E-mails from Magpie #1 , #2, #3 , #4 , Final episode

2nd July I laid in bed going through all my aches and pains and discovered that the only part of me free from pain was my head. After a hot bath there is some improvement, however, if I remain still for a few minutes I stiffen up. It is the weight of the rucksack that is the killer so I try to lighten the load. I squeeze ˝ a bottle of shampoo down the bidet and being ecologically minded I hope that the ˝ bottle of sun cream that follows will help neutralize it. I then measure my stick deodorant and chop a lump of it and then threw away some sheets of paper. As this is an enforced rest day I decide to do some sight seeing, so I catch a bus back to MolinaSeca, the village I missed. Second time around it has lost its charm, maybe it needs Dagmar & Werner to liven it up. My lunch is so awful I have to leave it. The cemetery is a reflection of the society, there are large shiny family tombs alongside unmarked graves or those that have just a piece of slate or a home made engraved wooden cross to mark them. Some of the houses are no more than hovels and only the voices inside indicate that they are inhabited. I am glad to get the bus back to Ponferrada where I visit the Basilica and the castle that was the home of the Knights of the Templar. They were a warring group of religious fanatics that had strong links to astrology. I bump into the couple from Madrid, her knee is giving her pain too., I ask if they are continuing the next day, but the look of pathos on her face tells me that their Camino is over after 2 days.
	3rd July I'm on the road before 7, the receptionist has told me of a quicker and easier route but I want to stick to the original route, especially after a day of rest, there is also a growing attachment to the pilgrims of over 1,000 years ago and the desire to tread in their footsteps. The gardens look like they are from a Kentish village, with green lawns, hydrangeas, roses, carnations, alyssum and poppies, I'm back in childhood. The path goes through the middle of a block of flats, the camino is surreal at times, a bombardment of images from the past and the present mingle. In Fuentes Nuevas I have my first dog experience when a German Shepherd gets over protective of his house and barks threateningly, I freeze and wait until eventually a voice calls it. Every step makes me aware of the continuing aches and pains but the people I am trying to help by raising funds are in a worse position than me and that keeps me going. Camponaraya is a mixture of new cars and what appears to be a derelict building until I see the washing hanging on the balcony upstairs. There is poverty that I would associate with the third world and not Spain, there are still vestiges of the poverty that existed in the times of Franco amongst the country people. A woman walks towards me leading a donkey and cart, her husband sits supreme in the cart, it appears that finances are not the only inequality in this village. Five minutes later the path trod by pilgrims for over 1,000 years takes me over a motorway built with money from the EU, in that other age, each of the European countries were divided into several kingdoms and wars were constant, they would never have been able to perceive the concept of a 'united' Europe. I stop at Cacebelos, eat and find the refuge which is a construction of wooden cubicles around a church, each cubicle has 2 beds. After going through my pilgrim routine or showering, putting on foot creams and then washing my clothes, I have a rest. Later in the town I see the shop that has been repairing boots for pilgrims for hundreds of years, but with the advent of modern materials it is not used as before. There is a big gathering outside the main church as a funeral takes place, everywhere I go along the camino I see the notices pasted up on walls to let the community know who has passed away. The route today has been mainly through vines and rolling countryside and the notice of the wine pressing festival at the end of August reminds me that these are agricultural areas in the first place. Back at the refuge I go into the church, there is a choir of beautiful voices, I assume a tape is being played and then I realize it is the 4 German girls seated in front of me, they get up and form a circle in front of the alter and sing, it is a very strong and powerful image that still raises the hairs on my arms. The Camino is a very religious experience for them and the joy and smiles on their faces is really uplifting. I meet some French people who are hardened walkers and some Australian girls who are enjoying the challenge and experience during their stay in Europe. A Spanish woman has suffered from the descent into Molina and has her knees bandaged up, I'm not alone.
