Day 6 B, 28th April, O'Cebreiro - Samos

Welcome back!

Well, today I actually start at Pedrafita, at the bottom of the mountain cause that's where the Madrid bus leaves me at 6 AM. It´s 4 KM to the top of the mountain and it's pitch dark but dry and cool. I start walking and it feels great. Not much sleep because I had to sit at just behind the driver, could not stretch my legs and had headlights in my eyes.

At the top of the hill it started to snow, typical, and a reminder of the lat time I was up this way. It eventually turned to normal day as the "sun" came up and it kept raining for the rest of the day. OK, it did stop occasionally but just enough to lull you into a false sense of security, remove your clothes and start singing. The it came down again unexpectedly and off you went again, cursing Galicia.

I had planned to take it easy on my first day so as to save my strength and last the 151 km to Santiago. I had a lighter pack , a lighter sleeping bag than last time and had packed more carefully. Still, it seemed heavy enough and there was a long way to go, up and down hill.

Not long after heading out of O´Cebreiro I took a wrong turn or, more accurately, did not notice the small arrow pointing to a slight but crucial change of direction up what looked like a goat track. I had walked about three kms before a local farmer stopped me and pointed out my mistake, Fortunately for me, he gave me a lift back up the hill. I felt a bit better when I saw several other people going the wrong way as well. It seemed that this was a frequent occurrence and that many people did, indeed, get lost. As it happened, this was to be a regular occurrence in Galicia where the interest in Pilgrims seems to be somewhat lacking. You´ll hear more about this as the days go on.

Ok, so there I was walking in the rain, not really seeing very much because it was not just a drizzle coming down but a regular, very regular, downpour. There was nothing to do but keep the head down and keep going. The scenery was lovely and you might just get an idea from the photos. Otherwise think of Ireland or even Scotland with the mist and the rain.

Finally, I got to the monastery at Samos. By then it had stopped raining and I waddled in tired and sore. This is one hell of a monastery! Massive! The Pilgrim's hostel was actually a room in the monastery, on the ground floor, fortunately, and supplied a bed and hot showers. It was run by an elderly Austrian lady who was very mothering and was concerned about my poor feet and the pain in the back of my knees. This was unexpected but then I had just walked nearly 40 kms up and down hills and mountains. Fortunately I had some of Mariluz's tortilla to keep me going.

After a shower and a little siesta I wandered around to find a pharmacy thinking that this is not a good way to stat a long trek and that there were another four days and about 120 kms to go. I was given some Voltaren (diclofenaco sodico, if you must know) and I also took some Ibuprofen for good measure. It did help but eventually played havoc with my guts and I stopped taking the tablets.

Later that evening we, the pilgrims, were treated to a tour of the monastery and at 7.20 pm we attended Vespers, hearing the monks sing beautifully. Together with my foot washing experience in Rabanal del Camino this added up to more religious experiences in a few weeks than I´d had in a long time. Dinner was taken across the road and I will not bother you with the details. Afterwards it was straight to bed and lights out at 10.30.

Day 6 A, Monday 25th April

Today was going to be the last day for me.

I was heading down the hill to Piedrafita in order to catch the bus back to Madrid. THe good night´s sleep had done wonders for me and if not exactly firing on all cylinders I was well enough to enjoy the day and to look forward to new adventures. It had kept snowing during the night and everything was white and the sky relentlessly gray. We found a bar for our coffee, ColaCao as usual for Monica, and good toasted peasant bread for sustenance.

They headed thataway and I headed my way after taking a few pictures to commemorate our separation. The journey downhill went smoothly and only took around forty five minutes. While having a coffee I asked about a bus to Ponferrada and was told one was leaving in a few minutes. Not wanting to spend six hours cooped up in a bar in a small town while a snow storm raged outside I jumped on it and we headed off in a minibus to the sounds of flamenco and galician folk songs, some of which sounded remarkably like Hawaiian eukalely music. As it turned out, after the initial fifteen minutes of skirting the highway we followed pretty much the same route we had trekked through the day before. It was a bit strange to watch all those miles pass by so wuickly, so smoothly.



At two thirty I got on my bus, yes the same one I would have taken from Piedrafita, and headed back to Madrid. I had about six hours ahead of me and I managed to survive the trip.

It was time to go back to work but I had caught the bug and had decided to return to Piedrafita and hike the four kms up to O'Cebreiro and from there continue the journey to Santiago de Compostela.

Day 5 - Easter Sunday, March 24th,

The day started well. The morning was crisp and sunny and augured well.

We all got up and got ready, heading out at about 8 AM. The idea was to stop at a bar for breakfast but, as it happened, no one else had bothered getting up that early and we had to head out without a hot drink or a fresh pastry. Oh, the life of a Pilgrim!

