I was in Europe for weddings in England and France. I had visited New Zealand battlefields in south west Belgium and north east France then driven myself around the major north western Spanish cathedral towns in late June. On the last two days I had seen many pilgrims (as I came to know them) setting off early each morning. Having done some preparation before leaving home I decided to join them for six or seven days from Sarria. I had 112 km to walk.
In my rush to drop my hire car and catch the bus to Lugo I thought I had pulled some right calf muscles: it was extremely painful when walking.
In Sarria I found a backpackers (called albergue - pronounced albergi) and soon felt quite a home in the 30 bed dorm: not unlike a tramping hut from the Tararua range of home, except bigger and far more comfortable - there was a real mattress on the individual bed. I chatted with a soft spoken american who had been on the way with three others for 28 days and planned to complete in 4 more days: turned out his sister had been to New Zealand. Mass that night in the historic parish church just down the road.
That was the last Sunday in June 2010.
Monday morning: one of the first of my dorm out and away quite soon after sunrise. Didn't I feel as though I was in the swing of things. There were a few others out and about and after 200 hundred metres I couldn't see any yellow markers, or pilgrims. I circled around to the right through the built up area, losing about 15 minutes, until I was back on the road in front of my albergue again.
Turns out I should have done a hard left instead of going ahead: a valuable lesson in way finding learnt quickly and without great cost.
This day was 23 km: 3 km along the river valley then rising 250 metres over 8 km, another 8 km along a relatively flat path through farm hamlets and with quite a sharp descent into Portomarin on a badly water scoured dirt track.
I had been going about an hour and was on the ascent when my four Americans from the night before appeared to be running past with a hello, goodbyeeeeee into the distance. I felt comfortable if a little slow. My injury from the Sunday was obvious to others: one couple stopped and offerred their wooden staff and a woman from Dublin offerred strong diclofenac tablets. A personal highlight occurred early afternoon: I had started the descent when, turning a corner, there was an archway entrance to a large house beyond right in front of me. There were a large number of national flags around the archway as bunting: pride of place and streched across the archway was the New Zealand flag. Thinking this was not accidental I went and sat down under the archway. After a few moments I was talking with a wmon from Tauranga: she and her South African partner were preparing the house as an albergue for the next season. I left with three bananas and two water bottles as no charge from the stock she was selling to others.
Crossing the bridge over the man made lake towards Portomarin showed I was not fit. And I had been walking for more than 8 hours. Or about 3 km per hour. And my feet hurt. I knew from my drive past early Sunday morning there were quite a few albergue in the township up the hill. My energy now limited me to a commercial backpackers close to the main road.
I would wait till the morning to see if I would continue.
18 December 2012
Camino de Santiago de Compostella
I recall first hearing of this pilgrimage from a piece in Tui Motu (an independent Roman Catholic magazine) by Peter Stuart (an Anglican priest) about 2001.
In 2010 I was travelling to England and France for two family weddings. I spent time with family on my day or arrival: Al and I did things such as spend the afternoon in a bar on the Embankment with strong Australia and New Zealand connections and watched the first NZ pool match for the Football World Cup.
And I had arranged the next day go to Belgium to visit the New Zealand WWI battlefields, in particular Mesen (Messines), Polygon Wood, s'Gravenstal (site of the NZ memorial in Belgium) and (of course) nearby Passendale. And a few days later visiting the NZ places in the Somme, in particular Le Quesnoy, the the last NZ battle on 4 November 1918.
A week later I flew to Vallodolid in north western Spain and, with a hire car, drove a 'd' shaped circuit to Salamanca, Avila (managed to convince the bar keeper to show the "other" pool match on TV - second NZ game), Segovia, Burgos and then Leon, Ponferrada, Sarria and Santiago. I usually slept in my hire car so as to be free to stop and start each day when I wanted.
Before leaving home I had done some research and knew if I started from Sarria I could get a certificate on satisfactory completion at Santiago. And I had some idea of what I needed to carry, and not to carry, on my back.
