The Bilbao choir who serenaded us at Gaucelmo sang a beautiful rendition of “Ultreia”, the traditional Camino pilgrim song, and it’s been stuck in my head ever since. I find myself singing it now, as I wait in the airport on the long journey home.

I tried to find an English version of the lyrics and then decided it sounds so lovely in French I’ll stick with that.

 

The Cruz de Ferro is a day’s walk from Rabanal and is the place where pilgrims lay a small stone or token representing a burden they carry or to express the intention of their  journey.  Even those who walk the path for non-spiritual reasons are surprised at how emotional this symbolic ritual can be.

Some of the pilgrims who stayed at Gaucelmo showed me the stones they had carried from home.  One young guy, who only a short time earlier had been the life of the tea time party, playing guitar and laughing, quietly showed me his stone, tears streaming down his cheeks. I guess we never know what burdens others carry.

It’s hard to describe the Camino experience and all the emotions it can evoke.  I hope “Ultreia” stays with me for a long time.

 

 

 

I expected northern Portugal to be a mini-Spain, sort of like going from Washington to Oregon. Or maybe even Washington to Idaho. 

I mean, I knew the languages were different but I thought Portuguese was just a heavily-accented Spanish. Which it somewhat is, but an incomprehensible heavily-accented Spanish. Maybe Washington to rural Mississippi?

  

So Porto feels like a very foreign place.  I didn’t see anything familiar in the city until we left our hotel when I spied (drum roll please) — a peregrino! On the Portuguese route! Right in front of our hotel.  

Ok, now I feel at home. Hello Porto!

We’re in a new country, let’s celebrate! 

Oh wait, I miss Spain already…so how about a few more random photos from the Spanish side of river before we cross on over…



You can probably tell that I love Spain. And Spaniards. But the more time I spend here the more confused I become. 

The Spaniards violate all the rules I’ve learned for heathy living — they eat too much, drink too much and smoke too much. They stay up too late, drink too many espressos con azúcar and they don’t drink enough water. Exercise? Forget it. And then there’s all those baskets and baskets of bread (ack! gluten!).

But everywhere I look I see old Spaniards, often really old Spaniards. So what is their secret?

We went looking for answers to this very important question. Perhaps it’s their local wines, so delicious. Or their local jamón y chorizos? (Muy fantástico — add them to everything you cook).

Thanks to Amy and her research, we toured some small biodynamic wineries in the area and met their winemakers (aka visionaries), visited more Galician cities and looked into the eyes of the old Galician soul (or maybe just had another glass of Albariño).

The Plaza del Obradoiro (or the Praza do Obradoiro if you’re feeling Galician) seems more like a carnival than an end to a spiritual pilgrimage — blaring bagpipes, tour groups wearing matching hats, and souvenir hawkers all compete with the pilgrim for floor space. But it seems somehow a fitting & joyful end to the long Camino journey and I’m guessing that even in the Middle Ages pilgrims were greeted by vendors of all sorts and mimes dressed as St James. 

 

 

Even with the great cathedral hiding under renovation scaffolding, Santiago de Compostella is still a very special place. 

It’s good to be back.

 

 

It’s a lovely city and it was fun to have the time to explore its winding streets and interesting market.

       

 

 

 

 

And for a grand finale in this wonderful city we lucked out and saw el botafumeiro fly at the cathedral.  (Nelson knocked over a few Spaniards to get this video.)

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Put Nelson in the driver’s seat of a rental car in a foreign country and he instantly goes native — intuitively navigating their signs and flying down their narrow cobblestone streets.



Me? I think all the signs look like one-ways and do-not-enters. Mid-roundabout, I look up and see the speed limit signs encircled in red and scream “We’re going the wrong way!!”.

Good thing the Fiat doesn’t have an eject button or I’d still be in A Coruña…

But I have to say it’s been wonderful to have a car to explore this part of Spain.  All the little villages and even the good-sized towns would be hard to get to by train or bus.  And though it’s my preferred mode of transport, we don’t have enough time to walk to them all.

If only I can survive the roundabouts.

I didn’t want to stop here but I’m so glad we did! What a lovely city (once you get past the outskirts with its angry graffiti and frenetic traffic).

We stumbled across a nice little hotel, part of the Spanish Meliá hotel chain. Muy bueno hotels.

Let’s celebrate! It’s Galician Literature Day in Lugo! The shops are all closed and there’s music and dancing in the streets.

Any town that closes down to celebrate literature is a.o.k in my book. (Catch that nice little pun?)

We dropped Peter at the bus station in Astorga and then wandered around for a bit to check out their Tuesday market.

 

Astorga is a cool town but we’re off to explore new territory. Up and over the mountains we head, trying not to run over any cycling peregrinos on the skinny, winding road.

The city of Ponferrada is also a cool town and has a muy bueno 12th century Templar castillo. It’s worth a stop.

I’m completely knackered. (My apologies if this isn’t a polite expression.) So it must be time to say adiós to the peregrinos, to Gaucelmo and to the wonderful people of Rabanal.


It’s also time to say good-bye to my wonderful co-hospitalero, Peter. I couldn’t image doing this job with anyone else.

 It’s time to head out and explore more of Galicia. I plan to keep posting when I have wee-fee but I won’t be on the Camino and I won’t get my feelings hurt if you say adiós to this little blog.

Muchas gracias amigos!