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  • TravelerCamino Portuguese
    Day 10

    Seek and ye shall find

    March 9, 2023 in Spain ⋅ ☁️ 12 °C

    It may not be to everyone’s taste; but lured by the sound of drum and bass I find myself in a basement in Santiago

    It’s superb.

    I might need a lift home.

    Two person (I’m learning) drum and bass / lead guitar, interspersed with traditional music and cider-sharing ( soon followed with someone mopping the floor).

    If I can find out where I was I will happily share. Midway between the Hotel Altair and the Cathedral is the best I can do. Whilst I was trying to revive the 1980s Manchester scene in a pair of hiking boots I find my companion Peregrinos from last night coming down the stairs. Serendipity?

    It was the Casa de Crechas    Read more

  • TravelerCamino Portuguese
    Day 10

    Finally: really the last post

    March 9, 2023 in Spain ⋅ ☁️ 12 °C

    Friday: (I checked) . A day at leisure in Santiago. I’ll have to have a quieter night tonight; which is a fairly low bar to set.

    Called in at Casa Ivar to meet El Queso Grande himself. It’s nice to put a physical face to a name at long last.

    Also the splendid Pilgrim House to meet Faith for the first time. What a great place and lovely people.

    The two German chaps reportedly carried on with an all-nighter before pouring themselves onto a plane first thing this morning. They must have the constitution of oxen.

    Oh, bloody marvellous. Mrs HtD’s got covid. That’s me and Henry the (actual) Dog sleeping in the kitchen then. Mrs HtD can have upstairs. Mind you he’s got a massive memory-foam bed under the table which will easily fit both of us.

    I thought I’d just reflect on the journey.

    I used everything I carried apart from a knee-support, my first aid kit and a spork. I wanted for nothing either; so the packing’s sorted.

    I neglected to mention that the Pension Glorioso a couple of Km outside Padron (whilst splendid in itself) is next to an incongruous pole-dancing establishment. It didn’t appear (from the outside - I have many faults, most of them obvious - but at all times I ask myself ‘what would Mrs HtD say about this?’ before lighting the blue touch paper) to be doing much business.

    My knees held up remarkably well on what; for a flattish Camino; has a bit of up and down.

    If I’d been walking this in a pair of trail-runners and poncho, it would have been impossible (for me). In the summer, perhaps; but spring and autumn, dress for the seasons. A peregrino who I saw arrive in Santiago a couple of hours after me in sandals and a straw hat which was starting to grow moss looked suicidal.

    At this time of year and on this route there is categorically no need to ‘book ahead’, there is an ample choice of accommodation at all prices. The flexibility to walk on from Padrón was really useful.

    However: the Camino infrastructure - as I saw on the meseta this time last year has taken a battering in covid time. Whilst there is still ‘enough’ in peak season there will be pressure.

    From discussion with Ivar and others there’s a real sense that the number of arrivals in Santiago last year largely reflects the ‘100km’ peregrinos. That’s not a bad thing; but the more distant accommodation providers are probably not benefiting from the recovery.

    I’ve been retired for a while. Before a very varied career, my time at university was in economics, and I’m fairly numerate, but I can’t figure out how Spain generally, and the Camino infrastructure specifically works. I’ve stayed in a couple of decent pensiones and hotels and patronised bars where the staff outnumber the clients. I know it’s a quiet time of year but: a 10- room pension at €50 per night (and that’s top-end) at 50% occupancy (that’s generous) is pulling in €185k per annum. Knock off VAT, then start paying the input costs and staff and there’s nothing much as a return - and you’ve got to buy the place to start with.

    I’m in a bar now (quel surprise), with two staff (one of whom is juggling oranges - I wish someone would pay me to practice that) and three customers; one of whom is the local nutter and smells like a polecat, and it’s Friday evening. How do they afford to keep the lights on?

    We do get a few ‘I want to buy an albergue’ posters on the forum and I admit I can be short tempered; but they’re either certifiable or in possession of a substantial private income. It doesn’t add-up.

