Compostella.... Campo de Estrellas.... Champ d’Etoiles.... Field of Stars....
....left behind when one leaves Santiago. The route to the end of the earth did not pass by the Padron River from whence came the shells of St James, according to legend, so I did not see it. However, in the bay at Fisterra I did collect a few shells from the beach on my way to Cabo do Finisterre. Beyond the lighthouse on the Cape upon which it stands is a stone cross and statue of St James carved within its plinth, facing the sea. Late afternoon, on the 18th November, saw me there at the end of my Camino. The wind blew; the sun was largely hidden behind thin clouds; the sea was grey; and a symbolic metal boot was affixed to a stone near the carving of St James. Three days walk from Santiago, which I had not realised until I reached Santiago was a pilgrimage for many, down the centuries. Whether done for spiritual reasons or any other the walk from Santiago to Cabo do Finisterre is well worth doing and provides a fitting conclusion to a long walk.
Very strongly recommended!
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Une découverte
Avant mon périple je n’avais aucune intention de marcher entre Santiago et Finisterre. Je savais qu’il y avait des personnes qui faisaient ce Chemin. Puis, lors de mon trajet le long du Chemin de Santiago on m’a dit que c’était très beau, bien différent de toute le reste du Chemin, donc je me suis décidé de le faire. Maintenant, je peux bien dire que ça valait la peine. Dès que l’on échappe la banlieu de Santiago on entre dans un paysage vraiment beau qui change graduellement au fur et mesure que l’on approche à la mer. Il faut, normalement, 3 jours de marche, avec 2 étapes assez longues (33 et 39 km jusqu’à Cabo do Finisterre).
Ce n’était qu’à Santiago même pendant une visite au Bureau de Tourisme de Galicia que j’ai découvert que beaucoup de pèlerins d’autrefois marchaient entre Santiago et Finisterre. L’histoire du pèlerinage à Finisterre et Muxia date presque de l’époque de la découverte du tombeau de St Jacques au 9eme siècle.
Ce n’était qu’à Santiago même pendant une visite au Bureau de Tourisme de Galicia que j’ai découvert que beaucoup de pèlerins d’autrefois marchaient entre Santiago et Finisterre. L’histoire du pèlerinage à Finisterre et Muxia date presque de l’époque de la découverte du tombeau de St Jacques au 9eme siècle.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
The glory that is Galicia
The watch alarm alerts me to tell me it’s getting up time. I slide out of my sleeping bag. Catherine, sleeping opposite, slips out from under hers; Jaime, the Spaniard, rests on. With stealth we pack up and move downstairs. She sets off at 7h30 with a man (her boy-friend?). I have a light breakfast. I move quietly out of the warm albergue at 7h45 into the cool of the pre-dawn. Negreira in the valley to my right is hidden by mist. I climb by the light of the silvery moon, “the silvery moon, moon, moon, by the light of the silvery moon”…..
I espy the cemetery off to one side, dark crosses above a wall silhouetted against the moonlit sky. I search for the yellow arrows to direct me along the Camino, my torch being helpful because they are not well defined here and to get through the labyrinth of little streets in the village without time wasting is important. 33 km to do today.
On through eucalyptus woods, out into the open to see the hills cloaked in cloud and some valleys shrouded in mist in the early light.
Half past eight is sunrise but I don’t see the sun on the tops of the trees for another 10 or 15 minutes. The Camino meanders through woods, the path often running with water, up hill and down dale….it’s getting warmer now in the sun….low lying clouds have lifted….my shoulders tell me it’s time for a break. I see a sign and arrow for a bar in which I stop, order a small, black coffee and the “duena” offers me “olojo” (a sort of eau de vie) to put in it – Germans like this, she tells me – so I try it. Not too bad, but I think it necessary to acquire the taste. Clearly I shall need more practice at this! She has lived and worked in England, I gather, so helps me to correct some of my Spanish. A bocadillo (sandwich) of chorizo and cheese is on the menu: will do well for my lunch, I think.
On I go, in the warm sun, along a road, tracks, back to the road with its fine commanding views, hilltops crowned with windmills.
