Posts Tagged ‘julio’

En castellano I was shaken awake by someone. It was still dark, Julio and Liz had not been sleeping particularly well (the symphony of the wild boars, they said… ¡vaya jabalís!) I suppose in a sportshall with a hundred and some other folk you’re bound to get some world-class snorage. Julio in particular didn’t want to hang around. I don’t blame him, it wasn’t the most pleasant place to lie awake. Liz took my head torch  and proceded to blind first herself and then me while getting her gear together. We tried not to giggle, not wanting to wake the others up. We weren’t the first to move, there were a dozen or so head torches bobbing up and down in the dark.

It wasn’t until we emerged from the fug of a couple of hundred pilgrims that I noticed it was still pitch black outside. Then I looked at my watch.

It was 4:45am.

Julio was keen to get ahead of ‘los chinos’ but this seemed to be taking it a bit too far. Still, the clouds cleared and we had a fine view of the stars as we walked. I turned off my head torch and let my eyes become accustomed to the dark, the moon was half full and  provided plenty of light to walk by. Until we passed a group of early risers with head torches on who insisted on looking at the faces of everyone coming past i.e. us. And then until Julio decied to shine his torch in my face too… a conspiracy. By the time my eyes had dark adapted properly once again the clouds had come over and astronomy time was over.

We crossed and re crossed a main road, the path rising away from it to crest a hill in a straight line before descending to meet the road again. In among the trees the darkness was total. We passed a couple of people in sleeping bags at the side of the path, lowering our voices so as not to wake them.

A strange series of poles and lights signalled the airport. No planes this early but there were a few helicopters lit up on their landing pads. Even at this early hour we were not alone. As it got a little lighter we passed a bar, just open by the look of it, and decided to stop for breakfast. It was 7am. Julio was keen to keep going… he didn’t say so, but he hum’d and hah’d and looked at his watch… getting to the next albergue ahead of the Koreans had become a little bit of an obsession. We didn’t really mind about the Koreans but we really needed coffee. It’s one thing to walk all day after breakfast… but another thing entirely to walk a long way beforehand.

The bar had indeed just opened. A woman took our order for coffees and pastries while seeming half asleep. We ate and drank and watched other groups arrive, all of them stopping for breakfast. Most of them, I would guess, would be continuing on to Santiago that day. We were going to stop in Monte de Gozo. At the front of the queue.

It was humid, and our path rose steadily. It began to drizzle a little bit (the only rain we had that week). We passed TV studios and repeater towers, so we thought we must be just about there but the albergue stubbornly refused to appear on the long straight road. A can of coke from a vending machine chained to the gate of a garden centre gave us a bit more energy and we rounded the first corner for what seemed like ages to see a sign pointing to the albergue.

It was still a good kilometre away mind. But Julio was off, determined not to let “los chinos” get the better of him.

Monte de Gozo means mount of joy. It is so called because it’s the first point on the camino from which you can see Santiago. You can’t see much of the city, certainly not more than a couple of spires of the cathedral. At the high point there’s a sculpture which was put up to celebrate JPII coming to Santiago in 1989. He didn’t do the camino, the wimp (albeit a 70 year-old wimp at the time). The sculpture has four large metal bas reliefs on each side, one of them looked like the pope about to push saint Jimmy over a railing, there’s modern art for you.

Below the chapel and the sculpture is the albergue. It’s part of a holiday complex which appears to be modelled on a POW camp, or maybe that’s the effect of the depressingly grey Galician granite.

We were the first to arrive. Julio had to restrain himself from doing a little jig, that’ll show those chinese, he said. We asked what time the albergue opened, one o’clock, they said. I got my book out, it was 8:15am.

Because it was a holiday complex, there were shops and cafes so we took turns to go for second breakfast (I am a firm believer in that hobbit tradition, especially when you get up at ungodly o’clock). Other pilgrims arrived and the queue of rucksacks grew. No Chinese or Koreans appeared.

The albergue is enormous, four or six buildings, 400 places (800 are available if necessary) so we could have arrived at 9pm and got a place but after the rather longer day than planned the previous day, it was a real pleasure to not walk. Liz and I had our books to read and the sun came out making it a very pleasant morning.