4th July I leave the refuge at 7.30 and arrive in Villafrance de Bierzo about 2 hours later, I stop at the refuge run by Jesus Jato and his wife so that I can leave my rucksack there while I explore the town. There is coffee and cakes being served so I have some, it is a refuge known for its hospitality and the fact that the Jato family devote their time and life to helping pilgrims. This is the last big town before Santiago and is very medieval in its ambience and style of building, there is a hostal that has been taking in pilgrims since the 15th century. I see the 4 German girls who are off to the church, no doubt to sing and raise the spirit of other pilgrims, they recommend that I go into the church next to the refuge, which I do and am confronted with a very simple church that has shell shaped lights on the wall. The scallop shell is the symbol of the Camino and is seen in metal fences, waste bins and numerous other ways in each town that is linked to the camino. When I collect my rucksack Jesus Jato appears, I make a face and comment on its weight as I put it on. He lifts it and tells me that it is far too heavy, he will take it back, by car, to the refuge, that is 16 kms away and I can walk free of the load. I hesitate as this was not part of my plan, but then decide that it is a coincidence that he should be there at that moment and agree. I take out a lot of clothes and put them in carrier bags and leave a few things in it, Jesus feels the weight again and grabs the rest of my 'emergency' things and puts them in another bag, I now have nothing but some food and a bottle of water he gives me. He is prepared to take it for nothing, but I put a donation in his box. Initially, I walk with a spring in my step, as relieved of the weight I can enjoy the walk, a man with ski poles passes me, at a rapid rate, fully loaded. My thoughts turn to all that I possess that is somewhere in a bunch of carrier bags and how so far I have been losing something most days. A feeling of doom descends and I learn to evaluate what is important to me, it is my foot care kit, my credit card and my diary, all of which I have with me. Not having learnt from my previous experience I have let someone else push me into doing more kilometers a day than I wanted to. I pass a man walking in the wrong direction and tell him, he is walking a part of the Camino everyday with a group and he then goes back to collect the car which contains the ruck sacks etc. I eventually arrive at the refuge in Vega de Carce only to discover that my things are not there, the young man, Chelo who is in charge is really friendly and rings up to find out what is happening, he tells me it is on the way but I can imagine that Jesus Jato is a man that is easily distracted. I wait for over an hour unable to wash or lay down and rest and decide that in future I will carry my rucksack, as then I can suit myself. That night they cook a dinner for the pilgrims and I meet more French people, an Australian couple who have been working in Paris and are doing the Camino before returning to Sydney. Guy the Canadian man is in charge of an arbitration body in Canada and is at a crossroads, he says he hasn't decided his future yet but when he talks of his memories of family holidays years ago I think I know what he will do. He has learned to relax whilst walking, but he has an itinery that he is following so he hasn't let go completely yet. Andres and Hernan are from Madrid, they work together and they are doing the Camino to experience the culture and gastronomical delights of the region. They feel that doing it on foot is more authentic and the only way to see the country, they have no timetable and are open to all that the Camino can bring them. Felix who is 64 and retired works as a hospitalero here, he has worked in several refuges over the past 4 years, he kindly volunteers to go and get the farmacia to open so that he can buy some anti inflammatory cream for my knee. There are 5 beds in my room and my room mates are Guy and Sasi and Rick the Australian couple, they have been thoughtful enough to put all the English speakers in the same room. This is a lovely refuge, not from the point of view of facilities but the friendliness that abounds and I will be sad to leave the next day.
