Sunday, September 15th
Vega de
Valcarce
7:25am
Breakfast is trying to eat as much as possible so you don't have to carry it.
8:30am
Been through Ruitelan, and now in Herrerias.
Climbing through chestnut forests, on stony paths, under canopies of tree branches,
negotiated sheep flocks being herded, and cows with bells tinkling through
long towns of stone. Passing vegetable gardens, and renovated houses and houses
being rebuilt. Blue skies, white clouds. Stone walls to sit on, stopping for
breathers wherever possible.
More backpackers on the road this morning, although nowhere near the numbers that'll be arriving at the refugio tonight I suspect.
9:47am La Faba. In the Bar de Mary, which is miraculously open. The last kilometre, 400m up. Still sweating from it, and I've already ordered the coffees, and had Chris' passport stamped. Other pilgrims arriving here, the French, the two Germans without backpacks, another couple, and the woman who apparently paraded around naked in the senorita's bathroom last night. Fortunately, she's dressed now. |
11:10am
Just passed Laguna de Castilla, didn't see the lake, but there was a fountain,
and didn't didn't see any castles either. Just cows, pigs, chooks, a family
of kids, and cowshit leading into, and out of, the town. Laguna is like
I imagine Hippie Heaven might be like. If the philosophical idealogues
allow cowshit to happen.
11:59am
And there's the Galicia marker stone, crossing from Leon province, into Galicia
now. A real live Celtic Nation. Woohoo.
2:02
El Cebreiro.
Yep, the tourist extravaganza. The hospitalero opened the refugio
then disappeared. Just claim a bed. So, it's downstairs, and claim a bed
amid the musty, wet smells of chlorine.
Then wanders, the tourist places, buying a new pilgrim pin.
To the church, and two miracles happened here. First, the wafer and the wine turning into flesh and blood, and second, the statue of the Virgin Mary turning her head to look at it. Massive numbers of candles burning in red glasses, looking like lake of fire. A woman penitent, walking on her knees around Virgin, stopping when she reached the front hem of the statue's skirt, kissing it, then circling it again. All the while, her husband making sure that the woman's dress didn't come too close to the surrounding, burning, candles. Around, crawling, kissing. This woman's prayers, whatever they might have been, deserve to be granted. There's tourists photographing, and pilgrims, and devout people praying. In a glass cabinet, to the right of the altar, is the miraculous cup, which held the blood, and the plate, which held the flesh. |
2:35pm
And Chris has just spotted her first fake pilgrims. They're clean, and they
have their backpacks delivered to a bar, and then wander wearily up to the
albergue, They needn't have bothered with the charade, the hospitalero isn't
there anyway.
Raciones. This time, it's fatty sausage things. Hmm...love it...Chris doesn't....means
more for me.
4:20pm
Siesta'd awhile, while Chris painted. Just short, but the hospitalero's, plural,
as there's three of them, turned up. Signed in. I'm Australian, but Chris
has suddenly become Austrian. Maybe she's the fraulein mit der strudel, but
at least it's not German, she'd have to begin yelling.
4:40pm
Meso Carolo, the second bar. Just the coffee, although I have an urge for an
entire bottle of red wine, I'd have no trouble getting through it. Been looking
again at the touristy places. The souvenir places stalls with guys selling
fruit and joke books, the church, the carpark with pilgrim's cars.
5:35pm
Lord help me, for I have sinned.
I have succumbed, weakened in the face of the tourist onslaught, and bought
a t-shirt, a Camino de Santiago one. 7 euros, even though it only has half
the distance I've actually walked. Soon as I saw the XXL size, I just couldn't
restrain myself. Just gotta carry it now, will that be enough punishment for
my moment of weakness?
Chris bought a bottle of wine, from the same place.
6:53pm
And a picnic tea, up on the hill behind the refugio, surrounded by panoramic
views in almost every direction. Like stage scenery, but with each mountain
range becoming a paler blue as they recede. Behind is is the hill with the
cross, the highest one, and people are making their way up, and down, there.
Over there, behind the town, is another hill, this one topped with TV masts.
8:07pm
In the church, for another Mass. Drank the bottle of rosé between us,
and I must stop making a habit of turning up to Masses a little pissed. My
brain is somehow numbed.
The mass begins, but I can't concentrate, there's a few readings in Spanish,
about what I have no idea, but I'm just here. Looking at the statue, kind of
hoping she'll turn her head, or something miraculous.
Standing, the signs being made, then sitting, and phew, I'm sure glad I had that part of the arch to lean against. Over there, around Mary, the lake of burning candles has grown even larger, each one an individual prayer. If the praying woman was here now, there'd be no way she could even get close to Mary, let alone crawl around her.
about 11:30pm
Trying to sleep, there's whisperers in the next cubicle, and there's water
running through the pipes continuously. No wonder this refugio is almost
crumbling through damp and rot.