The Camino De Santiago May/June 2003
Index
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The whole route
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The first section Roncesvalles to Burgos
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Leaving my front door for the last time. I had chucked in my job and given up renting this house. I left the keys on the table, shut the door and took this picture. So, homeless and unemployed, I set off to get the bus to Heathrow Airport.
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I arrived at Madrid, and took the Metro to the train station. I'd booked in advance (www.renfe.es) as I knew that trains can get booked up. The long-distance ones are ticket only. Unlike the UK, the rail system is Spain doesn't run a lot of trains (Clapham Junctions has 4000 trains a day) Also unlike the UK, prices are very good value for money.
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I got the train to Pamplona, first-class. You get free wine, newspapers, nibbles and a full meal. This was all I got. Some pillock in a van drove over a level crossing farther up the line, and we had to wait around for ages for coaches to take us round the problem. Eventually the coaches took us all the way to Pamplona, and we didn't arrive until about one in the morning. No chance of finding a cheap place to stay, so Grizelda (a Californian I met on the train/coach journey) and I booked into the first hotel we found.
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This is the room I got. First night in Spain on this trip. This cost getting on for a hundred euros. If you have time to look around, you can do it much cheaper. All hotels and hostales are inspected regularly and have to reach a certain standard to be awarded a certain star rating which in turn decides the room rate that can be charged. Even the cheapest rooms will be clean and tidy if maybe a little spartan. You can still (2006) get a very acceptable room for €15 euros in most areas of Spain, even on parts of the Costas, but the usual rate on the Camino is double that. You have to really look around to get a single room for €20. Between Santiago and Finisterre, the prices are back to normal - I got a double room for single use in a 2* hotel for €15 on that route. Don't be put off if the hotel or hostal is "residencia" it usually just means that it doesn't have a restaurant - it doesn't mean you can't book in for one night, and they are usually a bit cheaper.
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Pamplona bus station. There was an old lady there asking for coins - not begging, just asking for a single coin from your own country. It was her way of connecting with the pilgrims, and it works, because I still remember her.
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On the bus to Roncesvalles. Not everyone was going to the refugio. Many of them were off to a hotel. It takes about an hour to get there, it takes two days to walk back, but there again, the whole trip is useless. Which is the whole point of it, I suppose.
This was the last time I travelled in any way other than on foot for six weeks. As a fellow traveller, Mike, pointed out, we'd probably never spent six weeks without travelling in wheeled transport ever before in our lives.
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The standard picture of the 104 beds in Roncesvalles. There were snorers of all types and levels. Before Roncesvalles, I thought people only snored and whistled in cartoons. Not true. Take earplugs if nothing else.
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The bar-restaurant over the road. Book a table as soon as you arrive. You take pot-luck with who else might be on your table. When the meal is over, it's off to your bunk. I'm a late-night person, not an early morning one and lay in bed for ages trying to get to sleep, eventually dropping off at about 5am, half an hour before the French contingent started crashing about.
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This is Griselda and another couple whose names I didn't bother to remember since I didn't think I'd ever see them again. I never saw Grizelda again, but kept bumping into these two. The peregrino menús are always very good value for money, and are pretty similar in price, quality and quantity to the menú del dia elsewhere in Spain.
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The start! Off through the woods a few metres away from the road. I started off knackered, having had only an hour's sleep. Still, you feel excited, and wonder, not for the first time, if you can possibly make the 740km. After a few days, though, you know that you can do the 25km a day for more than one or two days, and you know that you can make it, and by the time you are counting down to Santiago instead of adding up how far you have walked, you know that you will make it.
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The mist hangs over the valley as the route continues to wind down the Pyrenees. Though it's not raining, you still get wet from the mist.
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As I walk through the villages, there is a string of pilgrims in front and behind. This only happened for the first few days, after that, I gave up the refugios - there is no way I can fall asleep at 10pm. I camped wild, or found a cheap room.