    To resurrect an earlier diatribe; I’ve just been confronted by a choice of someone being crucified and someone on a space-hopper (title photo) from which I’m supposed to select which door I’m going to go through to urinate. God knows I’m not stupid; but - go on - which door would you pick, and why?

    Not 100% of Santiago thinks it’s a bundle of laughs living with such a transient population of Peregrinos (photo)

    Tomorrow should see me on a bus to Porto, where I will be seeking out something to eat which does not contain pimentón and categorically is not a Francesinha Then Sunday evening will see me fly back home. I’ve enjoyed much of this; but it’s time to go.

    But first, I’ve retreated to a totally authentic and unremarkable little bar ‘La Campaña’ adjacent to San Martíno Pinario. Just me and the octogenarian owners. Peace and quiet. The only improvement I could suggest would be a huge quantity of tea.

    Finally: I must find some app which requires me to pass a breath-alcohol test before posting.    Read more

  • TravelerCamino Portuguese
    Day 10

    An end is a beginning in disguise

    March 9, 2023 in Spain ⋅ ☁️ 12 °C

    In a stroke of near genius I explored the petrol station over the road, and they have a coffee machine. That’s enough to get me going in the morning. The N550 isn’t to be taken lightly though; it’s a fast road and even for a Tufty Club member like me, dangerous. (You’ll have to google that across the pond)

    Come to think of it Tufty would have been squirrel roadkill in Spain, as they drive on the other side of the road. The public information programmes of my youth didn’t anticipate foreign holidays.

    Regrettably Mrs HtD has picked up a virus and is feeling rather ill indeed. I’ve had a good look at options to get straight back from Santiago to Manchester; but the timings and routings simply don’t work. The train situation through Vigo and into Portugal is poor, so bus to Porto on Saturday and fly Sunday.

    Notwithstanding the above, a splendid evening locally with three delightful peregrino/as. The first time I’ve actually met up with some of the very few currently walking this route. The two Germans are big lads - and that’s a relative statement as I’m a bit of a wok-smuggler myself. Renowned early risers they’re off at dark o’clock in the morning.

    The morning arrived, as it so often does. Last night’s café was open at 0700, so real coffee was available and off I set in what I can say with new-found authority was nearly six litres per square metre per hour of precipitation. Near torrential.

    A welcome second stop at the Parada de Francos and then head down and plough on to the O’Camino at Milladoiro where cold boiled eggs were on offer.

    Shortly after the rain eased and by the time I was stood in front of the Cathedral it has stopped raining.

    With a degree of pleasure whilst taking my ease, in came my two German friends ten minutes after me. If only I knew the German for shadenfreude I could explain how I feel.

    Really not much to report on the route. I’m pleased I got the extra distance in yesterday and my over-riding impression is that the pandemic has done lasting harm to the infrastructure of this route, much as I thought on the Meseta this time last year.

    (Oh, actually, there is. About 4K out of town in the vicinity of an underpass the trees en route are ‘decorated’ for a good 400m with literally thousands of blue disposable masks and tied-on tissue paper streamers. Absolutely dreadful someone’s invested a lot of time and effort in making a real mess.)

    Santiago; where I’ve been many times before; feels different. It’s wet and there are not many folk knocking around. I’m surprised that gaita player hasn’t been given the hard word by now, it must drive the cathedral staff up the wall. I don’t know who I’m mis-quoting but a gentleman is someone who knows how to play the bagpipes but doesn’t.

    Surprisingly I’m enthused by the arrival of a large group of young people. They’ve clearly put some effort in as there’s a lot of limping going on; but they light up the place on what’s a dull day. Normally I could give the child-catcher from chatty chitty bang bang a lesson in intolerance, but I’m making an exception for once.

    The pandemic and economy seems to have taken its toll on Santiago. The Bodega San Roque has gone the way of all flesh sadly. It was excellent. I’ll have to do a bit of research.