During the night it had snowed and there was a lovely coat of white on roofs and hillside. I had wished for snow at the start of the trip because I preferred it to rain. I had forgotten the old saying that goes something like: "careful what you wish for cause you might just get it". But that´s further down the line and off we went, leaving behind Sonia and Gonzalo and even Christine, who was spending the morning in the beautiful town before heading back to Madrid.

As with previous days, we separated as the miles passed by, some of us walking faster than others and walking along with our own thoughts. Unfortunately, most of the path followed the road and it ws not very interesting. An occasional detour into a charming little village provided a break in the scenery.

About ten kms further along Monica and Petrie caught up with me after I detoured into another village. We stopped for a late breakfast and then we headed off again, concerned about the gathering clouds and the villagers´comments regarding snow at the top of the mountain, the pass. I had been carrying a pretty heavy pack because I had brought extra things to wear (I expected a night out!) and heavier things than I needed. It seemed heavy but it did not bother me unduly or slow me down much at all. At the breakfast stop Petrie suggested wighing the damn thing and, foolisly, I followed her advice. It turned out I was carrying 13 kgs. All of a sudden it just seemed much too heavy and I lost my momentum. I was still ahead of the girls but not quite as much and my progress was slow and a bit laboured.

The miles went past and the scenery changed. I was heading up the hill and into the mountains that divede Leon from Galicia. It started to rain, then some light snow and the wind picked up. When I reached Herreira I was already at the snow line (lower this past week than much of the winter) and the scenery started taking on a lonely and forlorn air. No one passed me and I saw few cars. After passing another village I was on my own. No more cars or people to be seen. Very little visibility and more snow and wind plus a much steeper incline to add to my woes. In addition, that pack seemed to be getting heavier and heavier.

From then on it became a battle of wills. I was reluctant to risk being stuck below the summit because I didn't know how long it would take me to get down to the village where I had to catch my bus back to Madrid, and work, the following day. Each step seemed more difficult, my breathing got more ragged and I was not sure I could make it. There was no sign telling me how much further to the next village and no sign of life anywhere. I had passed La Fava and was heading to Laguna de Castilla, aboout 2.5 kms away. Those two and a half thousand metres of uphill torture seemed longer than I expected and my rest stop seemed ever further away.

Its at times like these that we draw on our hidden reserves, our hidden strengths. I sang songs like Waltzing Matilda, both the anthem and the Eric Bogle version, as well as other such national anthems and stirring tunes. Bellowing them out to the wilderness seemed to give me strength and kept me going. Another thing that helped was the fact that the poncho was pulled tight around my face and therefore I could concentrate on putting pne foot in front of the other, on step at the time. I also remembered one of the lines from "Galaxy Quest", a silly movie, a send up of the Space movies, . Repeating "Never Give up, Never Surrender" in the vein of Alan Rickman and the rest provided comic relief and inspiration in equal amounts.

I finally got to the village and found a welcoming inn, a resting place for my soaked and weary body. There was a fire in the grate, the smell of food and no one else to get in the way. I changed out of my wet clothes and spread out my things to dry. Unfortunately, I found I could not eat much at all and all I could manage to drink was the Aquarius that I hoped would restore the chemical balance of my inner liquids. Later I also managed a strong black coffee with a shot of orujo (the local aguardiente) that the owner insisted on adding in order to give me strength.

It was about then that we saw some shadows passing the fogged up windows and we raced outside to see who they were. It was two of the other travelers, two ladies from Murcia, who assured me that Monica and Ptrie were just behind them. Indeed they were. How happy I was to see them! They had a drink as well and off we headed into the whiteness. There was another forty minutes or so to go, as it turned out. We got to the top and could see nothing but some ghostly posts that gave no real indication of a track. We tried to keep to the middle of the vague suggestion of a road that some of the poles indicated. All of a sudden we heard the muffled sound of a powerful engine and some lights made faint by the blizzard. It was a great big snow plow that came to clear the road and show us the way to salvation.

All of a sudden we were thrown into a Christmas landscape. Sleighs and brightly coloured beanies, children screaming with pleasure and a adults grinning sheepishly because they did not want to seem to be enjoying themselves to much. What a change, what a difference a few feet made. We had reached our goal, we had walked about 30 kilometers, probably the hardest ones I could remember. We walked through the village admiring that winter wonderland that just a short time earlier had seemed so inhospitable and even disturbing. The hostel was big and new, it had heating and very hot showers with strong water pressure. Paradise!

After a shower and a rest we headed out to explore and to find a place for dinner. The cold I had been fending off for two days had finally caught up with me and I could not eat anything or even drink a glass of wine. I was really knackered but the girls were bearing up well in spite of the pains and bruises. I took some tablets and fell asleep rather early, hoping to recover for the morning's trek to the bus about four kms down the hill.