Magpie's Midsummer March

9th July
I left the hotel at 7.50 but as I hadn't planned an early start it was OK, but would have preferred some flat and not the sharp climb and descent. I am walking through shady woodland with strangely shaped oak trees. The camino crosses a railway line that fortunately is not electrified. I come across Kate and her daughter Rial relaxing in the woods, Kate look happy now her daughter is with her. The track eventually levels out through Maize and wheat fields and despite the ever present mist I am sweating, I now know why there are so many abandoned villages in Galicia, the damp mist in early july must be awful in winter. I stop at a caravan serving drinks, the man rushes out and get a table and chair for me, I must be looking rough. I saw my first pilgrim on horseback, but he was gone before I had a chance to take a photo or talk to him. At the next café I bump in to Kate and Rial who are laughing, we talk about how the ambience on the camino has changed over the past few days as the large groups take over and dominate it. Kate has found herself feeling resentful towards them and it is easy to understand when you arrive at a refuge and the group with back up vehicles have taken all the beds. I carry on and notice a woman picking crops in a long dress, apron and straw hat, she looks like a painting by Van Gogh. Most of the villages have nothing but a dirt track that is thick with dried cow pats. I pass a man who I say good morning to, he glares back resentfully, I wonder who is reflecting who after my conversation with Kate. I need to rest but every suitable area has nettle growing or barbed wire, I'm not very impressed yet with Galician hospitality. When I stop to take a photo of an horreo a typical grain store from the area with a tomb like aspect, a dog starts barking from behind the fence and then jumps over it snapping at me, I nearly fall over trying to move backwards with my rucksack on, fortunately it is on a lead. I get to the refuge, it is closed but the notice says anyone coming from Sarria should go on to Portomarín. I ask in the café next door and they say that I should see the woman at 1 when it opens and explain about my knee. Judith turns up at the bar and then Kate and her daughter. We all manage to get into the refuge as we started on the camino some while back. I am so tired I go to sleep and let the fatigue take over. Later we all sit in the bar discussing our experiences of the camino, Judith is doing it because she wants something to do and feel sad that she has lost touch with so many of her camino friends. A big lizard comes in the bar and is chased out by the amiable owners of the bar. I am in a place called Ferreiros and can recommend a stop here despite the poor facilities at the refuge. An old man has problems hearing the girl behind the bar, she is shouting down his ear, then she folds back his lapel and turns on his hearing aid, he seems amazed that he can hear what is going on. Kate is hoping to write a book and tapes some of our comments and thoughts about the camino. A Japanese girl has joined us and eventually Judith and her recognise each other as the girl found Judith's scarf and Judith had been telling us the story earlier. Judith had a fear of Germans and Japanese and has often found herself in situations where she has had to confront this fear. Kate has been fascinated by the 'chancers' that she has met whilst walking, the false gurus. After a good chat we go to bed, during the night Judith has a nightmare and is screaming, one of the Spanish women roughly wakes her and she leaves the refuge whilst it's still dark in a very vulnerable state.

10th July
I discover that someone has stolen my knickers, fortunately they were clean, I had wrapped them up in my clothes but now they were gone. If it was a woman I figured she must be desperate to steal another woman's underwear and if it was a man he too must be desperate as these were pilgrim knickers and not sexy ones. I learnt the next day that an American girl also had hers stolen, I imagined a man emptying his rucksack out to make room for the knickers, maybe he was collecting a pair from every nationality. Got a 'buen camino' from a man driving a tractor and I hope that the vibe is now changing and the friendly folk would appear. I pass a strange moving heaping of bracken, only a woman's legs poking out from underneath told me that there was a person under the heap. When I get to Portomarín I meet Sally who is a teacher and her friend, Sally has been a walker for years and her partner did a long walk for 6 months and it ended up ruining their relationship and she wants to understand why by doing a long walk herself, she is hoping that the camino will have the answer. Portomaín is a nice town, the architecture is different and not so grey and heavy, but white with interesting porticos down the main street. I walk on and meet Angel a Manchegan who is doing the camino for a compromiso and because he is now a pre retiree, that is the company pays his social security but there is no work for him. His son is a drummer who works a lot in the local area and we talk musical instruments. I need to rest and he carries on, the 2 gentlemen from Vittoria that he meet up with on day one, catch me up and I walk the next part with them discussing Europe and immigration, soon the 2 friends are arguing after taking different stances over an issue I mentioned, I keep quiet and try to be less controversial. I like one of them very much and would have liked to have passed more time with him but my refuge is in front of me. I wish them well and go to shower. This was a good plan as I was first and the showers as often are shared, but this time there is no curtain or wall for privacy. The only other 'resident' is a girl with a partly shaved head that seems to be down to illness and not fashion, I stand guard whilst she showers. The man who runs the café is the typical sour Galician I've encountered, he even moves the bar stool into the opening of the bar as if I am likely to storm his till. I remember my nice man from Vittoris saying that a lot of the south American countries have been populated by Galicians and wished this man had been one of them. The village if you could call it that was a collection of empty ruins and inhabited houses, most are farm buildings and on closer inspection I see that the cows wear leather neck collars to stop them from moving, there is no straw just a grill for the muck to swill down, this is what the poor cows have to lie on. 4 young calves are in one pen and as one tries to rise it is really wobbly it is so young. I decide that drinking milk is going to have to be eliminated from my diet which is confirmed by the plaintive mooing of a cow. The grave yard has large family tombs on which is inscribed 'property of' and the name of the family inscribed, what a strange bunch these Galicians are. The camino seems to be a series of hellos and goodbyes and none of my friends are in this refuge. There are some English lads who are doing the camino fro charity and one is wearing a kilt as he has Scottish ancestors, they have only been doing it for a few days and have problems with there feet, I offer help but they seem to think that they know it all so I leave them too it. Later I see one of them hugging a couple who get out of a car and suspect that they have back up help, this is confirmed when one lays in bed the next day. There is Rafael a young Brazilian guy in the next bed, he is very shy and intense, he was the 3rd person to arrive and picked the bed next to me as I think I'm old enough to be 'safe' He wants to be a seminary student and tells me that he has lots of complicated problems in his life, after reaching Santiago he is going to walk the northern route from Santander to Santiago and then hopes to get a job in the seminary garden. In the bar I chat with Donatella from Milan, she stayed in the infamous Manjarin refuge where there is no water, only an outside fountain, the toilets are a hole in the ground covered in flies, as she says they could put in chemical toilets without ruining the tough image that this refuge has. A French couple and another man pass me leading 2 donkeys, I ask them what happens when they get to Santiago and they are walking along the northern coast and back to Grenoble, I feel sorry for the donkeys who have no choice.

