Elsie the Cockapoo

I’m still not old enough for walks outside although that last injection – the one when the vet also put a micro-chip in my neck – should mean I can go out on Christmas day. I hope so because that one hurt a bit and I must confess to having a little cry and a bit of a growl at the vet. I punished my human Tim by refusing to take any treats off him for a couple of hours.

Tim has taken me out around the village all wrapped up in my bed blanket. My favourite place is the pub because all the people there go “ooooh and ahhhh” and give me lots of cuddles. I like it round the village and I’ve seen big busses and lorries and men in bright yellow jackets who were digging in the road and a man in a big hat. They all…

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Zaurantz to Deba – 22kms

Getting lost in the hills

The sun rises on day 4 on the road to Getania.

Only a short walk today – a little over 20kms – but we are prepared for some steep climbs and for the going to be a little slow. Thankfully the dreaded blisters have been kept at bay. I’ve a new but worn in pair of lightweight boots and I always wear a thin icebreaker sock under the heavier oversock. So far so good. My back is also holding up and it is with a spring in the step that we take the promenade road around the bay into Getania just as the sun rises on a lovely day.

We take the opportunity to have a second breakfast of a delicious local almond flavoured pastry and the obligatory cafe con leche.  Fortified, we start the long ascent to Zumai and then to Itiziar.

Mike is fast on the hills and is soon out of sight. I compare myself to an old banger whose engine rings are shot to pieces. As soon as I hit a hill my pace becomes very measured. Unfortunately I miss a yellow arrow into the old village of Itiziar as I am concerned by a little stretch of road walking and spend more energy looking out for lorries and cars than the direction arrows. I walk on a couple of kilometres before realising my error and turning back.

miles of vines

The only consolation is some lovely views back along the valley we have walked up from. Mike has waited patiently in the old village and we are soon climbing again through a rich, verdant countryside covered in vines and livestock, including lots of goats.

We have to look for accommodation in Deba and find a small hotel on the seafront with comfortable rooms. We can enjoy a beer and sunset on the balcony over- looking the beach   before heading into town and a restaurant that has been recommended by the girl at the desk.

I take the opportunity to enjoy the first of many octopus dishes I will enjoy along the Way. The region is famous for the quality of the dish and it will get better as we approach Santiago. The accompanying salad and the rich local red wine caps off another wonderful day’s walking and my poor direction finding of earlier is soon forgotten.

The strangest thing awakes me later in the middle of the night. A scrabbling and scuttling sound drives me from my slumbers and I discover Mike has left the comfort of bed to ‘try out’ his inflatable mattress and sleeping bag and bug sheet. He has set himself up in the corner on the floor and is noisily getting comfortable. I suppose stranger things will happen.

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St. Sebastienne to Zauratz

Mike loses his beret.

Our first night in an Auberge results in a fitful sleep. Although there are only three in the room the strangeness of the surroundings and the adrenalin that follows our first day of walking conspire to keep me awake half the night. It is a fairly late start once we have had breakfast and we hit the steep ascent out of St. Sebastienne just after nine o’clock. A kind local has left out some refreshments for passing pilgrims and a reminder that we have broken through the 800km mark.

welcome refreshments

We are rewarded with some gentle woodland walking that opens out into rolling green upland farmland and some fine views of the sea along the way. We have walked a few miles when Mike realises that he has lost his Basque beret that he bought yesterday to replace the hat he left on the bus from Biaritz. While he retraces his steps in the hope of finding it, I continue along the path that takes me through small valleys that cut into the coastal cliffs.

It is very reminiscent of some of the Cornish Coastal Path at this point and the sound of the sea is very welcome. I chose a secluded spot with views back along the path and over the sea to wait for Mike who eventually turns up with his beret and a satisfied smile on his face.

There is a steep descent into the fishing port of Orio where we have lunch by the harbour before heading upwards again through vineyards and a gentler more tamed landscape. Zaurutz is suddenly upon us,its wild beach sweeping round towards Guetania at the far end of the bay.

Another steep descent and soon we are in the ancient square where we find the Pension that mike has booked for us. We are reminded of the fierce pride that is felt for their region by many of the Basques. The little hotel next to ours is boldly advertises the common demand for independence.

After the ritual washing of the  walking gear that is to become a daily feature of the next five weeks, we have time to explore the seafront. The sea is full of surfers enjoying the considerable swell and the promenade is busy with locals and holiday makers enjoying a setting sun which still has some warmth in it.

We enjoy a small tapas in a bar before going back to our room where we wash down a homemade salad  with a rather tasty Rioja.