We dumped our stuff in our assigned room and showered and washed clothes. We left them baking in the sun while we went to a local restaurant for a 7 euro menu of the day. The rest of the day involved doing very very little, wandering down to the cafe and back, having a beer, people watching, in short, relaxing.

Castellano Alguien me sacudió para despertarme. Todavía estaba oscuro, Julio y Liz no habían dormido bien (gracias a la sinfonía de los jabalís) supongo que en un polideportivo con unos ciento y algo otros sea normal tener los que roncan de fama mundial. Julio, sobre todo, no quiso permanecer así, yo estaba de acuerdo con el, no estaba el lugar mas bonito para estar sin poder dormir. Liz cogió mi linterna frontal con que se deslumbró primero y luego a mi mientras ella estaba recogiendo la mochila, intentamos contener las risitas para evitar que despertemos la gente. No éramos los primeros despiertos, había mas o menos una docena de linternas frontales que se movían en el oscuro.

Una vez que salimos del aire sofocante del polideportivo me fijé que todavía estaba oscura, miré a mi reloj. Eran las 4:45.

Julio tenía ganas de llegar antes de “los chinos” pero esto parece un poco exagerado. Pues bueno, el cielo se despejó y nos permitía una vista de las estrellas mientras caminábamos. Apagué mi linterna y daba a mis ojos tiempo para estar acostumbrados a la oscuridad, había media luna que daba suficiente luz para andar. Hasta que pasamos por un grupo de madrugadores que llevaba linternas frontales y que miraba a las caras de todos que lo pasaban, y hasta que Julio me alumbró la linterna suya… ¡qué conspiración! Cuando mis ojos estaban acostumbrados a la oscuridad, estaba nublado y la hora de astronomía se acabó.

Cruzábamos unas veces una carretera, el camino subía desde el asfalto para llegar a la cumbre de una colina en una linea recta y después bajaba hasta la carretera otra vez. Entre los arboles la oscuridad estaba total. Pasamos unas personas que dormían en sacos al lado del camino, hablábamos en voces bajas para no despertarlos.

Pasábamos por unos postes y luces del aeropuerto, no había aviones tan temprano pero había unos helicópteros iluminados en los plataformas de aterrizaje. Aun que era temprano no caminábamos solos. Un poco antes del amanecer encontramos un bar que parecía abierto, decidimos desayunar. Eran las 7h, Julio tenía ganas de continuar, no nos dijo así pero nos indicaba hesitación y miraba al reloj, llegar al próximo albergue antes de los coreanos se había convertido en una pequeña manía. Nos daba igual sobre los coreanos pero nos faltaba el café. Caminar todo el día después del desayuno es una cosa, caminar mucho antes del desayuno es otra cosa en total.

El bar acababa de abrir, la camarera nos atendió medio dormida. Desayunábamos con cafe y bollería y miraban mas grupos llegando. Todos pararon para desayunar, la mayoría supongo iría a Santiago aquel día. Ibamos a parar en Monte de Gozo, en la cabeza de la cola.

Había humedad, el camino subía constantemente, empezó lloviznar un poco (la única lluvia de la semana). Pasamos por unos edificios y repetidores de televisión, por eso pensábamos que casi habíamos llegado pero el albergue no apareció en la carretera larga y recta. Compramos una lata de coca-cola de una maquina expendedora encadenado a una verja de un centro de jardinería, esta nos dio un poco más energía. Al doblar la primera esquina después de un buen rato, vimos un señal que nos indicaba al albergue.

Nos quedaba un kilometro largo, Julio marchó, estaba decidido a quedar encima de “los chinos”.

Monte de Gozo se llama así porque es el primer lugar en el camino desde donde es posible ver la ciudad de Santiago. No es posible ver mucho de la ciudad, desde luego no mucho más que las agujas de la catedral. En el punto más alto hay una escultura que se construyeron para conmemorar la visita del papa (JPII) a Santiago en 1989. El no hizo el camino, que flojo (aunque un flojo de 70 años en aquel momento). La escultura tiene cuatro bajorrelieves, uno parecía como si el papa estuviera al punto de empujar al Santo Jaime por encima de la barandilla de un balcón, eso es el arte moderno.

