Chapter 18 Fonfria, a place and people worth remembering.
Somewhere in this stretch of hills and mountains, James quit writing daily notes, his main objectives being a shower something to eat and a horizontal position until morning.
The alberque at Fonfria was almost new. The one at Ages had only been open a few days when we were there. another had only been open two months. We were told the one at Fonfria was new in the last year. When Donal and I got there a group of about six women, who’d started at Hospital de la Condesa, were hanging out their clothes. The only drier the alberque had was booked up for hours and fog was rolling in.
We showered and washed out our clothes in the shower and then hung them on the line with little hope of them drying before night fall. It was cool with lots of moisture in the air. When I was going back to the alberque I saw James rambling up the hill. We’d booked him in and gotten him a bed at the far end of the room. Donal and I went to see if we could find something to eat and drink while James showered and settled in.
We were talking to the lady who was checking people in and manning the bar. By that time the fog was thick and blowing past the windows. She spoke some English and told us she was there as a volunteer for the summer. The fog was thick, cold and we told her it didn’t look like our clothes were going to dry before we had to leave the next morning. She thought about it for a minute and said she had an idea, and went out the door. In a couple of minutes she was back and said if we were willing to pay a couple of euro, the neighbors next door said they would dry our clothes in their drier. We told James to hurry, wash his clothes in the shower and bring them out to us. After the lady took our clothes next door, for which we were extremely grateful, the service got even better.
Before we went to dinner a lady named Wendy, the lady who later did the translating that evening at dinner, volunteered to doctor James’s feet. He’d gotten some pretty bad blisters on his heels that he hadn’t been able to get to heal, he was in constant pain and they were slowing him down. Wendy did a good job. She became a good friend for the rest of the trip to Santiago.
We were on the edge of the Galicia region of western Spain and there was a lot of Celtic influence. Dinner was down the hill in a building with a traditional thatched Celtic style roof. The interior of the building was like one would see in a period movie about the time of knights and Vikings.
The host spoke in Spanish and the lady named Wendy, who lives in Nanaimo, BC and who we would see in the evenings most of the rest of the way to Santiago, translated into English. He said he wanted each of us to tell our name, say where we were from and inform the others, in our native language, why we’d come to walk the Camino. He also asked us tell what we’d discovered and what was the high point of our trip. There were approximately 30 people at the table and the telling of our stories was a bonding ceremony of sorts for everyone present. Some folks had chosen not to come to dinner. Too bad, it was a wonderful experience, followed by a fabulous meal.
We had our choice of two different entrees, three different main courses, and two desserts. When it was James’s turn to order he wanted ice cream for dessert, which wasn’t one of the choices. The man said they didn’t have any ice cream and James said he’d pay extra if necessary. The man told James the two choices, wrote something on his order pad and went to the next person.
The food kept coming as long as a person kept eating and when dessert time arrived, so did James’s ice cream. The wine bottles were never empty. When we were too full to eat any more we paid, and James left a big tip. We thanked the people in the kitchen for a wonderful meal and waddled back up the hill through thick, blowing fog.
When we got back to the check-in area we had dry and folded clothes waiting for us. If the lady hadn’t gotten our clothes dried, they would’ve gone in the backpacks as wet as they were when they came out of the shower. For that, we were highly appreciative and gladly paid for the service.
The next morning before daylight, the dawn patrol was up and shining their flashlights around like searchlights looking for escapees during a prison break. Lights were scanning the room, ceiling, floor, the bunks and were shining in our eyes. It seemed that most packing of bags had to be done on the bunk below a sleeper, with much putting in and taking out.
The dawn patrol folks leave before daylight, and as many get lost in the first hour or two as don´t. I´m an early riser, usually, but I was beginning to dislike the idea, not from the getting up part but from the having to wake up before it´s even possible to walk for an hour or two without falling in a hole or sliding on a cow plop. With cows going to pasture and coming home on the village roads, getting through town could sometimes be a game of hopscotch.
The dawn patrol realized they weren’t making friends after quite a few people complained loudly. After one person complained, it gave courage to others to do the same. If you aren’t bashful about waking someone up at night for snoring, you aren’t hesitant about telling someone to quit shining their light in your eyes.
Most everyone was up, when one of the staff came in shortly after 8:00 AM and turned on the lights. A girl who was sleeping by the door jumped up and turned the lights back off. It was light enough that the lights weren’t necessary, so no one bothered to turn them back on. James said he wanted to walk alone again. At 8:30 we were about ready to leave and talking about where we would meet at the end of the day. The girl in the bed by the door yelled, “Why don’t you boys shut up?” We were leaving anyway. As a going away gesture someone turned the lights on as a group of us were going out the door. We would encounter the girl later.