A Cornish Camino – Probus to Truro

Looking back to Probus

As I start to revisit my five week walk on the Camino de Santiago de Compestella I realise that I have spent the last week without getting out for a good walk. The bad weather and the arrival of a nine week old puppy have conspired to confine me to the house except for brief forays to the village shop. Today, as the December sun breaks through, I cannot resist doing a walk that I can start from my front door. It will take me through my village of Probus to Tressilian and then I will follow the river to St Clements, Malpas  aand on into the lovely city of Truro. From there a bus will bring me back to Probus. At about 9 miles it will get the walking juices going again.

Probus church spire in the distance

I set out and could start with a pint in the local pub ‘The Hawkins Arms’ but head off down hill through the Green and over the Ladock Road to take the footpath that takes me up over recently cropped fields. The sun is low in a clearing sky and is sending rich shadows across a wide landscape. I look back to see the spire of Probus church ( the tallest in Cornwall ) as it nestles in the village on the top of the hill across the valley.

through woods

The track takes me down into a hidden valley and through some woodland. The ground is wet and a stream runs through it to join the little river that is crossed by a small bridge. The recent heavy rains have made this a torrent today and it is easy to see why an ancient millhouse is found nestling in the woods.

The track passes under the railway viaduct and passes grazing sheep until I approach the village of Tressilian after a little less than an hour walking.

 

 

I stop for a coffee at the welcoming garden centre cafe rather than stopping at the thatched pub ‘The Wheel’ before setting off along the river estuary from Tressilian to St Clements.

 

looking back to Tressilia

 

The tide is out and the mud has a curious beauty as it reflects the dying sunlight and has long shadows highlighting the course of the river and its small tributaries. The path is fringed by ancient oaks and ash trees through which the myriads of wading birds can be seen as they make the most of the dying light, feeding and calling out to each other. This section of walk is a bird watcher’s paradise. I look out for the kingfisher on the little lake about halfway along the track but this shy bird is not to be seen today.

I am soon at St. Clements and cannot resist a piece of homemade ginger cake and coffee at the newly opened coffee shop. The church at St. Clements is a hidden delight but I won’t have time to visit today as I make my way along the muddy track that follows the river around to Malpas. This is a magical stretch as I walk into a setting sun that lights up the gnarled oak tress and the still waters of a low tide.

boats at St Clements

Two hours out of Probus and I am at the Heron Inn in Malpas enjoying the view down the river which splits here, one branch flowing into Truro and the other back to Tressilian. There is time for a swift pint of Tribute Ale before setting off to follow the river bank for the final couple of miles into Truro.

As I walk the sun sets over the opposite bank and the mud and water it bathed in pink for a few moments before the light starts to fade and I can see the lights of Truro in the distance. My last mile is spent in conversation with a young guy who is living in his camper van on one of the car parks on the banks of the river. He has chosen this lifestyle and has been all over Europe in his mobile home. He tells me there is nowhere he has found that is a picturesque and welcoming as Cornwall.

After a little under four hours I am at the bus station in Truro. As I ride back to Probus on the bus – a journey that takes a mere twenty minutes – I cannot help agreeing with this traveller’s sentiments. Have I really seen anything on my travels to rival the tranquil beauty of this walk today?

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To San Sebastienne – 27kms – Hills and Sea

Over the hills and into the clouds……

looking back through the mist towards France

The path from our hostel takes us through the old town of Horrandiba and we are soon getting used to following the yellow arrow that leads us towards the hill behind the port. We are soon climbing quite steeply through woodland and following a series of stone crosses that ends at the first of many ancient chapels at  Senora de Guadalupe.

climbing through the mist

I am not a religious person – my Catholic faith lapsed in my late teens – however it is impossible not to feel a deep spiritual affinity with this first part of the walk. The knowledge that thousands of people have made this journey up through this woodland to celebrate their faith over many centuries produces a special aura. I find myself thinking of my lovely extended family and hoping for them a future as safe and fulfilled as possible. Some would call this ‘prayer’. Whatever it is, it is the first of many such contemplations I am to experience as I walk over the next thirty-seven days. It is  the power of walking that allows the space for such meditation.

We decide to climb and follow the higher Alpinista route with the hope of gaining our first views of the sea but as we reach the ancient hill fort at the start of the ridge walk the rains close in and we are soon needing to break out the ponchos and waterproofs as we head into the clouds. There are no views to be had but the mystical tinkling of hidden flocks of sheep and cattle and the swirling mist from which loom the line of ancient forts more than make up for loss of long distance views of the sea as we walk along the ridge westwards.