El albergue esta debajo de la capilla y la escultura, forma una parte de un complejo de vacaciones que parece basado en un campo de detención, quizás por el efecto del granito lúgubre de Galicia.

Llegamos primeros. Julio parecía si quisiera hacer aspavientos –vencimos a los chinos, el dijo. Preguntamos a que hora se abriría el albergue, a la una dijeron, saque mi libro, eran las 8:15.

Porque era un complejo de vacaciones había tiendas y cafés, nos turnamos ir a tomar el “segundo desayuno” (soy un partidario de la tradición de los hobbits, sobre todo cuanto se levanta a una hora intempestiva). Mas peregrinos llegaban y la cola de las mochilas se extendía. No apareció ningún chino ni coreano.

El albergue es enorme, tiene cuatro o seis edificios, sitio para 400 (800 si sea necesario) entonces pudiésemos haber llegado a las 21h y cogiésemos sitio, pero tras el día anterior mas larga que habíamos esperado era un placer no caminar. Teníamos nuestros libros y salió el sol que hacía una mañana agradable.

Dejamos las mochilas en el dormitorio nuestro, nos duchamos y lavamos la ropa que dejamos secando en el sol cuando salimos a comer en un restaurante muy cerca, comimos el menú de 7€. El resto del día hicimos muy poco, dimos unas vueltas, tomamos unas cervezas, miramos a la gente, en resumen, descansamos.

En Castellano

So 34km was not the plan for today. It just sort of happened by accident.

The first stirrings in the sports hall were at 4:30am. I slept on, oblivious, but Liz and Julio, earplugless, were treated to the noises of those early risers aiming for a bed in the next albergue. We got our stuff together at 7:30 and went in search of breakfast. In the bar, over coffee, toast and jam the waiter asked us if we were coming or going. People were arriving that early, no wonder the albergues were full. As we strolled along the cobbled streets of Melide, the sun was just lighting the tops of the buildings. A big procession of pilgrims, led by a man carrying a tall thin crucifix went past.

It felt uttery different, walking as part of a stream of people. We overtook some, were overtaken by others, moved to the side of the path to let the bike riders go by. We caught up to the big group as they waited for their members to all get the credentials stamped in a church. We passed smaller groups led by priests doing the rosary as they walked. This was no longer our camino, the lonely primitivo, the solo walking from bar to bar, this was proper pilgrimming, or so I thought, until I noticed they only had tiny daysacks.

We heard more international voices too, passing a French couple with a baby in a backpack singing children’s songs as they went. We heard German and Dutch, Portugese and Italian. Not so much English though. We stopped for coffee after a couple of hours of walking on dusty paths through eucalyptus woods. The barman was fairly chatty for a Galician. He talked about the unreliable distance markers and how most people don’t really do a proper pilgrimage, for every 100km he reckoned the majority walk less than 20km.

After 14.5km we entered Azúa, our original destination, where we thought we’d book in the albergue, or the sports hall, and let our feet recover. Long days in the heat mean my feet suffer. The soles and the tips of my smaller toes especially. I was limping a little, not like some of the walking wounded we had seen in the sports hall the night before but still, enough to want an easy day. We arrived at 11am and the queue for the Albergue stretched a long way. We counted, 46 places in the building and 70 pilgrims waiting. Julio muttered something about los chinos, refering to some korean walkers at the head of the queue, and how they must have walked through the night to get there that early. So? We said.

He went off to see about the sports hall and came back saying that the youth pilgrimmage had booked the whole place but they were opening another hall at 4pm if we wanted to wait. We called a few hotels but they were all full too. Then we had a round of What shall we do? What do you want to do? I don’t mind, what would you prefer? Well I’m happy to walk or to stay, what would you like to do? Until Liz took the lead and actually stated a preference. Let’s keep going. How far is it?

So we had a quick beer and set off. We needed the beer because there were another 19km.

