Friday 28 Sept Biduedo to Sarria 24 km
Other than about an hour of rain the first week of the walk, the weather had been dry for the entire trip. It had been cloudy, cool, overcast, bright and sunny and most often stinking hot. But it looked like starting today the worm had turned. We woke up to the sound of rain and the sight of fast moving clouds that seemed to stretch as far as the horizon. The rain varied from mist to downpour, and the air had a different smell and feel from anything so far. Looked like it was going to be a wet one. And the forecast if accurate was telling us get used to it, as rain showed clear through to our end date next Wed.
Other than about an hour of rain the first week of the walk, the weather had been dry for the entire trip. It had been cloudy, cool, overcast, bright and sunny and most often stinking hot. But it looked like starting today the worm had turned. We woke up to the sound of rain and the sight of fast moving clouds that seemed to stretch as far as the horizon. The rain varied from mist to downpour, and the air had a different smell and feel from anything so far. Looked like it was going to be a wet one. And the forecast if accurate was telling us get used to it, as rain showed clear through to our end date next Wed.
The next stop was Sarria, which lay 24 km to the west. From that point there are no outs, no taxis, no busses, no by-passing because pilgrims had to demonstrate that they walked the last 100 km. With some sore knees and a few new blisters we had decided the night before to cab to the bottom of the hill to make sure the descent did not exacerbate the injuries. So we jumped into the cab, backpacks in tow all decked out in rain gear, and headed to the first coffee shop on the stretch. Have to admit to a twinge of guilt as we passed by the pilgrims trekking in the down pour, but sometimes discretion is the better part of valour and this saved unneeded wear and tear on the knees and toes. After all, there was no credit for the first 28 days of walking, essentially everything before Sarria was a practice run. You could walk every step up to Sarria, then cab 5 km down the way and technically you could not get your Compostella. Having said that, we would see later a circumstance that tested this, and proved it is more the spirit of the walk than the rules that reign.
After our cafe and croissant we headed out in earnest in the driving rain. From Furela the path was a gentle decline, with the usual short sections of up and down. Even in the rain the terrain was pretty: farmland, rolling hills and a series of quaint little villages. As my shoes got wet, and in turn my feet, I started to worry about the cluster of blisters and whether my new bandage system would stand the water. In the end it did just fine, and I will offer some sage advice on this later.
Because of the downhill slope the Town of Sarria came into view for the first time about 8 km in the distance. That is always good and bad. You know where the destination is, but it then seems like forever getting there. But eventually you do, and less than two hours later we hit the outskirts, wet but no worse for the wear. From the town limit it was another kilometre or so to get to the Don Alvaro Albergue, and while waiting to cross at the lights young Tom went by in a taxi, all excited to see us and yelling out the window to make sure we knew he was there. The Camino family was converging getting ready for the final push and we were all happy to see them. The next five days we would walk with most of them at one point or another: Cheryl, Nadine, Laura and Adam, Gaye and Rick, The Dooley Heaths, and eventually Will. Also to my delight we would connect with the Freddy girls at the end, I had really missed having them around.
Our Albergue was a clean and comfortable place nestled inside a nicely renovated old building, and we were quickly checked in and assigned our room, which included Veronica the happy Belgian and her father. I quickly threw my stuff on the bed and headed to the fire pit where Cheryl R had facebooked me to say their was a guitar waiting. Man I missed the lady at home, my Takamine, couldn't wait to get her in my arms again, but this little Latin one would give me a short term fix. I played it for twenty minutes or so before seeing what the others were up too.
After our cafe and croissant we headed out in earnest in the driving rain. From Furela the path was a gentle decline, with the usual short sections of up and down. Even in the rain the terrain was pretty: farmland, rolling hills and a series of quaint little villages. As my shoes got wet, and in turn my feet, I started to worry about the cluster of blisters and whether my new bandage system would stand the water. In the end it did just fine, and I will offer some sage advice on this later.
