Paula’s Epilogue

So concludes another adventure with Wildebeest and Zebra. So ends our roaming as accidental tourists, stumbling into kindnesses and shared humanity.  Children all over the world chase pigeons.  We return with equal amount of gratitude and humility. Maybe when we feel most ridiculous, we feel most alive.

We are aware that once 20 summers, are now are 16.

We made it to Santiago de Compostela. I am feeling a sense of loss that this journey is over. I will miss starting the day with a challenge and ending it with a sense of accomplishment.  I will miss the intimacy of walking for hours in silence with Paula.  I will miss the unexpected surprises the Camino unfolded for us.   

If my doubt at the beginning of the walk was whether it would hold the same attraction as our other 3 walks the answer is a resounding yes, but this one was very different. It was much harder than we anticipated.  No doubt the monsoon rains and hurricane force winds contribute to that perception, but the pace and effort were more challenging.  The guidebooks don’t warn you of entire days walking up hill, sometimes at a 15-degree angle.   But we did it.

The question “Why Compostela” still agitates.  St. James the Greater was an Apostle, Brother of John the Evangelist, some say he was a brother of Jesus Chris.  He evangelized in Galicia, returned to Jerusalem in 40 CE where he was beheaded, and his remains were taken back to Galicia where they were discovered around 800 CE.  He wrote the Epistles to the Galicians and was the first apostle to be martyred.     Alfonse II can be credited with starting the Santiago cult when he built the first iteration of the cathedral in Compostela, around the time of the Reconquista, a Cathedral that has been embellished, adorned, monumentalized through the centuries.  The one common thread is that for the last 1000 years it has been one of the most well known and frequented pilgrimage destinations.   We are talking millions of pilgrims.  It helped that in 1122 Pope Callixtus II endowed plenary indulgence to those who pilgrimaged, on a holy year,  to Santiago de Compostella. 

These days pilgrims are looking for fellowship as much as indulgence.  Joining the River is to join that global fraternity that grasps the spark ignited by Alfonse II to light their path and give them purpose.  Arriving to Compostela must measure up to their expectations to experience a world beyond their diurnal existence.

The Compostela spectacle does not disappoint. The exterior baroque façade is a flight of fancy, the interior is extravagant.  We were fortunate to be in the cathedral when they lit up the botafumeiro, a 160 lb incense burner, and let it swing at 40 mph. .  An odd ceremony, originally intended to fumigate the smelly pilgrims, these just days adding to the majesty of the setting.  Ritual perpetuates legend.

Our walk is done.  643 Kms.  We are grateful we were able to do it.  We yearn to do another. And now a Lenny Bruce joke:

“If Jesus had been killed 20 years ago, Catholic school children would be wearing little electric chairs around their necks instead of crosses.”

“Where are youz guiz from?” At first Dex’s accent was distracting, the tongue stud wasn’t helping.  The tables in the center piazza were tightly arranged.  Dex and Ricky, both English, one from New Castle the other 10Km outside Canterbury.  The two men met several years earlier and became buddies for an annual guy’s trip, their wives were not interested in hiking or walking.  

“Dexter”, as he introduced himself, “Dex” to his friends had been married twice.  Removing his wedding ring and reveling a skull tattoo he explained the skull was a modification to his first wife’s name “Maggy”.  Learning from this experience he has a plan should his marriage to Lisa fail. Pointing to the large letters LISA around his ankle he explained that an easy alteration would be “At LISA I tried.”

The duo are walking from Porto to Santiago, “money and time are tight.”  We all agreed that long journeys were a great luxury of many different resources. Although they had been on the path a relative short period of time, they were enjoying a kind of celebrity status. Many people were stopping by their table, sharing stories, their names were shouted across the square. Updates were exchanged on injuries, including sharing and comparing photos of blisters. The spectacle was a version of the bar scene from Indiana Jones.

As the crowd of fans thinned it was Ricky’s turn to share his story.  Working as a circus clown he had fallen in love with a Venezuelan woman, “we were just kids.”  “She didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak Spanish, so it took some time, you know.” Her entire extended family were a traveling circus, literally. An uncle was a tight rope walker, her parents were on the trapeze, and she juggled. After several years they married and settled for a more traditional life.

By the end of dinner, their 3 pitchers of Sangria and our bottle of wine consumed, they were man crushing hard on Edward.  At one point when Edward briefly left the table Dex leaned in close, as though sharing a secret, “Edward seems to be really opening up to us.”

We moved with the River on a bright sunny day listening to Saunder’s A Swim in a Pond in in the Rain and then Carroll’s Constantine’s Sword, not speaking much but fully connected through our Ear Pods. This was an easy stage, mild undulations through pine, eucalyptus and gum forests along streams and creeks.  