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Soon, the trail turns off the road and starts to head cross-country. It's not easy to lose the way on sections like this, but the yellow arrows are a lifeline in other places. It's an amazing thing to imagine 60,000 people a year being led right across Spain by nothing more than a few tins of paint.
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I just follow the person in front. Hope he knows where he's going. Perhaps he's doing the same. If someone miles ahead makes a wrong turn, we've all had it.
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A downhill bit! I thought they would be the best bits, but I found that flat is best, uphill in next, and downhill is the worst, especially on rocky, muddy, wet, or loose surfaces
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It didn't look too bad at first, but then the clouds parted, and I suddenly realised there was more to this than first met the eye.
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Looking back along the muddy track on a steep hillside. Those 60,000 people a year all walk along this narrow path, and people have been for thousands of years - well, two and a half thousand, anyway - and though they may not always have taken this exact route, you feel part of a history that will probably continue for a few thousand more.
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These lambs stood around foe a while and then the whole lot raced around in a pack for a few moments while the parents just ignored them.
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The mud turns to rock.as the path climbs into the trees. I know that some people will tell youi that you should do the whole trip in sandals, but I wouldn't attempt the mud and slippery rock in anything less than lightweight, low-level walking boots.
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The clouds clear a little, but the day is dark. This was some of the best walking weather we had - dry and cold. Later on, it would get to over 40C, and by then I was walking through the heat of the day.
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This sign tells you that you are going through the pass that Roland defended. Maybe. A little further on there is a plaque for a Japanese man who got lost the arrows because of the snow and whose body was found six months later.
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The refugio at Zubiri. We were greeted by Bernie, an elderly Geman pilgrim who seemed to be able to speak a bit of every langage there was.
"Where are you from?" he asked
"England"
"Ah! That tiny island"
"Yes, that tiny island near Europe"
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Luckily, the arrows didn't point up this way way. There were plenty of streams like this. Some of them had bridges, a few you just had to jump over
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Not the most scenic part of the walk as it crosses a cement factory. Probably the bleakest bit of the whole trip. Thankfully, there isn't much of it.
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Soon you're back to the paths again, and there is some advantage to the cement factory as they have gravelled the path for you.
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Stepping stones for when it is really wet and muddy.
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The kind of path you walk constantly changes. Every kilometre here is different.
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Changes again.
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The path is about to change once more, as it dives into a dark green tunnel.
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A fenced-in section as the path follows the edge of a river valley
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And you can see why the fences are necessary. Ahead is a Brazilian lady who I'll meet in a few minutes, and see again later.
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The refugio at Trinida is a really good one. Modern, clean and tidy, with great facilities, and even a drinks macine selling beer.
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The first lot of washing. As the walk progresses, 'real' life fades. The most important thing you have to worry about is whether your socks will be dry in the morning. And if they're not, you just put them on damp. No big deal.
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The kitchen and my first meeting with Steve, an American who had done the camino before and was real expert on it. In his opinion, anyway. Continuing left to right, in front of Steve is Diane (her husband Peter is somewhere else), a Fenchman (and hands-on healer) who had walked from Paris, and who's quiet, unassuming attitude was the opposite of Steve, and someone who got my respect. The other two were another couple, Swedish, maybe. We all bought our food and wine to the table and shared it around.
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Looking back at Pamplona from the first real hill we met.
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Looking forwards to the windmills. These are enormous, maybe 35 metres high at the top of the blades.
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It's a long way up
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and it was hot
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and the fuente on the way up was a blessing. The walking pole was a waste of time. Two would have been useful in the mud, but that was only really the first day. Nordic walking (with two poles) claims to burn up to 60% more calories, so you will obviously get tired more quickly. I got rid of it some time later.
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There's still plenty of hill left. Those two tiny dots are Peter and Diane who were forging ahead. I was completely unfit and had never done any walking before. Apart from one day out just to prove to myself that I could walk 20km (on the flat, and without a backpack) I hadn't done any training at all. Well, I walked to the pub and back most evenings, and that was nearly 350 yards away. It all adds up, you know.