More dusty paths and eucalyptus. And corn, lots of corn fields. We stopped at small walkers bar and had bacon and egg butties for lunch and watched a group on horseback go by. The group leader wore a bright yellow t shirt, a wide back support like a cummerbund, and a wide-brimmed hat like some US cavalry officer. The two others following were hatless and red.

Another 6km and we stopped for a coffee, because this is meant to be enjoyable after all.

In the shadows of eucalyptus trees we stopped at Santa Irene to confirm that the albegues there were full. They were. So we decided to call ahead to Santiago and book rooms for the Friday night, becuase we were a day ahead of schedule. We had picked up a flyer for a small hotel from the floor, luckily dropped or lost by another pilgrim (all of our numbers were in the lost guide book) and they had room so we instantly felt a little better.

We walked into Pedrouzo (confusingly it also seems to be called Arca) at 7 and on tired legs walked up to the sports centre. The youth were all in the outdoor football pitch and we were directed to the sports hall where they apologised for not having mattresses. No bother, thanks to thermarests. The sports hall was hot, it looked like a tidy, non-screwed-up version of the superdome post-Katrina. We bagged a spot and unfurled.

Beds sorted, we went out for food, passing the youth gathering on a hill for what looked like a hectoring homily from the local bishop as part of an open air mass, becuase that’s what young people need, advice about marriage and relationships from a supposedly celibate sixy-year old. We followed the directions from the lady at the pharmacy (doing a roaring trade in Compeed) to a place that did good octopus. She was spot on. They did fantastic octopus, accompanied by a really good crisp white wine.

Back at the field hospital (lots of limpers, foot inspections, saddle sores) I made my buff into a blindfold, put in the earplugs and dozed off.

Si alguien pudiera hacer unas correcciones si he cometido errores grandes estaría agradecido Pues, el plan de hoy no era 34km, lo pasó sin querer.

La gente en el polideportivo empezaron levantarse a las 4:30 de la mañana. Sigue durmiendo pero Liz y Julio, sin tapones, tuvieron que escuchar a los ruidos de los que se levantaban pronto con la intención de coger sitio en el próximo albergue. Arreglamos nuestras cosas a las 7:30 y salimos en busca del desayuno. En el bar, mientras tomábamos el café y pan tostado con mermelada, el camarero nos preguntó si veníamos o íbamos, la gente llegaba tan temprano, no me extrañó que los albergues estaban a tope. El sol iluminaba las partes mas altas de los techos mientras caminamos tranquilamente por las calles adoquinadas de Melide. Un gran desfile de los peregrinos nos pasó encabezado por un hombre que llevaba un crucifijo alto y fino.

Caminar con un flujo de gente era distinto. Los adelantamos algunos, nos adelantaron otros, los dejamos pasar algunos en bici. Alcanzamos el grupo grande mientras esperaban para el cuño en una iglesia. Pasamos unos grupos mas pequeños encabezados por curas, rezaban el rosario mientras caminaban. Ya no era nuestro camino, el primitivo aislado, en lo que caminábamos solos de un bar a otro, esto era una peregrinación correcto, o eso pensaba yo hasta que los vi que llevaban pequeñas mochilas suficiente para un día solo.

Oímos voces mas internacionales también, pasamos una pareja francesa que llevaban un bebe en la mochila, cantaban canciones de niños mientras caminaban. Oímos el alemán, el holandés, el portugués y el italiano, pero no mucho del inglés. Después de un par de horas caminando por bosques de eucalipto hicimos una parada para tomar un cafe. El del bar hablaba mucho por ser gallego, el hablaba sobre los mojones poco fiables, y como la mayoría de la gente no hace correctamente la peregrinación, nos dijo que para cada 100km la mayoría camina menos de 20km. Después de 14,5km entramos en Azúa, nuestro destino original, en donde pensábamos que nos quedaríamos en el albergue o el polideportivo y los dejaríamos recuperar los pies. Sufren mis pies con los días largos, sobre todo las plantas y los dedos mas pequeños. Yo cojeaba un poco, no tanto como algunos de “los heridos ambulatorios” pero suficientemente para desear un día fácil. Llegamos a las 11h y la cola para el albergue ya era larga, los contamos 70 peregrinos esperando a las 46 plazas en el albergue. Julio habló entre dientes algo sobre los chinos en referencia a unos caminantes coreanos encabezando la cola, dijo que deben haber andado por la noche para llegar tan pronto. ¿Y? lo dijimos.