	5th July Today is the big climb up the mountains that separate Leon from Galicia, it is 13k of steep up hill. They serve breakfast and I am the first, the early risers are already on the road, as I leave the rest are emerging to eat. The guide compares todays climb to the highest category in the Tour de France very apt as the tour starts today in Paris. I stop at every available cafe for rest and refreshment, there is a deep seated tiredness, from disturbed sleep and walking, that is taking over. I pass a prayer for the pilgrims taped to a wall, and knowing it is for me too, helps. The villages that I pass are beautiful and remind me of England as it once was, it is definitely worth touring the area. As I walk through the village of Herrieras a garage door opens and out walks a cow covered in muck from its feet to nearly the top of its back, I look at its filthy udders and thank God for pasteurization. This is followed by another surreal moment, the owner of the cow asks me if I am Spanish, I tell him I'm English and he starts to speak to me in English, he is somewhere between 65-75 and has probably never had any formal education living in this tiny village and yet he can talk some English. He gives me his address and takes mine and he wants me to send him a postcard when I get home. It is amazing how the lives of the people on the route are forever changed by their contact with foreigners. The road rises steeply and changes into a corredoira, a stone and mud type of cobbled way, it is steep and slippery and made worse by the cow pats that splatter it and the accompanying flies. I pass some pilgrims that are suffering and feel like a gazelle. I see Anamarie and Stefan the Swedes taking a break on one of the walls, he has a heart problem so has to take care. They have been doing the Camino for several years for their holidays and this will be their last year, they are sad and not sure what they will do in future years once their objective has been achieved. Now it's my turn to take a break and I hear a cow bell and suddenly a herd of 7 cows are heading down the path towards me, I am constantly reminded that this is an agricultural zone first and although in Leon it has the flavour of Galicia. Sasi, Rick and Kika the German girl pass me, I eventually catch up with Kika in a bar at La Faba, the lad behind the bar is 10 but he rules like an adult and it is amusing to see him chatting with the old men as if he is one of them. The guide says the climb is less steep, the guide lied, it is still practically vertical, the road and tarmac would be easier but I wouldn't miss this experience however tough. I arrive in Laguna the last village in Leon, as everything is aching I have to sit on a wall, a strange cove appears, he give me some pilgrim prayers in English and then starts to sing a pilgrim song and give me some sweets. It's the strange characters that you meet that make the Camino. I am passed by the man going downhill to collect the car, he says it's only 15 minutes more, I know it's going to be longer and he is trying to animate me, guess I must look bad. I hear brisk footsteps catching me up, it's Virginia from Switzerland, she has been training in the mountains and hated the flat bit between Burgos and Astorga, I do however have an advantage, she can't take the heat and I can handle it. I tell her that I am going to be going slower so off she marches, we arrange to talk later. O Cebreiro is the top of the climb and the finish of today's stage, it is full of weekend tourists and a multitude of pilgrims. There is a massive queue outside the refuge and I don't fancy a space on the floor after such a tough climb so I phone a hostal, it's 4k away but they arrange for a taxi to collect me. I am sorry not to be in with the crowd, but when thinking about the queue for the showers, cold water only and the queue to eat I think maybe it's for the best. The hostal is not far removed from the refuge and it soon fills up with the other pilgrims who can't get in the refuge.