    I holed up in a small bar near the cathedral and one thing led to another but some time later checked in at the Altair, 400m or so out of the centre and on the inbound route for the ingles. I’ve always stayed here; comfortable and well staffed and with a good sized bath.

    And that’s about it folks. Maybe a final short post tomorrow. This time last year having been MRI scanned I thought I was a dead cert for double knee-replacement. Turns out I was wrong for now.

    I’m not looking forward to a 4-hour bus to Porto, but needs must. I can cancel the train tickets when I’m on the bus, but it’s of dubious necessity as the trains seem to be in chaos anyway.

    I did collect a Compostela; but as I’ve already got enough to paper the back room I had it dedicated to Mrs HtD.

    Thanks all, it’s been a pleasure. I should be back on Camino later this year all else being equal.

    David    Read more

  • TravelerCamino Portuguese
    Day 10

    Arrived

    March 9, 2023 in Spain ⋅ 🌧 13 °C

    Better and further particulars later.

    First, a small libation. .

  • TravelerCamino Portuguese
    Day 9

    Wanted: quantity of gopher wood

    March 8, 2023 in Spain ⋅ 🌧 15 °C

    If you’re going to embark on this one, might I suggest you get a big cup of tea first, were the option open to me that’s what I’d be doing right now.

    One of the long-standing attractions of Caldas de Reys is the geothermal bath. We’re not talking country-club and fluffy towels here, but it is free. I did get the opportunity to soak my feet for a while. Lovely and warm actually, and by the feel of it high in magnesium. (Photos)

    It’s a great little town, nicely ordinary.

    Very much missing Mrs Henrythedog and Henry the (actual) dog now. I am extremely fortunate to be not only supported but encouraged to set off on my own, pretty much at will and to have the (relative) youth, health and funding to do what I do. I don’t take any of that for granted. (And a lovely dog of course).

    Strangely meloncholy? I was on the Ribiera last night, it always has that effect. The only advice apparently handed down from my maternal grandfather, who I never knew, was STB. Which advises that one should ‘stick to beer’. Sage advice indeed.

    Breakfast time. It’s pouring down, even more than expected. I’m not very metric other than for distance and 5 litres per square meter per hour of precipitation might as well be in code; but I now know that to translate to ‘Dear God, look at that!’ in imperial units. I’m keen to get on with it though.

    I still very highly recommend the Pousada Real - well appointed and staffed and a bargain at the price; but the boutique-style faffing around has it’s place and it’s not when seeking a swift breakfast. I listened carefully to the description of the organic certification of the tomato which was to be blended for my benefit; chose politely from the long list of bread on offer; was reassured by the fair price paid to the smiling coffee farmer for his produce, but when being introduced by name to the happy cow who was pleased to provide the milk for a long-overdue ‘con leche’, my thin veneer of urbane sophistication cracked and I had to ask firmly that they just got the damn toaster on and bring me a coffee. Ahora mismo, or sooner.

    Well, the atmosphere did change, as though Hagrid had arrived late at the vicarage tea-party and loudly broken wind.

    I can only keep it up for so long.

    A couple of hours later and I’m sat in a wriggly-tin bus shelter outside Cimadevila with a face like a slapped-arse watching the rain bounce off the floor. I mistakenly passed-by the short diversion down to the truck stop on the N550 and then the ‘autosevicio’ in San Miguel which I assumed would be a 24/7 vending machine turned out to be another closed café.

    Whoever’s got the franchise for supplying ‘cerrado’ signs must be driving a Ferrari by now.

    Every day’s a bonus but there’s a distinct lack of spring in my step today. On the positive side I’m not relying on a disposable plastic poncho (the young people who are are perhaps regretting not doing a bit more looking at the sky and less looking at the phone). If my memory was better I could tell you the Finnish for ‘when’s this bloody rain going to stop?’ as the young Peregrina concerned was shouting it every couple of minutes.