Ancient forts in the mist

There is a saying that I am going to hear a lot over the next few weeks – ‘The Camino always provides’. Soon we are to experience this as the clouds lift just as we reach the very lovely little port of Pasages de San Juan. A steep descent from our high path takes us to the estuary of this pretty village where we catch a boat to the other bank and some lunch on the quay, needed to fortify us for the inevitable climb out. A huge container ship that seems to take up the whole river entrance makes its way out to sea and wallows briefly as it breaks through the swell that pounds the cliffs before heading off goodness knows where.

Pasages de San Juan

There is a steep climb to be endured up to the lighthouse. Mike attacks the never ending steps and leaves me to gasp my way upwards. I take many stops to ‘enjoy the view’ which is actually my excuse for catching my breath but I am soon up with my partner and we are enjoying more forested paths that eventually lead us to the final descent into the delightful old town of San Sebastienne.

The Auberge is at the other end of town and I can enjoy walking along the beach that sweeps around the bay. There is a fair swell and it is great to hear the crashing waves and the sea birds before seeking out the auberge and settling in with another pilgrim we had met on the way.

The Way is green

The Auberge is comfortable enough but we test out our bed bug sheets just in case. I feel that the first 27kms has been a joy. We had rain on the high walk and some very steep climbs and descents but the countryside is gorgeous – green and forested. The Way follows the coast quite closely and today had lass tarmac walking than I had been expecting. Only 803 kms left to walk. A doddle.

follow the shell

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On The Way……Stogumber to Horrandiba

The journey begins

For many years I have walked all over Europe with a group of friends and have long harboured the desire to walk the Camino to Santiago de Compestella with them. I guess I grew impatient waiting for them all to retire and have the time to commit to the five or six weeks needed to complete the Spanish section of the walk. When my friend Mike suggested he would like to do it as a way to gather his thoughts on what impending retirement might mean to him and as a spiritual and religious act I jumped at the opportunity. Initially we were planning for two weeks but as we researched the various options we decided to bite the bullet and looked at completing one of the Caminos that start on the borders with France and we booked flights to allow just over five weeks of walking.

Up until the very last moment we are undecided whether to take the Frances Route or to walk the less trodden route of the Norte, perhaps joining the Camino Primitivo after Oviedo. With our flights booked we are still consulting guide books at Bristol airport as we wait to board for the journey to Biarritz via Dublin.

I also have personal doubts at this stage as to my fitness and capability do such a relentless walk of over 800kms. As well as being a couple of stone overweight, I have recently pulled my back decorating my daughter’s flat and my doctor suggests that the walk with a pack would not be wise. However, with the help of a local osteopath and some acupuncture and a few long range walks around Cornwall and Somerset I have got myself as ready as possible. Mike has also sustained an injury that will slow him down somewhat and as he is a bit younger than me and a lot leaner and fitter that would not be a bad thing as far as making our walking rhythms more equal. This is quite important to consider if anyone is walking with a friend. We have decided that we should not be joined at the hip and , if necessary we can separate for sections. We have a couple of guide books that Mike has got from the Confraternity of St. James along with our pilgrim ‘passports’ that we must get stamped along the way and which will allow us to stay at the pilgrim auberges along the way. We have managed to get our packs down to about 10kgs which all our research tells us is still too heavy.

Across the water into Spain. We climb those hills tomorrow.

We are ready for the adventure.  The flights to Biarritz all go very smoothly and it is here that we leave the handful of other walkers who are headed for the start of the Camino Frances at St. Jean du Port.  We board a bus for Heyandaye on the Spanish border.From there we can start our walk in Irun  –  just a short walk across the bridge will take us to the Auberge in this border town – or we can take a quick ferry to Horrandiba and start our walk from there. We opt for the latter option as the idea that we will have travelled by car, plane, bus and boat all in one day appeals and Horrandiba looks like an interesting and pretty port town.

We settle in a little hostel in the old town before making our way to the auberge in  Irun to collect our first sello , the first passport stamp along the way, and now we know we are on our way. We are aware that tomorrow brings a steep initial climb out of town on our way to St Sebastienne and so a supper of Marlin soup, paella and a local red wine is needed to stoke the boilers.

Horrandiba in the distance

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The Camino Norte – The Way it Is

I am home from my walk on the Camino Norte some six weeks now and only now has some of its meaning and significance begun to sink in. I will post this blog retrospectively, unlike my previous blog that was written as I travelled. On this walk I travelled light and without the technology to blog as I went but I kept a little note book and did take photos. I hope to share these with any readers who might be interested over the next few days and weeks as a series of reflections.

I travelled with a friend who, sadly, needed to cut his trip short. I continued the walk on my own with the intention of finishing it for him and dedicating my visit to the Pilgrim Mass to him. Some of the pictures I will use are his and I will acknowledge this as I go along.

Such a magnificent cathedral.

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