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Eventually I made it to the top. There were a few stops on the way up (just to take pictures, watch the hang-gliders, check my laces, take pictures of the hang-gliders, wind my watch, look at an interesting pebble and so on)
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I took the same obligatory picture of the cut-out characters that everyone takes.
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And the same thing from further away with Pamplona in the background.
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Then you look west again. All you have to do is walk to the horizon a few times. Easy-peasy.
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So I head off down the other side. On the way down to Zubiri, I had told myself that wet rock was no fun, but it would be dry for most of the way. Here I discovered that downhill on loose, dry rock is not much better. Your knees take a pounding, and every time your foot slips on the scree, you think you might lose your footing.
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Sometimes the arrows are easy to miss
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Looking back up the hill from where I stopped to rest and eat. A Brazilian woman whom I'd met earlier stopped to talk. Told me she was doing the Camino for her brother who had died the year before. She sat and cried and talked Portugese while I talked in bad Spanish, but the words weren't the important part.
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Almost back to the plain
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The new refugio in Uterga. I'd only stopped for a beer, then had another. Then Bernie, the German man I had met in Zubiri and had passed on the climb up the hill (probably the only person I did pass) turned up. He stopped for a beer, so (just to be sociable) I had another. Bernie booked into the refugio. An Australian girl came in for a beer, and it's terribly unsociable to let someone drink alone... Then I decided to book in - the place is run by three attractive sisters, but of course those two facts are completely unrelated. We all had a meal. Two Frenchmen turned up and booked in. So in the interests of international friendship...
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Looking back at the hill
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And another view from the edge of town
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Looking back at Uterga the next morning
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The shell shows the way. At this stage the 'fingers' aren't necessarily pointing out the direction, whereas later they do. Here, the shell means you're on the right path, go through the (lovely) arch. Later it would mean: at this point turn right, but they wouldn't have put it where this one is, it would be in sight as far to the right as possible.
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Typical view in this area
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Heading onto Puente La Reina. Ahead are three Canadian nurses who are trying to remember the Spanish word for cherry (cereza). Well, it's one way to get chatting.
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A street in Puente La Reina
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Two of the nurses, and Beatrice and Ernie (Canada) in a street in Puente La Reina
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The Puente itself with Ernie posing. There's that lovely arch design again.
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And then cross-country. Do 200 people really walk this path every day?
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The path and a wall, but i expect you guessed that
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Look for any patch of yellow to guide you. This blob turns into an arrow when it gets round the corner.
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You also need to look down every side tuning, just in case there's a shell tile (it's the tiny square under the bigger square here). It gets to be second nature after a short while.
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Ernie and Beatrice head into Villatuerta on their way to Estella. I remember Estella well, mainly because I got chatted up by a gay Russian bricklayer in a bar and had to make a swift exit.
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The famed Irache wine fountain, and the Brazilian lady who was walking for her brother. She only drank the water, but in the interests of research I thought I'd better give the wine a go. It makes your teeth go furry even before you swallow the first mouthful. I'm no wine buff, but I don't think that's the sign of a classic. But when it comes to value for money, you can't fault it.
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The Camino goes on. Here it passes under a road, heading for what (disappointlingly) isn't a small volcano.
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There are some wonderful views along this stretch, even though the countryside may not be the most dramatic.
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You pass through innumerable small villages. In all but the smallest there is at least one fountain and a bar where you can get a bocadillo - the ubiquitous long crusty roll with a filling of ham or cheese or tortilla (cold Spanish omlette with potato and onion, in case you're thinking Mexican) or tortilla frances (hot, freshly made fried beaten egg). If you are lucky, you'll be asked "con tomate?" which means that the bread will be rubbed with tomato - say yes.
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A stoney, up hill section
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A refugio, but I can't remember where it is.
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We're in wine country here.
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but there aren't that many vines to be seen
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It's May - you can tell, can't you?
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The flowers are allowed to grow at the edge of every road, and the wildlife, especially butterflies, thrive on it.
