Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Sarria to Portomarin

I am able to arrange for my knapsack to be transported to my hotel, the Viillajardin, in Portomarin, 24 kilometers from Sarria. The price is not thirteen Euros, but three, happy news. I set out at 8:30 a.m., but stop to buy postcards at the foot of the tall steps leading to the Camino from the town, so I start walking, really, at 9:00 a.m.

It is quite cool outside, and I am glad I brought my light sweater as well as my medium-weight anorak. I am wearing special lightweight trousers that can turn into shorts, and my feet are protected by the silk socks I have worn since I started the trip March 10. They go under the sandals a friend in New York lent me, which saved my feet from a terrible fate when I exchanged them for hiking boots.

I am using the trekking poles, getting used to the rhythm of placing first one and then the other, while striding. The Camino climbs uphill for a few kilometers at the start, but it is not difficult for me.' indeed my body wants the exercise. There are only a handful of pilgrims on the path --four Irish women and a pair of Japanese women, but I quickly lose them and find myself alone in the open countryside.

The countryside is green as far as the eye can see, and the farmers are going about their daily tasks. I like greeting them because they are invariably cheerful and smiling. Many of them have lost most of their teeth, and they are ruddy from the son, but they are decidedly unconcerned about either. their concern is their animals: a cow coming ot of a barn stops in front of me: the elderly farm-woman who owns her asks me to move out of her way so that she can pass by --she needs to go up to the pasture.

The nature of cows is revelaed to me a bit further on the path when a large herd of cows takes over the road on its way to the pastures . I am walking right in front of the corner they have to turn on, which brings the leader of the herd to a dead stop.. She looks at me, hesitating, The farm-woman asks me to move back to let the cow pass, and oce I do, she does. Every cow that follows her --about fifty cows, does the same thing before broaching the path to the pastures. I had no idea cows were so sensitive!

The cool of the morning turns warm near noon,, so I remove my jacket and the sweater and continue. I stop at various cafes to have my Credencial stamped --in a day I gather about six distinct stamps this way. I pass a pack of French pilgrims, am passed , a Hungarian young man, being able to keep up a brisk pace. Several cyclists from Germany pass me, fully loaded: panniers and a suitcase, and more. The hillsides are difficult to move along on a bicycle: I am glad I decided not to rent one.

I ate nothing for breakfast, but I brought with me a green apple and a piece of almond cake, which I only consume at the last possible moment. I also have a metal can of water, but I do not want to drink unless I have to, as otherwise there will be more roadside stops.


At various points along the way, I see travelers who passed me enjoying a coffe or a beer --I would be immobilized by the latter, rendered more nervous than usual by the latter. However, it is each person's Camino, so perhaps a beer or a coffee are essential to those I saw. I am just trying to do the Camino in the right way for me.

Based on my lack of strain this first day, I have decided that I can walk the 100 kilometers (a little more than sixty miles) in five days, rather than six. Sarria to Portomarin today, Portomarin to Palas do Rein tomorrow, Palas do Rei to Arzua Friday,, Arqua to Arcos o 'Saturday, and Arcos o Pino to Santiago Sunday. I have a booking in each place, and arranging for transport of the knapsack is simple:at each hotel leave it with a tag stating where it is coming from and where it is going, along with 3 Euros in an envelope stapled to the luggage tag for the purpose, and it will be taken to the hotel you are staying in that night. I saw the small van carrying my knapsack stop at a rural hostel, and took the opportunity to meet the driver and owner of the company, Jesus. He pulled open the door of the van so that I could see my knapsack: indeed, there it was.

The Altaiir in Santiago has one room left that I can book for Sunday night, so I will be back in good hands again. I am quite ready to do nothing after my first day on the Camino, but none the worse for wear. The Villajardin is high on a hill in Portomarin, which is a good sized town. The hotel I am in overlooks the outlying fields from a top floor perch, and I can hear the birds singing outside. Like a good pilgrim, as soon as I put my things down, I take off the clothes I have worn, fill up the bathtub and wash everything out, squeezing as much water as possible out before hanging everything by the window (through which the sun in pouring in) to dry. I plan to go to bed early and arise early, so as to avoid the heat --and have the road to myself as long as possible. There is a difference between walking along alone and walking alongside strangers walking the same way.

The quiet of the mornings may be the most precious time on the Camino. When I stopped for lunch in Ferreiros, halfway to Portomarin, the place became very crowded and noisy once one o'clock struck. All sorts of languages being spoken, by people who all wanted something to eat. I helped translate for the visitors, and I was glad to help make the cafe staff's job a little easier, but watching the crowd I had the sense that what I was observing was more like an Olympic event than a pilgrimage.

Notwithstanding, a hopeful thought occurred to me: perhaps never in all of human history have so many people from so many different linguistic and cultural backgrounds tried so hard to communicate with each other. "Bad English" notwithstanding (see the post for Vienna), perhaps this is some reason for optimism.