11th July
The cocky English lads are rather noisy in the morning and break the pilgrim code several times by talking loudly, leaving doors open and worst of all turning on the lights whilst others are sleeping, however not all of them are fit for the road. Despite suffering still with my knee I get up and plod on. I meet a man from Valencia that knows Javea and we pass a while discussing restaurants. I stop for a drink at Ligonde where Nick had worked, it is run by an American Christian organisation based in Madrid, the volunteers are all doing it to help others and serve God, it is a VERY Christian refuge. The refuge has a lovely rustic feel with wooden furniture, candles and classical music, everyone is busy cleaning and being happy and smiley, I find it a bit of a culture shock and whilst they are all genuine people I found the enthusiasm heavy going. Each day I find myself becoming more pilgrim minded and less in the 21st century. I meet up with Emilio from Barcelona who is doing the camino after he became agrophobic and obsessive compulsive after a back operation, he says he has learnt to value life and that the life before consumerism in Spain was better. His doctor recommended the camino and he started in O Cebreiro and he has been evaluating things since. I tell him about the myriads of butterflies that I have seen and how beautiful they are, he says that butterflies mean that something good will come to me. I am forced to rest and he goes on, a nice guy stops and asks if he can help, he even volunteers to carry my rucksack to Palas del Rei my next stop, however this is not an option as despite the pain I want to carry my own things and do the camino as it is meant to be done. Several taxis pass me ferrying people to Palas. I notice that all the cemeteries have plastic flowers, can't imagine a Galician being so frivolous as to buy fresh ones that die. The countryside has been bleak open moorland but now changes into rolling pasture land. Every house seems to have their own kitchen garden, tended by the women. The people have started to become more friendly and I note that I am nearly in A Coruña and that the weather is nicer. When I get to the refuge at 1.18, it open at 1 and the 60 places were taken in the first 15 minutes so I am forced once again to take a hostal, I wonder how many of these places have been taken by the people in taxis, who get out a kilometre before the refuge and put their rucksacks on. I understand that the camino is hard, but if you can afford a taxi and are prepared to take one, leave the places in the refuges for the genuine pilgrim, still a night without snoring will be nice. Why does a woman cycle from Germany near the Dutch border with a 15 kilo cocker spaniel in a rucksack on her back? Because she loves him of course, after Santiago she will be travelling through Portugal to Andalucia before going back by train. After a warm shower and pilgrim duties that turn my bedroom into something resembling a gypsy encampment I pop in to the refuge for advice about getting places, the guy is a great help and we work out a plan of were people are most likely to stay and how I can get there first, a 15k head start will help. I am feeling exhausted and decide to check mu eyes for Aneamia and to see if the red is pink, no it's not pink it's white, however I can't take any iron as it can upset the stomach which is not a good thing on a pilgrimage, but at least it helps explain the exhaustion I feel. Later I see Emilio outside the refuge, he was looking for me to see if I managed to arrive, he later show up at the restaurant where I am eating. A metaphysical conversation in English is one thing but in Spanish it is another, we talk buddism, the Dali Lama and he tells me of an incident that renewed his faith that happen between Altea and Calpe. I refer back to his conversation about butterflies and say that my experience of the camino is the good thing that has come to me. He then relates the story behind the saying that is even more amazing. He was born in Caceres and his 9 brothers and sisters still live there along with his 91 year old mother who is blind and deaf, she recognises all her sons by touching their hands. One day he turned up to visit without her knowing he was coming and felt his hand and recognised him, she then said I saw a white butterfly in my mind today so I knew that something good was going to come to me. When I get back to my room a sock has gone missing, I hang out the window scouring the alley below, determined to solve the problem I empty my rucksack but nothing so give up thinking it is yet another possession that I have lost. I watch 2 boys of about 10 as they come through the alleyway, one says to the other, look a sock, as I said there is no such as coincidence, I immediately launch a search and rescue mission.