Chapter 19 Sarria, a short stay at one alberque and James’s dad
JAMES
Camino – Day 19
Buenos Dias los amigos!
Well, like a phoenix from the ashes or like Bobby Ewing from Dallas, improbably, I am back.
I have walked 140 kms, over some of the toughest terrain in Spain, in the past 4 days and sit here tonight, in Sarria, a sunburned and happy man! I have made it, God knows how, but I have made it over those poxy mountains and now all that stands between me and Santiago is my battered body and 5 days with the old man (he should arrive in the next hour).
I thought about writing up all of the previous 3 days in full but have, for various reasons, decided not to. Without meaning to sound like I have caught too much of the sun, those times for me in the mountains will remain private, and of great importance to me for the rest of my life. Dramatic as it may sound, I learnt a lot about myself over those first 110 kms in the hills, and I want a little time to see if they were genuine lessons, or merely very hot flashes in a sunburned pan!
I will say that the scenery was nothing short of spectacular and, as I walked alone for the whole time, I really got a chance to enjoy the solace and the beauty to the full. The mountains were, it has to be said, pretty horrendous to have to climb up, and even worse to have to fall down but, at the same time, I feel a massive sense of achievement at having made it.
Today was a good day, a very tough but very good day! We have arrived in Galicia, the final province of the Camino and, with the parting of the Galician mists, we have begun our final journey. As you come over the summit at O Cebreiro, you reach the point where the Camino loses its spite and, somewhat predictably, where the tourist day trippers flock to begin. I am not kidding you, people, they are everywhere!
There are bus loads of middle-aged Germans and French who walk with an apple and some sunblock during the day whilst their Gucci and Armani stuffed suitcases follow them faithfully around in a support vehicle. In order to get your certificate of holy deliverance in Santiago, you have to complete 100 kms, finishing in Santiago, and someone back in St. Jim’s day forgot to stipulate that this included having to lug your crap with you as well! Personally I think this is a little unfair as those who started some 600 kms farther back should at least get some kind of upgrade, a kind of mega certificate, if you will, but no, everyone gets the same.
Most of the tourists start at O Cebreiro because they mistakenly believe that it is all down hill from there and it’s a bit more than 100 kms which earns a few more saintly browny points than starting right on the 100 km starting block. The tourists make life hell on the Camino but, also in a strange way, make you feel better. They take all the spaces in the refugios, block the pathways with fleshy, gortex clad bottoms and generally annoy the crap out of everyone by yelling "Ola, Ola" at anything that moves. On the other hand, they make you feel good because you are fit, fast, turbocharged with holy fervour and just gagging to let everyone know how far you have walked. My bus ride from Burgos to Leon has long since been conveniently forgotten!. The other great thing about them is that they give you a chance to play!
The best game on the Camino right now is "German Tourist Buzzing!" It goes something like this. You and your fellow allied pilot disciples are cruising along at about 2000 feet, approximate ground speed 6 kms an hour, when your wing man announces "tally ho red leader, 20 German fatties heading due west, speed 4 kms per hour, range 300 metres!" To this you reply "Roger red 2, form on my wing and follow me, no need for missiles, switch to guns and close to firing range!" You turn up the revs, increase speed and, like heavenly kestrels, bear down on the unsuspecting day trippers until you are only about 5 metres from the rear of the group. Like a rain of machine gun fire, you bellow a series of "Buen Camino, Buen Camino, Buen Caminos" and then burst through the startled pack which subsequently leaps in all directions much the same as they would if attacked by a spitfire!
It may sound like the sun has gone to my head but, when you are on the Camino, you take your fun where you can get it and this is some of the best, it really is! By the time the startled convoy has regained the road, you are already round the corner, shrieking hysterically and looking for the next victims!
I am going to finish now, as I have to go and find my father who has allegedly just arrived at the bus station for his 5 day taster of the Camino and its flavours. I have been looking forward to him arriving but, at the same time, am quite nervous as well. I have never spent any real time alone like this with my old man, and we have not always exactly seen eye to eye either.
I guess I am hoping that away here, in neutral territory, we will be able to start again and have the chance to relax and enjoy each other’s company. If not, I will just tie him to a tree, gag him and leave a sign on his chest saying "If anyone is from Finland and called Tolga, please help me!"
Once again I would just like to say a massive thank you for all your messages – I have had nearly 100 now – they mean the world to me! It was such a buzz to return to civilisation this afternoon and to have the Blackberry buzzing away in confirmation that people are still interested and care.
Adios los amigos and Buen Camino
Sumo!