It was with some surprise on waking in Burgos several hundred kilometres west of the Cathedral, to see walkers with largish backpacks asking directions with hand gestures, being assured and continuing westward.
That was the last Saturday of June: I intended to stop for the night near Sarria and on to Santiago the next day. For the most part the main road avoids the towns and it wasn't until late that day, when I left the main road I encountered a straggle of pilgrims making their way, with the onset of rain, to a backpackers for the night.
On Sunday I drove off about sunrise: as I went through the smaller towns I encountered many pilgrims leaving their backpacker accommodation. I noted ages ranging from very young to quite old and my mind was made up to try my hand starting the next day.
In 2010 I was travelling to England and France for two family weddings. I spent time with family on my day or arrival: Al and I did things such as spend the afternoon in a bar on the Embankment with strong Australia and New Zealand connections and watched the first NZ pool match for the Football World Cup.
And I had arranged the next day go to Belgium to visit the New Zealand WWI battlefields, in particular Mesen (Messines), Polygon Wood, s'Gravenstal (site of the NZ memorial in Belgium) and (of course) nearby Passendale. And a few days later visiting the NZ places in the Somme, in particular Le Quesnoy, the the last NZ battle on 4 November 1918.
A week later I flew to Vallodolid in north western Spain and, with a hire car, drove a 'd' shaped circuit to Salamanca, Avila (managed to convince the bar keeper to show the "other" pool match on TV - second NZ game), Segovia, Burgos and then Leon, Ponferrada, Sarria and Santiago. I usually slept in my hire car so as to be free to stop and start each day when I wanted.
Before leaving home I had done some research and knew if I started from Sarria I could get a certificate on satisfactory completion at Santiago. And I had some idea of what I needed to carry, and not to carry, on my back.
It was with some surprise on waking in Burgos several hundred kilometres west of the Cathedral, to see walkers with largish backpacks asking directions with hand gestures, being assured and continuing westward.
That was the last Saturday of June: I intended to stop for the night near Sarria and on to Santiago the next day. For the most part the main road avoids the towns and it wasn't until late that day, when I left the main road I encountered a straggle of pilgrims making their way, with the onset of rain, to a backpackers for the night.
On Sunday I drove off about sunrise: as I went through the smaller towns I encountered many pilgrims leaving their backpacker accommodation. I noted ages ranging from very young to quite old and my mind was made up to try my hand starting the next day.
Beginnings
As a youngster living in Karori, a suburb on the western fringe of Wellington, I was surrounded by hills. If we wanted some excitement it often involved climbing about 300 metres of elevation (about 1,000 feet) from home to the tops of several surounding hills.
From there I graduated to small trips to the Orongorongo and southern Tararua ranges. Including one where I nearly lost myself in a blizzard at over 4,500 feet near Hector peak inland from Otaki.
And later, with a well grounded dad as leader, did some trips in the southern Tararua's with our children.
From there I graduated to small trips to the Orongorongo and southern Tararua ranges. Including one where I nearly lost myself in a blizzard at over 4,500 feet near Hector peak inland from Otaki.
And later, with a well grounded dad as leader, did some trips in the southern Tararua's with our children.
16 December 2012
Introduction
I first became aware of the Camino de Santiago de Compostella more than 10 years ago.
In 2010 I took an opportunity to walk the last 100 km (from Sarria) before going on to family weddings in England and France. Since then the bug has bitten hard, although time is more available for planning and training than when I was working full-time.
Some family health issues need to resolve before I can plan to fulfil this dream. In the mean time I enjoy the planning, learning more about the journey, hearing the plans of others, gathering my equipment and training.
This blog is mainly for me. It will record details of my preparation and training. There may even be some observations from time to time.
In 2010 I took an opportunity to walk the last 100 km (from Sarria) before going on to family weddings in England and France. Since then the bug has bitten hard, although time is more available for planning and training than when I was working full-time.
Some family health issues need to resolve before I can plan to fulfil this dream. In the mean time I enjoy the planning, learning more about the journey, hearing the plans of others, gathering my equipment and training.
This blog is mainly for me. It will record details of my preparation and training. There may even be some observations from time to time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)