The clump, clump, clump of boots is all I hear. Absolute stillness; no wind, no sound but the boots….but no! A distant note catches my ear. A carillon? Surely not. Listen. No, a bell, a church bell ringing: t’is 12 noon. The silence resumes, I turn onto a track, a post tells me it is 49.730 km to Muxia. I follow the track, gently upwards, straight. I see a figure some distance up front, speckled in the sun and shade of pine trees. I hear a dog yelping off to the right beyond the thick gorse.
“What are you hunting?”
“Rabbits”, the hunter replies.
“And your shotgun: is it a 12 bore?”
“Yes. It’s difficult here, because of the thick country,” he gestures towards the gorse.
I leave the hunter in his red and white diamond coloured jumper, shotgun slung over his shoulder, and continue, now downward, along the track. Another hunter is off to the right along another track, some 150m away.
Two noisy tractors pass me, disturbing the peace…. I spot some boulders ahead….ideal place to have lunch, look at the view, admire the high vapour trails, windmills on a distant crest, and listen to the hunters shouting at each other / their dogs….. not a shot fired, yet.
Two German pilgrims (brothers) from the albergue last night pass me as I sit. One stops for a short chat. A few minutes later a young Italian girl, also from the albergue, passes by. Lunch over I walk on, some 200m behind her. I pass through fields, there are views….the girl reaches a T-junction, I see her turn right. I arrive: a complication. Which way? Left or right? No arrows. Exactly opposite is a kilometre post with the Camino emblem, a yellow “shell”on a blue background. The “spikes” of the shell point left. Way back, 700 km ago, in Roncevalles, the tourist office gave me a brochure which said that the Camino sign did not necessarily point in the direction of travel. This has been proven quite correct. However, since Santiago I have noticed that the “spikes” have always pointed the way to go, therefore I should go left, and do so. The next 500m is spent wondering, even worrying, whether this is right (because I hate going back!). Check direction from the sun, should be going WNW so it looks good. The next village shows a yellow arrow; good, the right way.
Onwards….I notice on all the hilltops around me there are windmills. My mind drifts…..
……Unlike Don Quijote I will not be tilting at windmills – too many, and they outnumber me some 200 to 1. They are like Gideon’s men on the hilltops, ranged like an army –Primero y Segundo Regimiento de Eolicos (has a certain ring to it (1st and 2nd Regiment of Windmills)), but all almost unmoving in the still air – must be deployed to stop pilgrims - should be able to slip through them unnoticed into the next valley – the 2 or 3 turning ones are facing the wrong way, so that’s OK, I’ll get through.
Over a crest and in front of me there is a large lake, more hills all around, more windmills! What a view! Another problem with the direction of travel but soon resolved.
Walking along a track a small dog, at 200m, runs to attack but as soon as he gets close he stops, retreats into hiding in the village. Ah, a village…..it’s the season of muck-spreading and each village has its street covered with cow crap or muck – what an odour!! And, believe me, there is a difference! And this one is muck! On the left drawers, jeans, shirts, vests, slippers draped along a fence to dry….on the right outside a house a rug thrown on a stone table in the sun, cats all around, but, wait a moment, that’s no rug, it’s a dog, curled up, snoozing….further on, cows corralled in a yard, mooing to be let out, 3 with heads over a wall, munching the neighbour’s prize bushes…..
…..in a field an elderly woman, clothed in black cardigan, blue dress, boots, wide-brimmed hat, sombrero-like, wielding sickle and stave in a field of cows. Lord, am I to see her let blood, blood on the grass? She scurries across the field, waves her stave, shouts at the animals, she wants them where they do not necessarily want to be….I walk on to let the drama unfold……another woman in another field, dressed all in black and a long peaked cap, armed with a sickle, and this time using it to cut the bramble hedge.
“You’ll have to wield it more rapidly than that, lady, or else you’ll still be here at Christmas, with all that hedge to do”, I think.