 This evening as we ate dinner at a restaurant along the River Umia we met Derrek from New Castle and Chris from London who were walking from Porto to Campostela at a 40 km clip per day and had the blisters and sore muscles to show for it.  They climbed Kilimanjaro and to Everest base camp over the last couple of years, but, they said, this Camino was the most difficult thing they have done, which made us wonder if we were completely unmoored from reality.

We’ve walked through England, across France and the Alps, the length of the Italian Peninsula and Portugal without encountering more than a handful of fellow travelers per day, so walking in a river of people flowing toward Santiago requires an adjustment.  We are with walkers of all sizes and shapes and from every nationality known to the UN.  There is the large group of excitable English walkers, no more than 20 years old, walking with a soccer ball, playing the anthem I Will Survive on their boom box as we were scaling a steep hill.  There is the quartet of older men in matching brown t-shirts who stopped to examine every vineyard.  There is the sextet of men and women from Japan – the women wearing long sleeves, gloves, turtlenecks, long pants and full-face masks – who seemed in a hurry.  Cheery faces, loud conversations, boisterous laughter, the kaleidoscope of hiking outfits seem out of place to the secluded world we have become used to while walking.  

Several “Caminos” converged at Redondela, tripling the number of pilgrims.  We knew this pilgrim high tide was coming but it’s another thing altogether to be in it.  What are all these people doing on a trail in the middle of nowhere and why?  Which begs the question: what are we doing on the trail?  More than likely that a good number, perhaps 75%, are walking to Santiago as an act of devotion to the Apostle James, who is buried there, or for the plenary indulgence which one is granted for competing the walk. More on that in later postings.   Some are walking for bragging rights (How many Caminos have you done?), kind of like peak bragging or ironman tattoos.  Others, and I put Paula and me in this group, are doing it because we like thru walking with a destination in mind.  Paula thinks some are “revenge walking” after a divorce or after being fired, but the only evidence of that category is some of the sullen, angry faces we encountered. 

One final note.  Today the River took us to Pontevedra in Galicia.  What a jewel of a town.  A large, vibrant, pedestrian historic center lined with restaurants and cafes where Ponteverdians, young and old, gather and socialize, what urban life should be.

April 24, 2025

Paula’s Weekly Summary: News from the Back.

We’ve walked 567km averaging 27 kms a day.  Vasco de GamBa has kept us safe and on the path. While walking, frequently single file, we engage in interesting conversations.  The road noise can be overwhelming, and we often fail to hear the correct words or content, but 43 years of marriage and a good imagination increase the entertainment value.

The epic, historical, almost biblical rain has passed. An enduring image remains – a procession of pilgrims appearing to be chased down the beach path by billowing parachutes of brightly colored backpack covers in stark contrast to the dark and menacing sky.  In silhouette they resembled the Jacob Lawrence migration series.  Maybe April is the cruelest month.

But the sun has come out, Lent is over, our hotel windows are draped with laundry and the Camino tan is awakened. Not quite the Hajj, the Camino routes are lined with walkers. The metronome-like tapping of walking stick on pavement announces their proximity.  I am nostalgic for our solitude, for our fumbling, the pausing at intersections turning to all compass points and with a shrug hoping for the best. It was a walk but often resembled a scavenger hunt with an impish gps system. I realize this isn’t very Christian of me. Edward is the friendly Pilgrim.

Of course, no new update would be complete without a check in on the piggies. “The feet”, as they like to be called, are no longer enjoying top billing. Without the extensive morning rituals of mummification life has become simpler: put on socks, put on shoes. However, 10 new toenails will be on the Christmas list.

We read the news and struggle to comprehend let alone explain the America of today. I find myself veering off to secondary headlines of stories about a 26 lb. rabbit saved from a shelter and a group of polar bears repurposing an abandoned Russian weather station.

While checking out of our hotel a guest answering the clerk’s question, explained that she was returning home to Copenhagen.  I discreetly approached her and apologized. The lovely hotel guest responded with an elegant thank you. She didn’t say “Of course” or “Don’t be silly, no need for an apology”.  She just said thank you.  Earlier that day I learned that an Air B&B, in Copenhagen, was refusing to rent to Americans.  I hope we can find our Norma Rae like courage, jump on the table and hold up our signs proudly.