Se fue para obtener información sobre el polideportivo y volvió diciendo que los peregrinos jóvenes habían reservado todos los sitios pero iban a abrir otro pabellón a las 16h si querríamos esperar. Llamamos a algunos pensiones pero estaban también completos. Así que nos dijimos entre nosotros ¿Qué hacemos? ¿Qué quieres hacer tú? ¿Me da igual, qué prefieres tú? ¿No importa si caminemos o nos quedemos, qué quieres hacer tú? Hasta que Liz tomó la iniciativa y nos dijo ¡Vamos! ¿son cuantos kilómetros?

Así que tomamos unas cañas y nos marchamos. Las cañas eran necesarias porque nos quedaban unos 19km.

Pasamos por mas caminos polvorosos y bosques de eucalipto, y maíz, muchos campos de maíz. Nos paramos en un bar de peregrinos y comimos bocadillos de lomo y huevos fritos, miramos a un grupo en caballo que nos pasaban. El líder del grupo llevaba una camiseta amarilla viva, una faja lumbar grande y un sombrero como los oficiales de la antigua caballería estadounidense. Los dos siguientes no llevaban sombreros y tenían cabezas rojas.

Después de 6km mas tomamos un café porque después de todo este camino debería ser divertido.

Entre las sombras de los eucaliptos nos paramos en Santa Irene para confirmar que los albergues allí estaban completos. Estaban así entonces decidimos llamar a Santiago y reservar unas habitaciones para la noche del viernes porque estábamos adelantos del programa por un día. Habíamos encontrado un folleto de una pensión en el suelo, dejado allí por suerte, por otro peregrino (todos nuestros números del teléfono habían estado en la guía perdida). Había sitio en la pensión así que nos sentimos inmediatamente un poco mas animados.

Entramos caminando en Pedrouzo (aparentemente se llama Arca también) a las 19h y subimos con las piernas cansadas hasta el polideportivo. Los jóvenes se quedaban en un pabellón al aire libre y nos indicaron al polideportivo donde se disculparon con nosotros por no tener colchonetas disponibles. No nos importaba gracias a los “Thermarest”. Hacía un calor adentro el polideportivo, parecía si fuese una versión no jodida del “Superdome”  después del huracán Katrina. Cogimos nuestro sitio y desplegamos los sacos.

Con camas arregladas, salimos para cenar, pasamos los jóvenes que estaban reuniendo en un montículo para recibir una homilía intimidada (porque esta es lo que necesitan los jóvenes, los consejos sobre el matrimonio y las relaciones de un hombre célibe que tiene 60 años). Seguimos las direcciones de la señora de la farmacia (que hacía su agosto vender Compeed) hasta un lugar en que cocinan un buen pulpo, tuvo razón, la señora, el pulpo era optimo y era acompañado por un vino blanco seco.

De nuevo en el “hospital de campaña” (muchos cojos, inspecciones de pies, lesiones de sillín) se convertí mi buff en una venda, me puse los tapones y me quedé frito.

35km ascent 530m, descent 520m

A month ago Julio had mentioned that he wanted to do the GR105 (Gran Recorrido, big route), also known as the Rivayagüe (after the name of the walking group that set the route up… now known as Grupo Naranco, the group we go walking with). I passed on the mention to Liz, who said ‘let’s do it’ so last Tuesday at 6:15am we left the house and started walking to Covadonga (a total trip of 107km). The route is normally done in seven stages but we planned to do it in four by doubling up some of the stages and walking all day.

It was dark when we set off and after half an hour we reached the village of Covadonga (okay, four houses and a sign: same name as our ultimate destination but really the beginning of the route). There’s a little chapel there which is the real start. The sun began peeping over the hills to the east and we had a fine view of the Aramo range to the south (in the photo)… we’ll be walking over that in a couple of weeks too.