I emerge from a wooded road into the open and suddenly I see more crosses of a cemetery limned against the sky once more. The cemetery is on the side of a hill. It has a calvary in front of it, a chapel in the middle, a wall surmounted by 2 bells, and the tombs on 3 sides. A car draws up, out struggle 2 old ladies in black and a slightly younger man. He tolls the larger bell once. It is 4 pm exactly so I say,
“You need another 3 strikes.”
“It’s for somebody sleeping,” he answers. He tolls the larger bell once more, then the smaller once.
“You mean someone has died?” I say. He agrees. We talk. Later, I establish I have 3 km to walk to Olveiroa. He claps me on the shoulder: “Buen suerte, buen viaje”, he says.
At last the sign, hidden in the pampas grass at the side of the road: Olveiroa. Shortly afterwards, I reach a road junction where an old lady sits on the wall; she sits such that I cannot see in which direction the arrow points (vital information for a tired pilgrim!).
“The pilgrims’ albergue?” I ask.
“??!!??!!,” she answers in Galician.
“Straight on?” I try again.
“!!!???!!! left” I hear, as she hunches over in a fit of coughing. I hasten away, not wishing to be responsible for the collapse of the old lady.
The legs are protesting; it’s time to stop. The albergue comes into view…..
Not a single shop all day, no food at the inn, and little at the local bar – but all this was expected. Could be a long night on the wine in the bar! But the innkeeper comes up trumps: soup with noodles and vegetables in copious quantity for the 7 pilgrims wanting it, bread, fruit and wine….
…..it’s been a good day in Galicia.
I espy the cemetery off to one side, dark crosses above a wall silhouetted against the moonlit sky. I search for the yellow arrows to direct me along the Camino, my torch being helpful because they are not well defined here and to get through the labyrinth of little streets in the village without time wasting is important. 33 km to do today.
On through eucalyptus woods, out into the open to see the hills cloaked in cloud and some valleys shrouded in mist in the early light.
Half past eight is sunrise but I don’t see the sun on the tops of the trees for another 10 or 15 minutes. The Camino meanders through woods, the path often running with water, up hill and down dale….it’s getting warmer now in the sun….low lying clouds have lifted….my shoulders tell me it’s time for a break. I see a sign and arrow for a bar in which I stop, order a small, black coffee and the “duena” offers me “olojo” (a sort of eau de vie) to put in it – Germans like this, she tells me – so I try it. Not too bad, but I think it necessary to acquire the taste. Clearly I shall need more practice at this! She has lived and worked in England, I gather, so helps me to correct some of my Spanish. A bocadillo (sandwich) of chorizo and cheese is on the menu: will do well for my lunch, I think.
On I go, in the warm sun, along a road, tracks, back to the road with its fine commanding views, hilltops crowned with windmills.
The clump, clump, clump of boots is all I hear. Absolute stillness; no wind, no sound but the boots….but no! A distant note catches my ear. A carillon? Surely not. Listen. No, a bell, a church bell ringing: t’is 12 noon. The silence resumes, I turn onto a track, a post tells me it is 49.730 km to Muxia. I follow the track, gently upwards, straight. I see a figure some distance up front, speckled in the sun and shade of pine trees. I hear a dog yelping off to the right beyond the thick gorse.
“What are you hunting?”
“Rabbits”, the hunter replies.
“And your shotgun: is it a 12 bore?”
“Yes. It’s difficult here, because of the thick country,” he gestures towards the gorse.
I leave the hunter in his red and white diamond coloured jumper, shotgun slung over his shoulder, and continue, now downward, along the track. Another hunter is off to the right along another track, some 150m away.
Two noisy tractors pass me, disturbing the peace…. I spot some boulders ahead….ideal place to have lunch, look at the view, admire the high vapour trails, windmills on a distant crest, and listen to the hunters shouting at each other / their dogs….. not a shot fired, yet.