Because of the downhill slope the Town of Sarria came into view for the first time about 8 km in the distance. That is always good and bad. You know where the destination is, but it then seems like forever getting there. But eventually you do, and less than two hours later we hit the outskirts, wet but no worse for the wear. From the town limit it was another kilometre or so to get to the Don Alvaro Albergue, and while waiting to cross at the lights young Tom went by in a taxi, all excited to see us and yelling out the window to make sure we knew he was there. The Camino family was converging getting ready for the final push and we were all happy to see them. The next five days we would walk with most of them at one point or another: Cheryl, Nadine, Laura and Adam, Gaye and Rick, The Dooley Heaths, and eventually Will. Also to my delight we would connect with the Freddy girls at the end, I had really missed having them around.
Our Albergue was a clean and comfortable place nestled inside a nicely renovated old building, and we were quickly checked in and assigned our room, which included Veronica the happy Belgian and her father. I quickly threw my stuff on the bed and headed to the fire pit where Cheryl R had facebooked me to say their was a guitar waiting. Man I missed the lady at home, my Takamine, couldn't wait to get her in my arms again, but this little Latin one would give me a short term fix. I played it for twenty minutes or so before seeing what the others were up too.
As good as pelegrino meals are, once we noticed the sign for an Italian restaurant a few stores up the way, out I scooted with the iPad to have some pizza and do a little blogging. Almost a week behind on the blog at that point, it was becoming more difficult to find the time to do a proper job. Successful afternoon all round: the beer was cold, the pizza was superb and the Internet connection was strong. Nick, Judy, Mary Lou and I would return there a few hours later for a delicious supper before heading back to settle in for the evening.
The rain today, and everything we expected tomorrow, made preparation for the walk all the more important. After getting things set, and preparing to hit the sack, the operator of the Albergue came in and said they want the guitar player to come out to the fire pit to play with the others. Initially I said no, but then remembered my pledge at the start of this thing " I would follow any opportunity that presents itself", yep, had no choice so out I went. It turned out to be a gem of an evening, albeit a short one.
Sitting around a fire pit were Veronica and her father Lucas, a couple of silent gentlemen and a man who introduced himself as Bruno, from southern France, and he would become a good friend in the coming days. Bruno was playing the guitar for the others, but like most of us who don't feel we are good enough pickers, offered it right up to me when I sat down. Initially I was reluctant but agreed and played a couple of tunes including "Falling Slowly" and "Hallelujah". Though I was ready to stop they asked for more so I played them a couple of my own tunes, including "I'm Going Home" and "Not the One You Wanted". It was quite gratifying to see their reaction, and Veronica would talk to me several times over the next few days about the lyrics from "Not the One You Wanted", it seemed to have resonated with her. We then listened to Bruno play some of his classical compositions, and I was duly impressed. Great player of the classical style. I told him I wished I could pick like that and he told me he wished he could sing and play with feeling like me. A bit of a confidence boost for both of us. They asked to hear Hallelujah one more time, to which I obliged before heading off to my bunk, very happy to have met a new friend.
Sitting around a fire pit were Veronica and her father Lucas, a couple of silent gentlemen and a man who introduced himself as Bruno, from southern France, and he would become a good friend in the coming days. Bruno was playing the guitar for the others, but like most of us who don't feel we are good enough pickers, offered it right up to me when I sat down. Initially I was reluctant but agreed and played a couple of tunes including "Falling Slowly" and "Hallelujah". Though I was ready to stop they asked for more so I played them a couple of my own tunes, including "I'm Going Home" and "Not the One You Wanted". It was quite gratifying to see their reaction, and Veronica would talk to me several times over the next few days about the lyrics from "Not the One You Wanted", it seemed to have resonated with her. We then listened to Bruno play some of his classical compositions, and I was duly impressed. Great player of the classical style. I told him I wished I could pick like that and he told me he wished he could sing and play with feeling like me. A bit of a confidence boost for both of us. They asked to hear Hallelujah one more time, to which I obliged before heading off to my bunk, very happy to have met a new friend.
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