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The last bit before Los Arcos
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The refugio at Los Arcos. Beatrice had terribly blistered feet and was at the point of giving up. I lent her a pair of 1000-mile socks (they guarantee no blisters) and she used them all the way, and, once her existing blisters had healed, never had any more problems. Neither did I.
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The church at Los Arcos
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The first course of the peregrino menú which is exactly the same thing as the menú del dia anywhere else, and which is, for some reason, the same every day.
If you ask for the menú you'll get the list of fixed-price set meals. I heard one American lady complaining that the locals managed to get things that us foreigners weren't offered, but it was just that the locals knew that to go a la carte, you have to ask for "la carta", not el menú. She also, later, complained that the wine was watered down - not likely, since it probably cost €0.15 a litre, and the rest of the meal wasn't skimped on. You shouldn't expect Faustino I when a three course meal with wine, water and coffee costs €6.50. To give her her due, before we reached Santiago, she was as laid-back as you could wish for. It was wonderful to see the change from a fairly aggressive tourist expecting to be exploited, to a trusting person who loved the Spanish way of life.
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Follow the "Polish Flag" - red and white stripes - the symbol of the GR routes - when all else fails, but they can lead you astray in places. You can also see that people put stones on top of everything. Fair enough, in the wilds of Canada a couple or three hundred years ago, it was nice to find a sign that someone else had passed that way, but on the Camino, what's the point? Of course, you can always knock them off so the next person coming along can say "Oh, look, there's something without a stone on it. I'll put one on it, eh?"
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The path is forever changing
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But the flowers were always there
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It's not always pretty, but you can't get away from the flowers
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Logroño, and more flowers
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Logroño - a statue
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Logroño - out towards the mountains
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The way out of Logroño is used by many walkers and runners
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who go out to the reservoir
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Looking back to the reservoir
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There is a paper factory here, and the pilgrims make crosses from the wood chips that are left lying around
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The route follows quiet roads for some of the way
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The approach to Navarette
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A view from outside the refugio in Navarette
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I'm starting to look like a pilgrim, now
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The Vally Of The Stones - a bit creepy, really. You feel like they are watching you.
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Leaving a village - Ventosa, I think - you walk into the forest
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then suddenly it stops
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Looking back, you can see how sudden it really is
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Entering Azofra
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The church at Azofra. The refugio was full, the kitchen floor was full, so people started to fill up the porch of the church. I gave up my place to someone else as I had a sleeping mat, and slept around the side of the church on a concrete path.
The evening was a great time. There was a chocolate fiesta - free chocolate for everyone, not sure why. The locals included the pilgrims in the celebration. To us, we felt a bit like intruders, but to the Azofrans I suppose the pilgrims are always there and just as much a part of village life as anyone else, it's just that they are different every day. Then someone discovered that the local store had under-the-counter, unlabelled red wine at a euro a go, so we had a bit of a fiesta of our own. For most of the people, it was a day off from hving to go to bed at ten, but by now, I was used to it.
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Diane (Canada) Ernie (who seems to have dozed off for a moment) and Beatrice and someone else at the top of the church tower
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A view from the tower looking out the way we are to go
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And another
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Off towards Santo Domingo
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The ups and downs of the Camino
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The final stretch into Santo Domingo, and it started to rain. It only rained on two occasions while I was actually walking.
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The outskirts of Santo Domingo
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Santo Domingo, and the rain has stopped
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But the next day the skies are blue again
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The route follows the road here, and for a while you are at the road edge, but you can see the start of a senda here.
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And then you are off cross-country again
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Entering Castile Y León
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Resting up in the heat of the day
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Storks nest everywhere
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On the way to Montes De Oca
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The Canadian nurses and I stop for breakfast
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Then on to Villafranca. Stop at the bakery if you are short of food, there's nothing at all for miles - and no water, either, so fill up.
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It doesn't look steep, but it goes on for ever
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The 1936 Civil War Memorial
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A long way down just to climb back up
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San Juan de Ortega. The place had a bad reputation back in 2003, and people who stayed there confirmed it. The restaurant, however, is great. Stop there if you are not a veggie.