Souvenirs do not feature prominently on this walk.  No time, no space to accumulate treasures or mementos.  So, chards and mangled rusted wire suffice.  In addition to these collectables there is one more treasure I bring home. I have found a single playing card on each of our three previous walks. Just one card on each walk.  These weathered cards are framed and on display in our house in Flint Hill.  My dear friend MB, noticing the cards, asked their significance. I struggled to answer, I hadn’t identified any significance to these coincidental finds.  I just saw them on the road and liked the caprice. He pressed further: “might there be some significance?”   Suddenly! Yes, yes of course, now it seems so obvious.  My deceased parents loved playing cards, their social life included card games with friends. Last week I found the 2 of hearts along a busy road.  The google definition of the 2 of hearts is: “the 2 of hearts tells us there is power and purpose to be found in sharing the path with another.”

As we crossed an old roman bridge, now suitable only for pedestrian traffic, in a pine forest decorated with rows of wild calla lilies, about 10 km from the nearest town, we heard a siren’s wail of bagpipes.  A wedding procession?  Scottish observance of the day after the day after Easter? A funeral dirge? A short way on we found a lone piper standing on the side of the trail playing Amazing Grace.  We stood admiringly, he acknowledged us with a Buon Camino without missing a note, we dropped a contribution in his open pipe case, stamped our pilgrim passport with his stamp and walked on.

On our way out of Tui we were stopped by Ramon who, we were told, is on vacation in Tui.  The conversation was in Spanish: Santiago? Where are you from?  I had dinner last week in Santiago with the American Commercial Atache.  I have an article I want you to read.  Do you use WhatsApp? Ok I will send it to you.  Where in the US? Ah, I have a cousin that lives in DC, loves it.  America is a great country. You must see the Cathedral in Tui.  Spain is more beautiful than Portugal, we have better food. Have a good walk.   

And off we went to see the Cathedral, as directed. 

Ramon may be right about the food in Spain, but Portugal is unique.  2 points: it is clean in a Nordic sense.  Not a spot of trash to be found on the streets, a trash container always nearby.  Second, zebra stripes rule.  Traffic will be moving along at a clip pace but a pedestrian standing by the zebra stripes brings it all to a halt.    As we were leaving Esposende, the storm of the century town, we stood on the sidewalk ready to cross a road marked by those white stripes.  A van came to a halt, the car behind him did not.  The driver of the truck looked at us and assured us “it’s ok.”

Caminha’s center square is a sea of tables and chairs belonging to various restaurants and cafes housed in the noble looking structures lining its sides.  It’s easy to imagine it in the summer, a beehive of joyful activity, yet while only a few people sat drinking coffee this morning it was beautiful.  The 16^th century Igreja da Misericordia displayed a wildly ornate, gilded altar for such a small space, but it too was beautiful in a Rococo sort of way. 

We found our way to the Ecopista, a pedestrian and cycling path that hugs the Minho River for 32 km from Caminha to Valenca, the last city before our route crosses the river into Spain.   The path is carefully maintained, equipped with frequent benches and picnic tables and even a “refuge” mid-way serving a pilgrim menu of spicy chicken wings, french fries, salad, drink and coffee for Euro 7.50.  We ambled in this idyllic quiet setting for 7 hours before crossing the Minho and entering Tui, our first destination in Spain.

All the flags in Portugal and Spain are flying at half-mast in observance of the Pope’s death. 

We were in a hurry, because in the historic, traffic restricted, center of Viano do Castelo, the luggage had to be at the front door of the B&B by 8:00 am. As usual, I slathered my feet with Aquafor, quickly pulled up the socks, slid the into the boots and carried the bags to the front door where the driver of a small van was waiting. Paula and I then set off for our 28km walk to Caminha.

When we first start walking, early in the morning, we experience something like a surge of energy, maybe endophins are doing their work, each step is an acknowledgement that we are moving forward, everything and nothing is possiible.  After a few kilometers we are in a state of mild euphoria, we want to keep walking forever, but reality can go along or demand an alternative and it always asserts itself.   Sometimes it is in realizing we are on the wrong path or that the café we thought was ahead was actually an auto dealership.  Today it tapped my foot with a small pinpoint of pain around my Achilles tendon.  We ventured on, but eventually had to stop.  I discovered that in the morning rush my sock had bunched up at the heel, creating a small red irritation. Smoothed out the sock (catastrophy averted) back to walking , endorphins kicked back in.

It was a beautiful walk on a wodden promenard that wound its way through the dunes along the coastline of white sandy neaches lapped by gentle waves.  We reached Caminha late but satisfied that it had been a good day, our last day in Portugal.

We decided to avoid the seashore route in favor of a trail that took us through the wooded hills further inland. A gentle wind carried us forward at a good clip.

In celebration of Easter every hamlet and town sets off fireworks, some pretty loud bangs and crackles, which followed us pretty much all morning. That and the tolling of bells made for a joyous cacophony.

Viana do Castelo is a very, very charming town. Really delightful. A good place to enjoy supper on the center square to celebrate Easter.