    Whilst I detest waterproof trousers with a passion I’m not so stupid as to not pack a pair at this time of year, although despite the assurances of Messers Gore and Co my ex-officios are currently carrying a good half-pint of what you’ll join me in hoping is rain-water. There is only so wet you can get before it really doesn’t matter any more.

    Things are looking up (although I’m not, so as to avoid a face full of rain) in that there is an unexpected auto servicio in Cándide. Coffee and a snack machine and a clean serviceable lavatory for 50c. I probably deposited €2 worth; so that was a bargain.

    Kathy in Canada (who I previously had down as a bloke in Portugal - given that I identify as canine on here I’ve no room to criticise) has helped me out in researching the train situation back from Santiago to Porto on Saturday, and it’s looking grim. I have also got a bus ticket though, so that option’s open . (Later in the day RENFE sent a short explanation which roughly translates as ‘sort it out yourself, loser’)

    I’ve always been good at time and distance. Through long practice I can look at a map, make corrections for height and figure out duration with a good degree of accuracy. Today’s different. Probably through stomping through the rain in a foul mood I have made rapid progress, and I’m in Padrón for 1130; which clearly is beer o’clock.

    (Some comedian’s opened a cafe in Padrón which I refused to patronise because the jokes wearing a bit thin. (Title photo)

    My plan was to stay at the Hotel Scala, just north of Padrón but as I’m already soaked, and the forecast for tomorrow is equally grim, I’m going to plough on. First though, I’ll take an hour to give the licenced trade of Padrón a leg-up.

    Fifteen minutes after passing the Scala, from where came the sound of merry lunchtime conversation and a sense of functioning central heating, the appeal of my new plan is rapidly diminishing. It’s still pouring down.

    Another hour and a half and I’ve called it a day at the clean and spacious Pension Glorioso. Cheap as chips - although chips and any other form of catering are not on offer. A close-by bar threatens to open at 1900.

    I’m now drying everything not in my rucksack on one of those ‘do not dry clothes on this heater’ heaters. I’m sure the warnings are over-cautious.

    The good news is that I’ve only got 16 kilometres to Santiago; although there seems to be a distinct absence of catering until the Cathedral’s in sight.

    More tomorrow.    Read more

  • TravelerCamino Portuguese
    Day 8

    Four candles

    March 7, 2023 in Spain ⋅ ☁️ 15 °C

    So, Tuesday (or second Tuesday; opinions differed long after Sue’s helpful intervention from France) has dawned. I’ve often not known where I am (ever slept in a Hilton?) but usually had a fair grasp of what day it is.

    Despite last night’s final stop being adjacent to a Kebab shop; I resisted, dear reader.

    [I did once wake up in a hotel room when still ‘working’, accompanied by a half-eaten kebab and a pair of signed Formula One racing overalls; a sure sign that a charity auction had taken place and I’d been spending someone else’s’ money. Those days are long gone.]

    Having vacated a decent hotel room, it’s worth checking what’s on offer. The shower cap’s coming with me ( protects shoes when packing for non-solo trips); but a shoe-shine pad! It’s like the 1980’s never went away. Mrs HtD recently disposed of my stock of Kiwi Parade-Gloss black polish; a relic of the days when boots were to be shiny and the russian hordes resisted across the east-German plain. Another chapter of my life best consigned to history.

    The preceding was clearly typed before bed, whatever day it was.

    Better get on with it.

    A pre-dawn start, which isn’t that early at this time of year, was followed by the now traditional slogging up a hill in the rain. For a supposedly flat Camino there’s a surprising amount of up and down. It’ll add up over a day.

    The Don Pulpo (regrettably named) in San Amaro was open for coffee and shortly after Valon provided a welcome hot chocolate via a roadside vending machine. Substantially better than nothing. At least it’s stopped raining.

    Spoke too soon. Persistent drizzle’s set in. It’s ‘that rain which gets you wet’ and it’s dampened spirits a little.

    Now this was a pleasure to see. A small wooden tool-handle factory. (Photo of where the hipsters should be sent) (vague reference to title of thread). That’s what it’s all about.