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I walked on
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When I got to Atapuerca, the regugio was full. I was told not to camp in the field over the road, but up on the hill by the church.
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First sight of Burgos
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There is an 8km walk through an industrial area on the way in. Many people took the bus, but my personal rules didn't allow that
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The cathedral in Burgos
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A walk in the park
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Futher on
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A statue to El Cid
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Back to the cathedral
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A restaurant in Burgos
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Map of the middle section - Burgos to León
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Leaving the city and back to the countryside
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Flowers, and oh look, another hill. The meseta starts at Burgos, huh?
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Another shot of the poppies
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Entering Hornillas
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I'd seen a swarm of bees on the way in to Hornillas. Since I am allergic to them, I gave them a wide berth. I stopped in the village and got a couple of bocadillos. Sitting in the tiny square, another swarm came over. The air was filled with them. I kept very still and let them get on with it. One sting could kill me. The dark patch on the stone wall is the swarm.
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The swarm is up on the top of the church wall. Swarming bees aren't aggressive, but there are thousands of them and they will still sting if they get trapped in clothing.
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Here's another shot taken about half an hour later
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I walked on and put my tent up right where the meseta really starts
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And here it is
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San Bol is a place worth staying at - no running water except the spring outside, no electricity, and no bathroom, but a unique, special, and peaceful place.
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You might hear about Victorino for miles around, his fame is that great. He owns a bar in Hontanas - the brave even stay there, the even braver might eat there, too. Well worth a visit, just for the experience. This photo was taken at ten in the morning and as you can see, the wine is already flowing.
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A bar in Castrojeriz. One thing you don't get as a pilgrim is to see the Spanish in the evening. I'd been avoiding the refugios since Los Arcos. One reason was the curfew and early start which just don't suit me. In Spain, 3-year-olds are still up at eleven. More than that, though, I like the Spanish nightlife. As a curfewed pilgrim, you see everything up until 9.30, then off to bed. Nowhere in Spain would the Spanish eat much before then. On the Camino, the restaurants cater for the pilgrims, and then the pilgrims all disappear, and the locals come out and sit around and drink and chat and eat. It's the best bit of the day. I urge you to try it, if only once. Watch the Spanish relax, talk with them. Then get up and walk late, after almost everyone has set off. Enjoy the peace, the lack of chatter, the absence of tapping walking poles. Listen to the birds, watch the wildlife, and when you pause, there are no footsteps to be heard. It's not a route march.
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A street in Castrojeriz
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And another street
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The view south
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Another hill - I though the meseta was supposed to be flat.
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So you climb up the hill, walk a couple of hundred metres and then go down the other side. Still, it looks flat from here on.
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More flowers
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A rare feature in the meseta
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A welcome break at a shop-cum-cafe
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Then back to the flatness
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The path follows an irrigation canal for a while
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It is definitely flat.
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Sometimes you follow tiny paths
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Sometimes you're on the road
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Sometimes you even have your own path
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It got a little stormy on the way through Terradillos, but it didn't rain
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The edge of Sahagun
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On the way in
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The main square
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Cafe life.
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A bridge on the way out of Sahagun
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The path out of Sahagun
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Entering Bercianos
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The church at Bercianos
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A train on the plain in Spain
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A lonely ostrich on the way into León
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Looking down to the lobby of my hotel
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The cathedral in León
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The last stage to Santiago
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A message on the road
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The meseta isn't over yet
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Entering Mazarife you pass this mural. Behind is the health centre ouside which was a man just watching the pilgrims pass. I went to the refigio, but it was full. The rooms are arranged around an open couryard with the walkway on the inside and open to the elements. Even the walkway was full, and although it looked like rain, I went off to find a place to put my tent up behind the refugio. The man from the health centre was in his garden at the back. I asked him if it was OK to put my tent up - por supuesto - of course! He watched while I tried to hammer the tent-pegs into the iron-hard ground with a rock. None of them went in more than an inch or two.