Two German pilgrims (brothers) from the albergue last night pass me as I sit. One stops for a short chat. A few minutes later a young Italian girl, also from the albergue, passes by. Lunch over I walk on, some 200m behind her. I pass through fields, there are views….the girl reaches a T-junction, I see her turn right. I arrive: a complication. Which way? Left or right? No arrows. Exactly opposite is a kilometre post with the Camino emblem, a yellow “shell”on a blue background. The “spikes” of the shell point left. Way back, 700 km ago, in Roncevalles, the tourist office gave me a brochure which said that the Camino sign did not necessarily point in the direction of travel. This has been proven quite correct. However, since Santiago I have noticed that the “spikes” have always pointed the way to go, therefore I should go left, and do so. The next 500m is spent wondering, even worrying, whether this is right (because I hate going back!). Check direction from the sun, should be going WNW so it looks good. The next village shows a yellow arrow; good, the right way.
Onwards….I notice on all the hilltops around me there are windmills. My mind drifts…..
……Unlike Don Quijote I will not be tilting at windmills – too many, and they outnumber me some 200 to 1. They are like Gideon’s men on the hilltops, ranged like an army –Primero y Segundo Regimiento de Eolicos (has a certain ring to it (1st and 2nd Regiment of Windmills)), but all almost unmoving in the still air – must be deployed to stop pilgrims - should be able to slip through them unnoticed into the next valley – the 2 or 3 turning ones are facing the wrong way, so that’s OK, I’ll get through.
Over a crest and in front of me there is a large lake, more hills all around, more windmills! What a view! Another problem with the direction of travel but soon resolved.
Walking along a track a small dog, at 200m, runs to attack but as soon as he gets close he stops, retreats into hiding in the village. Ah, a village…..it’s the season of muck-spreading and each village has its street covered with cow crap or muck – what an odour!! And, believe me, there is a difference! And this one is muck! On the left drawers, jeans, shirts, vests, slippers draped along a fence to dry….on the right outside a house a rug thrown on a stone table in the sun, cats all around, but, wait a moment, that’s no rug, it’s a dog, curled up, snoozing….further on, cows corralled in a yard, mooing to be let out, 3 with heads over a wall, munching the neighbour’s prize bushes…..
…..in a field an elderly woman, clothed in black cardigan, blue dress, boots, wide-brimmed hat, sombrero-like, wielding sickle and stave in a field of cows. Lord, am I to see her let blood, blood on the grass? She scurries across the field, waves her stave, shouts at the animals, she wants them where they do not necessarily want to be….I walk on to let the drama unfold……another woman in another field, dressed all in black and a long peaked cap, armed with a sickle, and this time using it to cut the bramble hedge.
“You’ll have to wield it more rapidly than that, lady, or else you’ll still be here at Christmas, with all that hedge to do”, I think.
I emerge from a wooded road into the open and suddenly I see more crosses of a cemetery limned against the sky once more. The cemetery is on the side of a hill. It has a calvary in front of it, a chapel in the middle, a wall surmounted by 2 bells, and the tombs on 3 sides. A car draws up, out struggle 2 old ladies in black and a slightly younger man. He tolls the larger bell once. It is 4 pm exactly so I say,
“You need another 3 strikes.”
“It’s for somebody sleeping,” he answers. He tolls the larger bell once more, then the smaller once.
“You mean someone has died?” I say. He agrees. We talk. Later, I establish I have 3 km to walk to Olveiroa. He claps me on the shoulder: “Buen suerte, buen viaje”, he says.
At last the sign, hidden in the pampas grass at the side of the road: Olveiroa. Shortly afterwards, I reach a road junction where an old lady sits on the wall; she sits such that I cannot see in which direction the arrow points (vital information for a tired pilgrim!).
“The pilgrims’ albergue?” I ask.
“??!!??!!,” she answers in Galician.
“Straight on?” I try again.
“!!!???!!! left” I hear, as she hunches over in a fit of coughing. I hasten away, not wishing to be responsible for the collapse of the old lady.
The legs are protesting; it’s time to stop. The albergue comes into view…..
Not a single shop all day, no food at the inn, and little at the local bar – but all this was expected. Could be a long night on the wine in the bar! But the innkeeper comes up trumps: soup with noodles and vegetables in copious quantity for the 7 pilgrims wanting it, bread, fruit and wine….