    The 90% of under 40’s who seem to aspire to a remote working career as an ‘influencer’ would benefit from a few months on night shift in a place like this seeing what the diminishing minority who actually create economic value have to do to put food on the table. Taking €1 of wood and making €20 of tool handles vs cloud-based virtual brand development in your pyjamas? I know who I’d want on my side if the sh*t hit the fan.

    A groundworks team are out on the Camino just before Caldas improving the senda, and then the Guarda Civil pull over to say ‘hello’. They’re from the dedicated ‘peregrino’ team.

    Next sign is another ‘200m this way’ trap. I’m not falling for that again; (photo of blatantly misleading sign) but it’s swiftly followed by the kind of simple, reliable ‘Bar’ sign (photo of trustworthy sign) which gladdens the heart. No extraneous information, just the promise of somewhere open; and it was.

    And so Caldas de Reis. Menú del día by the river and then the accommodation has taken a stratospheric leap forwards in the form of the Pousada Real; €64 including breakfast. Lovely room, nice people. I’d post a photo but 15 seconds after your’s truly arrived in a bedroom out of an interior design magazine it now looks like a war zone. I’d strongly recommend it if you’re passing. The same room in the UK would be more than double the price.

    They’ll regret all this fancy-pants concealed plumbing though. After years of chasing utilities round a C17 stone house, you want your plumbing where you can get at it, believe me.

    Weather forecast deteriorating, if that were possible. Wetter than an otter’s pocket tomorrow.    Read more

  • TravelerCamino Portuguese
    Day 7

    The inadvisable late evening post

    March 6, 2023 in Spain ⋅ 🌧 13 °C

    The Rias Bajas was perfectly nice. Clean and well organised. If I were here again, though, I’d probably stay a little out of town; the centre’s very commercial with not much of a local feel to it.

    The Basilica - Santa Maria a Grande - is compact, but worth a visit; as is the Santuario da Peregrina. Good view from the top.

    Otherwise, Pontevedra on a damp Tuesday [On a majority vote, although it’s by no means conclusive, it’s probably Monday] evening is inoffensive. The dining is largely more upmarket than I’m in the mood for, more rotary club than working men’s club (apologies Rotarians) I think the outer fringes probably have more of the bars where the builders start the day with a half-pint of brandy and the occasional short swarthy Spaniard runs in, shouts something incomprehensible, and runs out again.

    Even here someone’s prepared to order a cheese sandwich and a bottle of water online and get someone to bike it over. Thank God that attitude’s not spread to Ukraine. [Time for bed, obviously]

    The weather forecast for tomorrow’s improved now; but the two days’ rain seems to have converged on Thursday when I hope to arrive in Padron.

    I’m starting to feel like it’s time to lay off the food and drink for a while. I’ve never understood the ‘how much weight did you lose on Camino?’ threads. Obviously a decent breakfast’s a necessary precaution, but I then struggle to get through to about 2030 when anywhere worthwhile’s got the grill on, and if I’m in the queue for three courses and some beer at Spanish lunchtime, that’s me done for the day. I’ve never approached Santiago from the south; perhaps the ‘all day peregrino’ culture will be more evident a little closer?

    [Things that would have to happen in the unlikely event of me ever being in charge of anything ever again, #24: if you close your cafeteria you must remove all the signs which promise “Cafeteria open 200m this way”.]

    [And whilst I’m on the topic #25: you will clearly indicate which of the two (or three - I don’t care anymore, they’ve worn me down) toilets I’m supposed to use with a clear internationally recognised symbol, not some comedy photograph or supposedly funny local joke. It’s a bar, you should want your clients to be impaired by alcohol, it’s how you make a living you moron.]    Read more

  • TravelerCamino Portuguese
    Day 7

    Old age and treachery

    March 6, 2023 in Spain ⋅ ☁️ 13 °C

    The Duarte is fine. Clean room, large (although currently wet) balcony and a sea view. The wifi did come with a warning from my security software when I connected (what is it with Spanish hotel wifi?) so my VPN was on at all times.