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The family who run the local bar. I was trapped in there by the most amazing storm. The younger girl was frightened, and the older one tried to pretend she wasn't. The wind lashed the rain against the windows and blew the spring-loaded door open. The street outside was just a channel for the water to rush down. I knew my tent had had it, and wondered if it was still anywhere near where I had left it despite the fact that it was weighted down with my backpack. And where would I sleep, the walkways of the refugio would be flooded.
I needn't have worried. My tent, amazingly, was still standing, every tent peg still in place. I could now push then into the softened ground by hand. I would have had a completely water-free night had I not rolled onto the demand-valve of my water supply and sabotaged myself.
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The bridge into Hospital De Orbigo. On the left side is where they hold the jousting competition every year - in 2003, a week after this picture was taken
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The leisure centre leaves something to be desired
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The road through San Justo on the way to Astorga
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The main square in Astorga
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On the road again, and the mountains appear. It may be flat, but it's uphill for 30km.
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Onward and upward
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The inside of the Meson Medieval, an oasis on the way up to the Iron Cross.
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And the outside
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Finally, the cross. I put my stone with the others. There was a cairn here when the Romans arrived and people were walking to Finisterre before Christ, let alone before Santiago
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Up in the mists
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images/P8030062.txt
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Even going down the other side has it's ups
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And downs
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Through little villages
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With concrete roads
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Through spectacular scenery
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And past interesting architecture
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The old and the new
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More up
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More down
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And into Molinaseca
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A street in Molinaseca, with swallows flying so low, and so close, you could touch them if you were quick enough
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Almost everywhere was full, but at one place they said they had just one room left. I expected it to be a tiny, cramped, dingy little attic room, but this is what I got. It was the main living room and had two fold down beds.
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The view from the other end - all this for 30 euros
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The way out of Molinaseca, and it looks like rain.
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On the way to Ponferrada, and it started to rain. I was called to from up here, and we all sat around eating and chatting, perfectly dry under this tree, until the rain eased off
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Entering Ponferrada
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An iron sculpture in the roadworks
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The view from the bridge
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Heading for the hills
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One of the many picnic spots on the Camino
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Another view
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The way into Villafranca De Bierzo
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The view from my hotel window
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My hotel room
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The corridor leading to my room
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Outside the hotel
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The hotel
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A whole bunch of us joined up for a meal
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Looking the other way
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The road out of Villafranca. I missed the alternative route, but this was pleasant enough, going through a number of tiny villages
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After about 28km, rather suddenly, you start to climb, then it's five miles horizontally, and half a mile vertically
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Most of the climb is following an old drovers' trail
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Still climbing - a view back along the trail
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And another
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To the side
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And again
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The night sky at O Cebreiro
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The way forward, but not until tomorrow
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On the way again
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Is that the Camino up there? Thankfully not
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And although we're quite high up
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There's still some climbing to do
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Some of it at about 45 degrees, or so it seems
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These next few shots are typically Galician for me
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The greenness and the mountain streams
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The paths that take you away from everything
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This was one of the longer, alternative routes, and well woth the effort
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Back on the main trail, and a beer and a bocky at lunchtime. As I always walked later then everyone else, everywhere was open, even before I left. The 6am lot all missed this place, but since I used to leave at around 11, I had the Camino to myself and didn't have to walk for hours just to find the first coffee of the day.
