too much for one person so I invited the pilgrim Muk, who was staying at the same refuge, to join in my meal. I'd also bought some fresh mushrooms and tinned veg to go with it. Muk accepted my invitation and decided to supply desert. It was a very convivial meal.

In fact, the fleece was a really good buy. It tended to be quite chilly in the mornings even though it would warm up significantly during the day. The next day I set off for a place called Camponaraya. After a bit of a climb out of Ponferrada, the Camino continued on flat ground, on a quiet road. I reached my destination and headed to the refuge in the town centre for a bed. There was a notice on the door saying it was closed on Martes. Fortunately (as it turned out), I couldn't remember whether that meant Monday or Tuesday (today was Tuesday). I tried the door, and it opened into a bar. All was dark. I went through another door into the restaurant then through that into a garden. I stood there undecided and got out my phone to find out what Martes meant.

Just then a chap came out and said it was his rest day. The refuge was closed. However, he could offer me a private room at €40. I shook my head. He said I had a number of options. I could walk on to the next town. I shook my head. I was very tired by this stage. I could walk back to the town entrance to another refuge. I sort of slumped at the idea of walking anywhere further! Then he said he could give me a lift to the next town. "How much?" I asked. "Nothing, I am going there anyway" was the answer. I gratefully accepted his offer.

En route, I saw Muk and felt a bit guilty that I had been fortunate enough to get a lift and she was trudging along with her sore knee. Anyway, at the next town I walked through to the other end for the municipal refuge. It was closed. I turned and walked back. The next refuge was also closed on a Tuesday. The next place was just 20 meters away so I went there and who did I meet but Muk. We registered and were given a luxurious room with just four beds (two sets of bunk beds) and ENSUITE! It was living it up and no mistake. I did confess to Muk about the lift and seeing her on the road but not being able to stop and pick her up. She understood perfectly.

The pilgrimage continued. The countryside was quite different now. The rocks and trees of the mountains gave way to agricultural land. There was wheat (I think) and many vineyards. The Camino was flat and on a quiet road, so easy walking. I reached Villafranca and made for the municipal refuge. As per Cacabelos, it was closed. I found a pleasant (but more expensive) private one. But the room was lovely. Not luxurious en suite but with only two sets of bunks, a large French window to the narrow street but there was a break in the buildings opposite so the room overlooked a vacant plot so had a more open aspect rather than facing a building.

Villafranca is a thriving town and had a shop with lovely, decorated mugs. I wish I could have bought one but I didn't need any more weight in the rucksack. Even though the sleeping bag was only 630 gms, it felt as though I had added another two kgs to my load.

I had a couple of short days after that and ended up at a place called Vega de Valcarce. Meanwhile Muk had decided to have a rest day so our paths had parted. I had happy memories of staying in Vega in 2015, meeting a friend whose son was running an albergue there. I wondered about staying in the same albergue, though my friend's son no longer runs it I believe, but when I passed it there were no opening times, just a phone number on the door. I investigated the municipal albergue and it was open so I stayed there.

My next big challenge lay ahead. It was another climb - this time to 1,300 meters. Whereas the earlier climb I mentioned, to Cruz de Ferro was a climb of 600 metres over seven kms, this one was a climb of 800 meters over 7 kms - a steeper climb. I was not sure I could do it in one go. En route to Cruz I had stopped at Rabanal at 1,100 meters and then Foncebadon at 1,400. There was a refuge run by the German Association of Friends of St James at La Faba, 900 meters up and only 6.8 kms from Vega. I thought if I was finding it tough I could stop there.

It was an unpromising day, cloudy and misty as I headed out from Vega. It had rained the afternoon before and showers were predicted for today. A French pilgrim told me that it wouldn't rain till after midday. Off I went. It was a 'soft day'. Initially on a quiet road, the Camino eventually turned off it onto a pleasant, wide track through woods. Unfortunately, some of the gained height was lost as the track sloped gently downwards. Eventually it started going up again and boy did it climb. Some of the track was still wet and a little muddy from the previous day's rain. I was glad I wasn't doing this in the same weather as I had had for Cruz de Ferro. Up and up it went. I had to stop every 20 meters or so to get my breath back.