    The catering has taken a significant step forwards. A scallop and prawn brochette for lunch, then some ibérico and a dozen very local oysters for dinner. I’m a recent convert to oysters - I’d never had one until I was in my 50’s; but I’ll go out of my way to find them now.

    Arcade is very quiet on a Sunday evening. There are a number of permanently closed bars and restaurants; as there were during the day. A combination of the pandemic and economic pressures I assume. Pilgrim numbers are (according to various patrons) very low at the moment. I’ve not seen a dozen in total yet.

    I have noticed that all the marker posts have their distance plaques in-place and I haven’t seen one with graffiti yet - does the Portuguese attract a better class of pilgrim, or just fewer, I wonder?

    Breakfast is on offer but only at 0900. I’m having a very short day tomorrow; 13k or so to Pontevedra; but there’s rain forecast from 1200. So, breakfast or get wet? I’ll decide in the morning.

    So; it’s morning. Always a bonus to make it through the night. Being Monday the few facilities en-route stand a chance of being closed so a guaranteed breakfast has won out. Rain forecast from mid-afternoon now which is better, but the remaining days to Santiago promise to be wet.

    Breakfast (surprisingly good) revealed half a dozen other peregrinos; two Americans and four Spaniards all of whom are dressed for a flood of biblical proportions. I’m sticking to shorts.

    Some serious road-building going on just outside Arcade. This is turning into a civil-engineers road-trip. So there are some short diversions and lots and lots of mud. (Photo)

    Well; turns out we were all right. A brief downpour for ten minutes then, progressively the blue sky broke through. The sun always shines on the righteous; so if I meet him or her I must thank them.

    But - if the sun’s now cracking the flags; why would you persist in full body waterproofs. I dread to think what the contents of the Spaniards’ trousers are going through right now.

    Which brings me nicely onto the subject of underwear - No! Come back! It’s OK, honestly (photo: no I’ll spare you that).

    I do lurk on the Camino forum far too much; but I do benefit from the advice of some very experienced peregrinos; if I can ‘tune out’ the ‘which shoe goes on which foot’ and ‘OK; so I’ve arrived in Spain, South Dakota where do I start the Camino?’, there’s some great advice to be had.

    A recent one was a reccomendation for ‘ex-officio sports mesh’ briefs. Whilst the sizing’s a bit generous - I should have aimed-off for US sizing, where the ‘x’ in ‘XL’ is doing some very heavy lifting so the current pair I’m sporting are a bit Bridget Jones (sorry) - for air circulation and speed of drying after washing; they’re excellent. They are imported to order to the UK, so the pricing is aimed at the investment banking community.

    Now, where were we?

    Ah, yes. It’s stopped raining and after a brief slog up a hill we’re back in the countryside. Nothing going on on the catering front, but it’s not far to Pontevedra.

    The San Fermin bar and supermarket combo saved the day whilst I awaited the arrival of a splendid young German peregrino who’s overtaken me three times so far going very quickly. He seems more determined and confused each time. Thus the title of today’s nonsense. I tried to explain that I have a map and I use it, I don’t just plough on following arrows. He seems to regard this as something akin to witchcraft, but does account for how I can nip up a short tarmac road and avoid a kilometre’s mud-fest through the wooded hillside. Old age and treachery beats wide-eyed youthful enthusiasm every time.

    The riverside option down the Rio Gafas is currently contra-indicated (photo) so it’s straight along the road into las afueras of Pontevedra.

    Tonight’s lucky winner is the Hotel Rias Bajas. I’ve dumped the bag and set out in search of a late lunch; or as they say in Spain, lunch.    Read more

  • TravelerCamino Portuguese
    Day 6

    The prospect of mariscos

    March 5, 2023 in Spain ⋅ 🌧 10 °C

    Even for me, this one goes on a bit. Alternate
    paragraphs would probably give you the general idea.

    Thankfully (in reply to Jenny) the neighbouring church was silent.