…..it’s been a good day in Galicia.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
In the shadow of pilgrims...
Having arrived at Santiago I have attained the destination I set out to reach, the end of the Camino in its physical sense: the tomb of St James the Apostle. At the Cathedral one steps away from the Camino, walked (in my case)for some 1550 km from Le Puy-en-Velay; this is but one place in the Way of Life which continues after I leave Santiago.
The first recorded pilgrim, Godescalc, walked from Le Puy in 951 and there have been many thousands since. I have walked in their shadow, met many pilgrims and walkers along the Way and very much lived the experience. Santiago de Compostella is special in that it marks the goal of the pilgrim, but there are many special places along the Camino, be they Conques, Burgos, Puente de la Reina, St Jean Pied de Port, and others, and they all combine to make up the whole Camino and its life. It has all been very worthwhile and much enjoyed.
I have likened the Camino to a river flowing along inexorably bearing its pilgrims - and so it has proved to be. Because I stopped to rest and sometimes walked shorter stages I have met new faces coming along behind. Although the albergues are less full than in summer there are still walkers even as winter gathers pace and so it will continue with the route becoming even more popular and walked by more and more people of different nationalities. I have met men and women from 21 different nations, at least, during my peregrination. A woman running a bar in La Calle about 20 km east of Santiago said that some 40 - 50 pilgrims were stopping at her place each day at the moment - and that, of course, does not include those who pass by outside.
The final walk into Santiago was from Lavacolla, some 10 km away, and where tradition has it that the pilgrim stops for his final night so he can smarten himself up before entering the city and cathedral the next morning. It was a more pleasant walk than I anticipated being through a eucalyptus wood (we have walked amongst eucalyptus forests for 3 days), and yet more hills before arriving in the city (and a few days ago I was complaining that it was too flat when on the Meseta!)
Arrival in the square in front of the enormous cathedral at 1115 on Monday, 14 November, was a moving moment; attendance at Mass was also a moving moment in particular with the most beautiful singing by a nun who took part in the service. I remembered the paper I had "drawn" from the basket in the Cathedral of Le Puy about the family who had lost their son aged 6 1/2, and which I was to bring to the Cathedral in Santiago, and pray for the family and lost son.
The sun is shining: it is time to explore Santiago, the city whose raison d´être is the pilgrim coming to visit the tomb of St James.....and tomorrow I walk on to Finisterra.
The first recorded pilgrim, Godescalc, walked from Le Puy in 951 and there have been many thousands since. I have walked in their shadow, met many pilgrims and walkers along the Way and very much lived the experience. Santiago de Compostella is special in that it marks the goal of the pilgrim, but there are many special places along the Camino, be they Conques, Burgos, Puente de la Reina, St Jean Pied de Port, and others, and they all combine to make up the whole Camino and its life. It has all been very worthwhile and much enjoyed.
I have likened the Camino to a river flowing along inexorably bearing its pilgrims - and so it has proved to be. Because I stopped to rest and sometimes walked shorter stages I have met new faces coming along behind. Although the albergues are less full than in summer there are still walkers even as winter gathers pace and so it will continue with the route becoming even more popular and walked by more and more people of different nationalities. I have met men and women from 21 different nations, at least, during my peregrination. A woman running a bar in La Calle about 20 km east of Santiago said that some 40 - 50 pilgrims were stopping at her place each day at the moment - and that, of course, does not include those who pass by outside.
The final walk into Santiago was from Lavacolla, some 10 km away, and where tradition has it that the pilgrim stops for his final night so he can smarten himself up before entering the city and cathedral the next morning. It was a more pleasant walk than I anticipated being through a eucalyptus wood (we have walked amongst eucalyptus forests for 3 days), and yet more hills before arriving in the city (and a few days ago I was complaining that it was too flat when on the Meseta!)
Arrival in the square in front of the enormous cathedral at 1115 on Monday, 14 November, was a moving moment; attendance at Mass was also a moving moment in particular with the most beautiful singing by a nun who took part in the service. I remembered the paper I had "drawn" from the basket in the Cathedral of Le Puy about the family who had lost their son aged 6 1/2, and which I was to bring to the Cathedral in Santiago, and pray for the family and lost son.
