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| Morning valley fog hiking out of Fonfria. |
I've missed the heights of the Galician Highlands, but the next morning I was thrilled to watch the early fog spilling up the deep valleys among the hill country. The day dawned extraordinarily sunny, as if to make up for three miserable days of cold rain. Walking in crisp morning air and staying comfortably far from too many people helped put me back into a good frame of mind. I'm getting close to Santiago and I was talking to myself to remember how crowded the trail will become in Sarria - my impatience with crowds of people had to tamed in order to enjoy today's hike.
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| Thatched horreo, a granary. |
I realized on this trip, but have known all along, how important animals have been to me in my life. I glanced into a small Romanesque chapel and spotted another adored image of St. Francis, this time with a collection of dog collars at the base of the painting. Farm dogs are everywhere. They are big and small, hunters and herders, pets and companions. There are many old people in Galicia. My host at a recent albergue told me that old people and their dogs make up most of the population of the region. I believe it! I saw a poster in a cafe with a hiker being surrounded by friendly tail-wagging dogs. It warned pilgrims about feeding or petting Camino dogs. "We love our dogs too!" it said.
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| Looking back at the Highlands was the first and last view I had. |
The Camino rambled through farmyards, down narrow cobbled streets through farming villages, looped up and around Galicia's famous round barns and outbuildings. Farmers were starting their day. Tractors roared to life, cattle dogs barked in approval, and herds of ten to twenty cows or young oxen were moved from barns to pasture. Pilgrims were respectfully asked to step aside. Traffic had to wait. Herders sand and spoke to their cattle down streets so narrow, we had very little room to stand aside.
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| Cobblestone center of a farming village. |
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| A typical farm village. |
I imagine thousands of pilgrims pouring through these tiny hamlets while there is work to be done. Now that the Camino is more popular than ever, I wonder how farmers are faring with the thousands of people who cross their farms, wander up their lanes, attempt to pet or feed their animals. It takes immense patience. Something I was about to lose...
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| A holiday pilgrim hoard! |
After a very quick breakfast break in Tricastille I saw a tour bus pull up. I had been warned about the increase in holiday pilgrim traffic from here on. Nothing, though, prepared me for what happened next. I was crossing the road to leave the little town when I ran straight into a mob of click-clack and loud voices. The tour bus had disgorged it's load on to the Camino and drove away. Sixty new pilgrims in new shoes, tripping over new hiking sticks, carrying the tiniest day packs (more like book bags) surrounded me. A tour leader squeaked with delight and dodged in and out of the crowd taking pictures and video. Click-clack was all I could hear as metal tipped poles tapped into cobblestone. It was deafening. I was hit by a pole as a pilgrim attempted to match her stride to the poles of the person in front. I was pushed off the trail by a group of yammering women who refused to break up so that hikers could pass.
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| I warned them. |
The first steep hill came. The crowd thinned. Men and women began to huff and puff. People stopped in the middle of the path to pull off jackets. I tripped over a small pack as it's owner stood off to the side to pee. This was my chance. I powered up the hill and topped out to warn other pilgrims at a scallop shell fountain what was coming. They looked at me in surprise then everyone jumped on their bikes or hoisted their packs and took off! A chase van made its way slowly towards us to meet those who could not continue after the big hill. Apparently several got aboard. About five kilometers later I met the tour bus parked by a farm. This would be the holiday pilgrim's first ten kilometer day on the Camino, then they are whisked off to a fine hotel and fed a fine meal. I trudged into Sarria.
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| The tour bus waits for its group , those who didn't take the chase van. |