At one of these pauses, an Argentinian pilgrim caught up with me and asked if I was OK. "Yes" I replied, smiling. "I just need to catch my breath" and I motioned for him to walk on. He had caught up with me so he was obviously faster than me! But no, he kept pace with me, stopping when I stopped. He even offered to carry my rucksack - such a kind offer, but I declined with a grateful smile. At long last we reached La Faba. There was a turn-off pointing to the refuge and the little church beside the refuge. There was another sign pointing straight on to a bar.

I wanted to visit the church which I thought might be open so I pointed to it saying "primo eglise, secundo bar!" I think he was initially going to go straight on but then he changed his mind and accompanied me to the church, taking a picture of me at the La Faba sign en route. As we approached the refuge, a couple of sheep outside it looked up and one started baaing loudly, the way a guard dog would bark. I wondered if they were 'guard sheep'. A hospitalera appeared on the balcony and said the church was open. Her colleague also appeared and advised us to make sure to shut the door otherwise the sheep would get into the church. Right enough, when we went towards the church door the sheep tried to follow us in. I had to shout at them to shoo them away. It was a most curious episode!

I said my short prayer, signed the visitor book saying how glad I was the church was open and left a small donation. Lighting a candle I then left. The Argentinian remained to pray.

Finding the bar, I had a drink and a tortilla. I rested there for 1.5 hours and then felt ready to carry on. If the worst came to the worst, there was a private albergue two kms away and I could hopefully stay there. It had been raining but the clouds were parting and the sun was poking through. I headed up the Camino. It was another pleasant, wide track, this time through open countryside. Again the countryside had changed from agricultural to gorse and heather. The track climbed and would then level out a bit and then climb again. It wasn't as steep as the route into La Faba but I still needed to pause frequently to get my breath. After two kms I arrived at the next village and the bar which had accommodation. I went in and rested and thought about staying put.

However, after 45 minutes I felt ok to go on. O'Cebreiro was only another two kms. The track continued as before, a pleasant, wide track. Climbing at times, levelling out at times. About 30 minutes after leaving the bar I entered Galicia. This part of Spain is very green. It is the north-west corner so has the Atlantic Ocean to the west and the Cantabrian Sea to the north. It is 'The Ireland of Spain' in more ways than one. It is very green because it rains a lot (like Ireland) but also the Galicians are a Celtic nation. Their music has much in common with traditional Irish music. As I continued to climb, it tried to rain but didn't quite succeed.

I rounded a corner and could see a road ahead. I had decided I would return to the road when I could as I thought it would be a gentler ascent. I reached the road. By now rain was fairly threatening - indeed you could say it was raining. I joined the road assuming I had about another km to walk when the arrows directed me right, off the road and into a village. It was O'Cebreiro. I was there. Tears formed. It was a bit like arriving last year at the end of the 17km stretch I had had to walk on only my third day of walking. This distance had only been 11.5 kms but by no means on flat ground.

I went to the church but unfortunately it was siesta time and it didn't reopen for over an hour. But there was a daily Pilgrim Mass at 19:00. The municipal refuge in O'Cebreiro was open, is big and there was no trouble getting a bed. I settled down, wondering who my neighbour would be. I couldn't believe my eyes when my neighbour turned out to be Muk. She had sent me a message that morning saying she would stop at La Faba. In fact it turned out that she had started walking with a group of Italian pilgrims and had passed me at La Faba when I was resting in the bar. They had decided to push on and not stop there. We were very glad to see each other again.

The Pilgrim Mass that evening was very special. The priest gave a Pilgrim Blessing at the start of the Mass. Then when it was finished, he called all the pilgrims up to the Sanctuary. He then asked what nationalities were present. He invited a pilgrim from each nationality to read a Pilgrim Blessing in their language. He then went round to each pilgrim and gave them a piece of hard material (I'm not sure if it is a bit of volcanic rock or a man made material, it is dark and smooth and glassy) with a yellow arrow on it.

I then had a choice to make. Everyone was predicting constant rain for the next day. I was adamant I did not want to walk in the rain again. Kristi, the pilgrim I had met in Oviedo, who was doing the Camino Primitivo was due to arrive in Santiago the day after tomorrow and I would very much like to be there to meet her and hear about her journey. But would my meeting her mean I had allowed someone else to unduly influence my pilgrimage? Should I not just keep going, walk my own Camino? These were the thoughts going round and round my head as I settled down to sleep.

And so ended another Camino day.