By now we’ve begun to
feel the gravitational pull of Santiago. Our bodies would love it if that meant
we could amble gently downhill to our destination. But pilgrimages seldom work
that way. Santiago is the literal as well as metaphorical high point of the
Spanish section of our camino. So our path climbs, albeit gently and through some
delightful patches of forest.
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[Forest delights in Galicia] |
Rain is threatening,
and we keep wet weather gear handy. We’re now deep into our second week of
walking, and our feet and other parts are in various stages of distress. An old
ankle injury is causing Lynne some pain. She had considered catching a bus to
give her leg a rest, but instead has bound it up and soldiered on. She is one
determined pilgrim! And in truth she will not be the only pilgrim to limp into
Santiago.
 |
[Pilgrim legs: strong but sore] |
After leaving the
delightful woods of Reiris, we walk through quiet rural lanes that are lined
with autumn-tinged grape vines. We have a brief stint on that constant
companion, the unpleasantly busy N550 road. Then, as we approach the picturesque
village of Tibo, the threatening clouds finally open up. Rain pours down unstintingly
for several minutes, causing us to run for shelter in a small barn.
 |
[Threatening clouds on the approach to Tibo] |
The deluge soon passes,
and it isn’t long before we’re entering the tight, cobbled lanes of Caldas de
Reis. Again there’s a beautiful mediaeval bridge to cross, and another forest
to climb through. Happily our way fits snugly between the N550 and a railway
line, with only the dull hum of traffic and the occasional whoosh of a train
reminding us we’re on the fringes of a busier world.
 |
[The smelter on the outskirts of Padron] |
The town of Padron
is clearly a part of that world. Its aluminium smelter hogs the riverfront and
belches smoke skyward. This seems at odds with its historical significance in
the story of St James (Santiago). Legend has it that Padron was the first land
sighted by those bringing St James’ body from the Holy Land to Spain. Of course
Australians can’t ride their high horse here: the site of Captain Cook’s arrival
at Kurnell has long been blighted by an oil refinery and fuel depot. Historical
significance, like ecological significance, guarantees nothing.
Padron is our last
overnight stop, and we leave so early that we need torches to find our way
through the lanes. At one point we miss a waymark and find ourselves stooping
to go through a dark tunnel. It seems wrong because it is.
 |
[Wrong way, go back: Lost near Padron] |
We retrace our steps
and soon find a pilgrim shell marker. But today not even navigational errors
and sore ankles can dampen our enthusiasm. We prefer to think of the words
“last leg” in a positive way.
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