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The frogs here were deafening, but they went quiet when they heard you approach. Sit for a while, and they would start up again. I don't suppose the crocodile of the early shift heard any of it. Yhey didn't see the lizards, some of them huge and bright green. They didn't turn a corner and see a snake sunning itself on the path ahead. They would have missed the pine-martins in the Pyrenees, and the foxes on the plains. Shame
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The flora changes
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More flowers
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The last 100km
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Portomarin, the old town is in the reservoir, the only building saved was the church, moved stone by stone. You can still see the numbers on the stones even after fifty-odd years
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The horreo - grain store - is typical of the region
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Not dead, only sleeping
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Pulpo in Melide with some new friends, and Mike (at the back with the camera) who was, after hundreds of kilometres and the odd beer or two, an old friend. See his site at
http://www.worksandwords.com/sp03home.htm
for a great deal more info and pictures
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Into the trees, and Santiago is calling
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Another grain store
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Climbing up to skirt Santiago Airport
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I was back on known territory here, as I had walked into Santiago from the airport some years before when there were no taxis or buses around. I hadn't intended to follow the Camino )I didn't know where it was for a start) but had come across it and followed it
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The same shot from about five years before
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The terrace bar of the Parador and old friends celebrate
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Is that new? someone asked the Mexican lady. Of course - it's white
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We talked into the night
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The full moon rose over the cathedral
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And we kept on talking
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Onward to Finisterre - Santiago was never the end for me - for hundreds if not thousands of years before it was a pilgrimage, people walked to Finisterre, and I had to, too. It's only the end when you can't go any further. It was good to get back to walking...
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And say goodbye to Santiago for a while. When I stopped on the way back from Finisterre, I stayed in the Parador again, but this time with the King of Spain. I'd had nights in the tent, nights in the open, and this was about as far the other way on the scale as you can get
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Only about ten percent of people carry on. The route is therefore much less crowded and less trodden. You also get a special kind of bond between the Finisteros, most of whom I'd known for a long time by now. We'd collected up in Santiago and somehow come to a joint unspoken agreement to set off together.
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This is a main road for this area of Galicia
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Mt tent outside the refugio in Negreira
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Petra takes a picture of Mike with a puppy outside a bar near Hospital. Okay, she actually takes it with a camera because Mike's got the puppy. You can see the picture she took on Mike's web site.
http://www.worksandwords.com/sp03home.htm
They met on the Camino and are now married.
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The path is mostly cross-country
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A lot of which is pretty scrubby
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And what is used, is mainly for grazing sheep and cattle
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Eucalyptus
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There are still some climbs and views to be had
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Before you see the sea at Cee
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You drop down steeply
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The beaches are superb, and deserted, even in June
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It's an area I'd like to spend more time in
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After a slight climb over a headlans, where all I could hear was the popping of seed pods in the heat, you spot Finisterre for the first time
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The 3km beach leads you to the town itself. As I dropped down to start along the beach, I got a round of applause from a barful of people
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Fisterra is still a working port
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We all met up during the day and agreed to meet up at the lighthouse for sunset. This is the zero km marker. The shell points down to indicate the end of the road. Well it did when I was there, but someone nicked it and the new one doesn't.
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Petra an Mike were already there
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Ernie and Beatrice turned up later. We drank wine out of plasic bottles (we didn't have enough cups)
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We did the ritual burning of clothes
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This is my t-shirt (an old one from the Modus Vivendi bar in Santiago. The bronze boots in the picture have also been nicked.
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Peter and Diane have a quiet moment together
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Sardine boats head out as the sun heads to the horizon
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Mike and Petra join us and burn their socks. You can see Mike's picture with me in the background on his site.
http://www.worksandwords.com/sp03home.htm
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Almost sunset, and it's almost all over. But it's not a sad time, it's a celebration. You are with friends, and you have all made it. You've laughed and cried and walked and slept and eaten and drunk and walked and talked and talked and talked together. You have shared water, food, plasters and yourself with these people. You have learnt things about yourself. You have changed or confirmed many of your convictions. You have a perspective on life that you may never have had before. When the sun sets, the Camino is at an end, but when you walk back down from the lighthouse, you are leaving the classroom behind and you are taking the lessons you have been taught back to a life which you see differently.
Getting to Santiago proves you can do what you set out to do. Walking to Finisterre lets you leave it behind gracefully. It's an encore, the signature at the end of a letter, a lap of honour, a celebration. If you don't do it, you won't miss it, but if you do, you'll treasure it...
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So that's it, then. Something is over. Something else is just beginning. Time to move on.
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