A day of contrasts today, some wonderful experiences, moments of reflection and contemplation I won’t bore you with and some, ok one, I shudder when I recall it.
Let’s start with confessions though. I never learn, I open my mouth, or in this case keyboard, and make flippant comments about a situation or object for a cheap laugh only to later find out there's actually a more serious background story – take Jose and Maria eh!
Well, so it was with the steps at the entrance to Portomarin. I've now learned that until 1963 Portomarin was actually in the valley bottom by the then small Mino River. Then a hydro-electric dam was built 30km downstream and the little river became the Belesar Reservoir. Portomarin was completely engulfed and it’s residents relocated to the new site up the valley side.
It is this reservoir that the new bridge I walked across to get into Portomarin Mark two.
The archway and steps I derided are from the original Roman bridge that crossed the Mino at that same point. Apparently at times of low water levels you can see the remains of the old bridge.
 |
| The old Roman Bridge at low water! |
And another fact – I know sorry – the church of St Nicholas Parish, the Romanesque building in the square – I can read signs – was actually a 12 century fortress church built to protect the original bridge and moved stone by stone and rebuilt on the new town before it too was drowned.
It was that church that I manfully marched past with my knapsack on my back at 7.30 this morning.
Not much “ Val de re" though as once out of the street lights I couldn’t see a thing and all my head torch showed me was the wrong track. When in total darkness and total silence it dawned on me I must be wrong and I slinked not so manfully (or some would say typically manfully) back.
My new game of guess what distance the first marker you can read in daylight went on a bit but was a pleasant surprise to find I got to 88 km from Santiago quite quickly.
More bits by the side of the road today so experienced the Camino
As it was overcast and raining that fine missely stuff for most of the day it closed down the views and made you focus on yourself or around you. A bit deep perhaps but there seems to be a Camino etiquette about talking, mostly it’s a “Buen Camino” so you never know the greeters nationality anyway but if there is something that indicates a common language then it’s ok to say a but more but you must watch body language to see if they then want leaving to their own thoughts. If you do chat awhile you then need to be able to disengage and again it appears acceptable to do this without explanation or offence.
Fascinating though what you learn about people in a few hundred metres or so. John from Brechin, Ontario, coincidentally only a few miles from where my favourite youngest lived ‘til last year, who was carrying his mother's ashes to Santiago, Bo From Copenhagen who had just retired from 40 some years as a child psychologist working with abused kids and who needed to shed trauma and cynicism. A man who had just had the all clear after cancer , a lady from Cape Town who had properties in London and was very cross about people like me who were only walking the minimum when she had walked do far! Nurses from Taiwan, mother and daughter from Ireland ...
Passed a lot more statues and tributes ....
..... And wondered what stories lay behind them
And this old cart that should be loved in a museum, not left in a field. Look at those wheels!
But today I did a lot of self-reflection some good , some not so good but about which I’ll say nowt other than this pilgrimage is delivering exactly what it offers;
“Pilgrims on the way to Santiago have the opportunity for personal reflection and prayer as well as enjoying the fellowship of other pilgrims from many different countries”.
The incident that leaves a shudder?. When I arrived at digs tonight I found it was above a bar and as the staff were busy they gave me a beer and a complimentary bowl of the house speciality. Looked lovely and tasted spicy, certainly chorizo, some bacon, chickpeas and .... inch squares of tripe. Not wishing to appear ungrateful or offend I tried one piece... I can’t go on!
On a lighter note, one of the things I did learn about myself last night is that the beard goes. You will have noticed that in the weight cull my electric razor got dumped. Thought I was cultivating this enigmatic, traveller of the world look. Apparently not so. Last night when the rain started I got up to move the restaurant table I was sitting at to under the shelters balcony. The table was aluminium and could have been lifted one handed by anyone between 14 and 90. I lifted it but then put it straight back down to look where it could go and a young thing of 60 ish dashed across from his table to help me thinking I couldn’t manage. Bugger that. It’s got a date with the razor in a few days.
Good night, going for my cocoa and bed now ...