The sun is shining: it is time to explore Santiago, the city whose raison d´être is the pilgrim coming to visit the tomb of St James.....and tomorrow I walk on to Finisterra.
Saturday, November 12, 2005
A new arrival
The walk into Sarria from Triacastela was done in heavy rain - "It´s raining again in torrents, they say!" - and wind. A less than good afternoon....!
From Sarria I am to walk with my wife to Santiago (111 km).
She writes:
"Well, I am here. I have arrived with fear and trepidation. Will I be able to cope with the distance and pack? Will my toes behave? The time has come.... It´s raining. I can´t quite believe I have to don all the wet weather gear to start in. No, it´s stopped. It is 8C and 8.25am, just about light enough to see and it has started to rain again! Get on with it!
At least there is someone to talk to and the countryside is very pretty, and I don´t feel sick any more. It is only a very short stage today [15 km] and a most welcoming "casa" although cold. The radiators don´t come on until 7pm. It has long since stopped raining and after a shower I am beginning to feel human again and Santiago is now less than 100 km! Roll on the Paradors!!"
[Written last Wednesday; today is Saturday.]
We are now in Arzua some 35 km from the Cathedral in Santiago. And still it rains! But yesterday it was lovely: sun all day.
God willing we will reach Santiago the day after tomorrow...
From Sarria I am to walk with my wife to Santiago (111 km).
She writes:
"Well, I am here. I have arrived with fear and trepidation. Will I be able to cope with the distance and pack? Will my toes behave? The time has come.... It´s raining. I can´t quite believe I have to don all the wet weather gear to start in. No, it´s stopped. It is 8C and 8.25am, just about light enough to see and it has started to rain again! Get on with it!
At least there is someone to talk to and the countryside is very pretty, and I don´t feel sick any more. It is only a very short stage today [15 km] and a most welcoming "casa" although cold. The radiators don´t come on until 7pm. It has long since stopped raining and after a shower I am beginning to feel human again and Santiago is now less than 100 km! Roll on the Paradors!!"
[Written last Wednesday; today is Saturday.]
We are now in Arzua some 35 km from the Cathedral in Santiago. And still it rains! But yesterday it was lovely: sun all day.
God willing we will reach Santiago the day after tomorrow...
Une promenade dans les nuages
Ayant sortie de l´Albergue Gaucelmo gere par la Fraternite de St Jacques (Confraternity of St James) a Rabanal del Camino j´assistait a un beau lever de soleil. Deux heures plus tard est arrivee la Croix de Ferro dans les nuages. J´ai pose une pierre sur le tas de pierres qui entourent la base de la Croix. (La tradition exige que l´on apporte une pierre de chez soi pour la poser, mais celle que j´ai placee est venue de 2 km de la Croix!) La Croix se trouve a léndroit le plus eleve de mon Chemin a quelques 1520m d´altitude. J´ai continue.
Beau matin le lendemain quand j´ai quitte l´Albergue Ponferrada a 7h45 - belle vue sur les montagnes - mais 10 minutes plus tard les nuages ont tout obscures et ne se levent qu´a 12h00, puis vues impressionantes sur les vignobles de Bierzo, sur les Sierras et Villafranca del Bierzo eventuellement. On dit a Villafranca: "S´il fait de la brume le matin il fera du soleil l´apres-midi".
Donc, le lendemain matin, apres avoir franchi le pont de Villafranca je suis monte par une petite rue a droite. "On peut opter pour la variant par Pradela, mais a condition que la forme physique et que le beau temps soient au rendez-vous," dit mon guide. J´étais en forme et je pensais que la brume dans la vallee ou se trouvait le village ne serait plus sur les hauteurs, donc j´ai suivi la variante. Et quelle recompense! Apres 20 minutes de pente raide j´ai emerge de la brume: vista magnifique! 50 minutes pour parvenir au sommet, les vues a l´est vers la neige sur les Montes de Leon, a l´ouest vers O Cebreiro ou j´allais marcher, au nord et au sud, et en contre-bas dans la vallee de Valcarce. 50 minutes de marche le long d´une crete, et 50 minutes de descente, souvent raide, a travers les chataigneraies ou quelques personnes ramassaient les chataignes.... Une variante qui valait la peine....mais l´avertissement ecrit en jaune sur un rocher au debut etait juste: "Muy duro, solo por buen caminantes" (Tres dur, seulement pour de bons marcheurs).