    If, however you stand on the bridge south of Tui you can hear the church bells from two countries with different opinions as to the correct time. I counted nine synchronous bells then a solitary (but I imagined more authoritative) one from the Spanish side - insisting that it was actually ten o’clock

    So, Saturday evening:

    I’d just settled myself down in an Italian in the centre of Porriño for a bit of pre-emptive carb-loading (not that I need it. In the regrettable event that I ever found myself adrift on a life raft it’s odds-on that I’d lose the ‘who are we going to eat first’ vote; and they’d probably still have takeaway containers when rescue arrived) when in walked Señor El Patron from last night. He was last seen in a pair of furry Rupert-the-bear check trousers and nothing else, but was now accompanied by Señora el patron, who is a good deal more stylish. He’s certainly punching above his weight in the relationship stakes, as am I. Nice guy.

    And so to bed. I’m warming to the Parque, but the heating’s not reciprocating. I think I’m the only resident but he’s put me in a room on the 4th floor, roughly a light-year from the boiler.

    Some time later …

    Yea gods, I’m not soft; but that was a cold night. I had a bath available to me and, whilst the prospect of getting in was appealing, the thought of getting out terrified me.

    I’m up for a slightly longer day today, with the possibility of a short day thereafter; so today’s objective is Arcade where; having called ahead, I understand the Hotel Duarte to be open and there is the prospect of seafood.

    I’m a big fan of fresh fish and mariscos; but I draw the line firmly at pulpo. In my mind there’s something different about an octopus. I met one in Corsica once who was able to climb out of his tank, scoot across the floor, eat his fill in other tanks and return ‘home’; they had to put a board with bricks on over his tank to save the other residents.

    It’s like rabbits and hares; I’ll shoot and eat rabbit without a second thought - but never, ever, a hare. Something about them is very different. It’s strange - they’re all God’s creatures if you like, but some seem to have more character or spirit than others. Is it anthropomorphism? How can I still be able to spell that? Assuming I have, of course.

    I need to be true to my few remaining principles and seriously consider going veggie I suppose.

    Shortly out of Porriño I’m through Chan de Pipas. Apparently in the early C19 a local chap, called Chan, (unsurprisingly) did his bit in resisting the invading French by dropping barrels (pipas) of wine on them from the top of the tower. History doesn’t record Sr.Chan’s sobriety when making that decision, nor how long he lasted when he ran out of barrels and the rest of the Grande Armee showed up. Nor how he, supposedly, got the pipas up the stairs in the first place. Some stories are best left alone. Especially mine.

    I’d better get a move on.

    First stop for a coffee is Café Flora in Mos; the few preceding facilities being more closed than it being Sunday morning would explain. Then Churrasqueria Choles where the locals agree it’s already beer o’clock. I have a quick scoop, so as to not give offence. I pass on the proffered tripe and bean stew though. When it comes to traditional food, I prefer the stuff the bloke on the horse ate not the chap who shovelled up the horse dung.

    Thereafter a nasty little steep downhill in the course of which I manage to defy my usual alcoholic constipation and pass a bar. (That might take a bit of untangling). What a shame to lose the hard-won height so quickly.

    Redondela turned up quickly enough. Whoever laid out the Camino through town needs to take a long hard look in the mirror. A tour of the steepest and most slippy pavements in town was not what I needed.

    I think this is already the furthest I’ll have walked since the great knee-failure of ‘22. No drama as yet, but it’s c 7k further to Arcade, and there’s a bit of a hill in the way. 16k so far in 4 hours with a couple of stops. Not my historic pace by some way, but I’ve no longer got my historic knees.

    The last stretch into Arcade was a bit of a slog to be honest; then the last K along the main road is really rather dangerous. It’s a very fast road.

    The sight of the sea ( photo) and the prospect of seafood has lifted my spirits somewhat. I came this far because Arcade is renowned for mariscos and I’ve a deliberate short day tomorrow just in case something went wrong today. Happily, it hasn’t.