6th July I get up a bit later today, I plan to breakfast in the first village as I feel the owners of the hostal are too money minded it was 10 euros for a salad and piece of tortilla. The taxi driver is the nephew of the owners and he is a very nice guy, he has done the Camino. Being so high up the fog has not cleared at 9am, he tells me that in winter there are days when he can't leave the house because of the snow. He drops me off at the church and after a quick trip round the village I leave. All the other pilgrims left at 5am, but I prefer to see the countryside. I chat with a local who is riding up the mountain I am going down, his hair is full of icy drops of water and I realize that my hair is soaked and covered in the same icy drops, I am walking through cold wet clouds at the top of the world. So far the people of Galicia in general seem to be less friendly and suspicious, I suspect the inhospitable climate makes them inhospitable. When I arrive at the bar it is closed, I forget that it is Sunday, the next village is nothing but farm buildings and a few houses, this seems common in this area, and although inhabited you never see a soul. I rest by a fountain as the road has started a steep ascent, it is sharper than yesterday but at 3k much shorter. Mary Jo from Colorado turns up breezily on her bike, I'm suffering and envy anyone who doesn't carry their load on their back, but wouldn't swop, I feel like an authentic pilgrim after some days on the road. I share the road with a herd of cows that are grazing by the side. After a while I reach a café and have a drink and a cake and then onward towards Tricastela. The road has started descending and it is giving my knee problems. At Fonfria, Maria rushes out of her house, grabs my arm and leads me to a bench to sit down, she insists that I have some pancakes with sugar, she asks for a donation if I can afford it, I am happy to give it to her. She is a character that won't let any pilgrim pass by without something to eat, and also has the distinction of being the only person to ever think I am Mexican. She tells me it is 1 hour to Tricastela, I know that means 2 and with it all downhill a nightmare for my knee, a magpie in a tree caws and I swear it is laughing at me. The hedgerows are alive with flora and fauna, there are so many types of butterflies. The next village has been over run by a crowd of Germans, they are doing the Camino with a support vehicle on an arranged trip, they walk part of the Camino every day but their rucksacks are light and floppy, they only wear them for appearance. The road carries on going down and down, my knee flares up badly there is no respite and nothing I can do about it. I have left the cloud and mist and the weather in the valley is like an English summers day. I have to keep stopping for my knee and feel slightly resentful towards the German 'pilgrims' but realize that they are older people and everyone goes in the manner that he can. Some Spanish girls from Madrid raise their eyes at the German's and then one adds, I suppose it is good for the economy in the region. One of them is suffering like me but she still manages to outstrip me, my speed has dropped dramatically. At Tricastela the refuges are full, I curse the Germans but manage to find a room at a hostal opposite the refuge. The field outside the refuge is a mass of tents, there is a big marquee serving food and drinks and music is blasting out, the youngsters are all seated on the grass and it looks more like Woodstock than a pilgrimage. Anamarie and Stefan are in the same hostal, they spend the evening playing cards. I see Mary Jo and her son Duncan who is walking along with Nick and his mother. The 2 sons have just finished seminary school in America and have done the Camino before, Nick worked as a hospitalero in Ligonde where he recommends I stop. Their mothers fancied doing the Camino and they are doing a mother son trip, Nick says he has got to know his mother in a way that was not possible in normal life.
	7th July My ruck sack feels heavier than ever, I decide to walk 14k to Calvor and leave the hoards to go to Sarria. There is a massive queue outside the Farmacia at 7.15, when I leave, the mist is low and cooling. The Camino starts with a 4k climb through sleeping villages lined with dried cow pats. On the descent I see a local who tells me that lot of people have passed, he then says that next year is a holy year and then rubs his fingers together, I think Galicians are rather keen on money. People without ruck sacks pass me at a rate of knots, I am once again suffering badly with my knee, it is the weight of the ruck sack that is the problem, but can't find anything more to eliminate, the people in pairs initially think I have too much, but they are sharing the load, one has the shampoo etc and the other the medicaments for feet, wounds and muscle problems. There are no services on route today and I breakfasted at the café below the hostal before I left. As the day goes on and the road keeps descending I can think of nothing but the pain I am suffering. I arrive at the refuge in Calvor to find it closed, it is in the middle of nowhere and is just a hut. I am told only 3 k to next town but I am suffering so badly, it takes me 2 1/2 hours to cover this distance. I am in such pain my eyes are watering, I cross the road so no one can see the tears, but the hard surface of the tarmac is worse. I try everything and find that going down hill if I go backwards it relieves the pain a little, I don't care what I look like. A Spanish guys asks if I am walking backwards for a promise, I can no longer smile at the thought. I get to Sarria in agony and try to ring the refuge it is 700 metres but all up hill and don't want to suffer for nothing it will take me up to 45 minutes to get there, there is no answer, I ring the Hotel Alfonso IX and they answer, I have a bed for 2 nights and some luxury too, I don't care if it is not pilgrim like, I am suffering too much to care.

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