Quelques heures plus tard la montee sur 7 km de Las Herrerias a O Cebreiro (1300m). De preference j´ai suivi la route goudronnee: montee constante, assez raide. Avant d´arriver a O Cebreiro on remarque les vues splendides, et on passe de la province de Castilla y Leon a la Galicie, enfin.
Le village de O Cebreiro est unique sur le Chemin: maisons en granit (?), quelques toits de paille de seigle, 2 magasins touristiques, un petit magasin d´alimentation, 2-3 maisons rurales (=gites), une albergue pelerin, 2-3 restaurants, une eglise. Vue magnifique sur 360 degres. Heureusement pour moi beau temps le soir et le matin suivant (tres rare on dit. J´ai appris qu´il y avait de la neige hier soir). Diner (menu du jour) dans un resto a cote de la cheminee: soupe a legumes, veau + pommes frites, fromage d´O Cebreiro avec miel (tres bon), vin. Bonne camaraderie avec d´autres pelerins...... Je dirais une des meilleures journees de mon Camino.
Beau matin le lendemain quand j´ai quitte l´Albergue Ponferrada a 7h45 - belle vue sur les montagnes - mais 10 minutes plus tard les nuages ont tout obscures et ne se levent qu´a 12h00, puis vues impressionantes sur les vignobles de Bierzo, sur les Sierras et Villafranca del Bierzo eventuellement. On dit a Villafranca: "S´il fait de la brume le matin il fera du soleil l´apres-midi".
Donc, le lendemain matin, apres avoir franchi le pont de Villafranca je suis monte par une petite rue a droite. "On peut opter pour la variant par Pradela, mais a condition que la forme physique et que le beau temps soient au rendez-vous," dit mon guide. J´étais en forme et je pensais que la brume dans la vallee ou se trouvait le village ne serait plus sur les hauteurs, donc j´ai suivi la variante. Et quelle recompense! Apres 20 minutes de pente raide j´ai emerge de la brume: vista magnifique! 50 minutes pour parvenir au sommet, les vues a l´est vers la neige sur les Montes de Leon, a l´ouest vers O Cebreiro ou j´allais marcher, au nord et au sud, et en contre-bas dans la vallee de Valcarce. 50 minutes de marche le long d´une crete, et 50 minutes de descente, souvent raide, a travers les chataigneraies ou quelques personnes ramassaient les chataignes.... Une variante qui valait la peine....mais l´avertissement ecrit en jaune sur un rocher au debut etait juste: "Muy duro, solo por buen caminantes" (Tres dur, seulement pour de bons marcheurs).
Quelques heures plus tard la montee sur 7 km de Las Herrerias a O Cebreiro (1300m). De preference j´ai suivi la route goudronnee: montee constante, assez raide. Avant d´arriver a O Cebreiro on remarque les vues splendides, et on passe de la province de Castilla y Leon a la Galicie, enfin.
Le village de O Cebreiro est unique sur le Chemin: maisons en granit (?), quelques toits de paille de seigle, 2 magasins touristiques, un petit magasin d´alimentation, 2-3 maisons rurales (=gites), une albergue pelerin, 2-3 restaurants, une eglise. Vue magnifique sur 360 degres. Heureusement pour moi beau temps le soir et le matin suivant (tres rare on dit. J´ai appris qu´il y avait de la neige hier soir). Diner (menu du jour) dans un resto a cote de la cheminee: soupe a legumes, veau + pommes frites, fromage d´O Cebreiro avec miel (tres bon), vin. Bonne camaraderie avec d´autres pelerins...... Je dirais une des meilleures journees de mon Camino.
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