    Hotel Duarte tonight. Lunch service will be in full swing at 1430.

    More anon    Read more

  • TravelerCamino Portuguese
    Day 5

    Porriño!

    March 4, 2023 in Spain ⋅ ☀️ 6 °C

    It’s Saturday, apparantly. The residents of Tui have many fine attributes, but early-rising is not one of them. I and a handful of other peregrinos pounded the streets at 0730 in search of coffee without success. On returning to collect my bag El patron had surfaced in an unexpectedly flamboyant pair of pyjamas and got a brew on.

    I did notice that all the café tables and chairs are left out, clean and tidy, overnight. In the UK if they weren’t chained down securely they wouldn’t survive the first night. Says something nice about the youth of Tui.

    Despite being glorious in the sunshine it’s absolutely baltic in the shade. Nonetheless; I’m setting off in shorts to O Porriño. My second-best knee (currently the right one) is grumbling a little, so I’ll take it nice and slow. I’ve already filled two pages of a credencial basically standing still.

    I’ve enjoyed Tui. It would be a shame to regard it as somewhere to simply start from. Also my limited time in Portugal. I would like to have communicated better in Portuguese; but since attaining some competence in Spanish, my French has deteriorated and I don’t think I’ve got the right brain for more than two languages simultaneously.

    So; let’s see what we can find.

    The first half of the walk’s nice and rural. Three tiny arched bridges paved with huge granite blocks; the first is Roman and the second (being refurbished) (photo) the Ponte de Fiebre where San Telmo came to grief, returning to Tui to die where he is buried and is the town’s patron saint.

    Casa Alternativo (should be -a; perhaps that’s a Belgian joke) is to be found just after the ‘decision point’ between the old and new routes. Even if you’re taking the new scenic route it’s still worth a visit. There’s a short-cut through the woods to the new route; so it doesn’t add any distance. Operated by Dries from Belgium, accompanied by Otto the dog. 10 beds, nice guy, good food. Best bread I’ve had in a while. I think the upcoming area has a reputation for flour milling?

    I generally don’t mind the industrial outskirts of towns; in fact I find them quite interesting, but taking the direct route into Porriño on a Saturday was not the best choice. It goes on forever. There is an unmarked cafe next to the fire-station on the long drag, but only Monday to Friday. I got a coffee out of the fire brigade though.

    There are plans to further expand the already massive industrial estate, which the locals are rightly up in arms about. (Not particularly interesting photo)

    On the last stretch into town - a strange mixture of housing and commerce - the ‘100km to Santiago’ plot is vacant and advertised as such

    I’m not overwhelmed by Porriño. I’m in the Hotel Parque, largely because the attached café is open early tomorrow and as it’s a Sunday I’m not taking any chances with breakfast.

    The receptionists an imbecile; a sure sign of a family business. ‘What are we going to do with the youngest; he’s too thick to get a job anywhere else?’ ‘Oh, just put him on reception, he’ll not do any harm there’. Well .. (not on the Camino Forum now folks - even though most moderators past and present are along for the ride; it’s a free press here)

    According to the security software I run the miserably slow wifi was put in by North Korean intelligence and there’s a children’s ride outside my balcony playing ‘never do a tango with an Eskimo’ at full volume, out of tune, on a loop.

    On the upside, the room’s clean and there’s a bath.

    Sun’s out. It’s unseasonably warm which is lovely, although there’s rain forecast in a few days.

    Mustn’t grumble, all in all it’s going rather well.

    (Clarification re: receptionist. Having been here a few hours, many of the middle-aged blokes look very (really very) similar; speak gallego as a first language, and have a severe nasal impairment. They also shout a lot. They clearly understand each other. My Spanish is functionally fluent and I’m back to hand-signals)

    I’ve added a photo of the view from my balcony of the musically-enhanced entertainment. Whilst I’m usually even-tempered, and I do see the need for children (someone’s going to have to pay the pension one day); I’m rapidly siding with Herod on the matter of innocents.    Read more

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