Just to the east of the city there are lots of low hills and it is like walking along country paths in the UK, maybe a little more overgrown because of the combination of a few more degrees of heat, and the same amount of rain. I’ve never seen nettles south of the Cantabrian mountains but they’re all over the place here. We strolled along wide paths and tracks, and by about 11am we’d finished the first stage (of the seven stage version) and were all set for something to eat.

A couple of hours later, after one wrong turn and a kilometre along the main road to regain the path (where there were hundreds of tiny lizards basking in the hot sun scampering out of the way as we came) we came up the hill to the village of Lamuño. We happily shucked our backpacks off and had a cider shandy (too hot for just alcohol). The landlady was wiping the counter top and Julio asked if she could make us something to eat… a tortilla or something… oh yes.

We lounged in the shade of some trees outside the bar while the landlady did her stuff in the kitchen and kept coming out to help Julio get a phone signal and chat. And had more cider shandy (cider with casera, which is the Spanish version, and much like ´normal´ lemonade in the UK… when it’s hot you often hear people asking for wine and casera… which sounds like heresy, until you taste the wine on its own, then you realise you have to put casera in it sometimes).

We wolfed the tortilla when it came, warm and oniony with the tiniest flecks of chorizo giving it some additional flavour. Then we had blue cheese and dulce (quince paste) and a bit more cider shandy.

Reluctantly we re-shouldered the packs (plomo, said Julio – lead) and continued. Similar paths led us to a recreation area on top of a hill a couple of hours later and we stopped to take in the views and the sun. Then we descended into Basoredo in Alto del Espinadal about an hour after that. We were staying in Hotel-restaurante El Titi (no sniggering). Julio taught us a couple of card games as we waited for the restaruant to open (at 8:30pm) then we ate and had an early night. The only problem was, when we asked about breakfast (planning to be up at 7 and away at 7:30) the staff said there’d be someone up and about to get breakfast at 9am so we asked them to make a few sandwiches. They brought a bag of tortilla sandwiches (it would keep the bread from going dry). Then it was off to our rooms (ours had a dormer window about eight feet up, with a strange bench on a shelf arrangement so you could watch the mountains. Julio had pointed out our path for the next morning, up… up into the mountains in Piloña.

The phone rang on Thursday, it was Julio, one of the walking group. He wanted to know if I fancied going for a walk this weekend. I said where and he said something about San Melchor and the Aramo, we’d walk on Saturday and stay overnight at an albergue, then walk a bit more on Sunday. Sounds good, I said, okay.

We took the bus from Oviedo at 8am yesterday, one of the city buses. We went to the end of the line and started walking. The plan, eventually was this.

Walk from Puerto (the end of the bus line) to Pedroveya, about 7km on country roads. Pause for a drink in the bar there.

Walk up over the western end of the Aramo (the big series of hills you can see to the South of Oviedo) via a pass at La Rebollada, head down into the village of Bermiego where we’d ask if they’d do us some lunch (Julio had been raving about the egg and chips there). Take our time there, have a rest (after another 10km or so).

Down into Arroxo (7km more) to stop at the albergue (hostel) there, have dinner, sleep.

Sunday, walk along the Senda del Oso (the bear path) to Proaza and catch a bus back to Oviedo.

Which is exactly what we did. The only downsides were; on the way over La Rebollada there was mud that was knee deep and it was a bit of an adventure. Then, when we got to Bermiego, the owner said his wife was at her mother’s house and she was the one that did the cooking. so we settled for a plate of ham and chorizo and cheese instead and spent a couple of hours talking with him (he told us he used to go up over the mountain for parties in Pedroveya (but on a horse, of course). And the weather, we were walking in mist for much of the time (Julio’s phrase of the day: ‘me cago en su mar’ which can be translated as bloody hell, and is literally a scatalogical maritime mashup… I crap in it’s sea… mar can be replaced by leche (milk) madre (mother) and for maximum offense dios (god)). Still, it was good fun. He’s already talking about a four day walk from Oviedo to Covadonga by the mountain routes…