Insanity: Arcade to Pontevedra

I left my too big, two-bedroom apartment in blue collar Arcade this morning via another Roman bridge. This one sports a thin sidewalk right next to a working roadway. I can see drivers’ eyebrows as they whiz past.

Eh, ya seen one Roman bridge…I don’t dawdle.

It’s more than personal safety driving me off the bridge. I’m suffering from historical architecture overload today. The stone homes and medieval churches heading out of town are beautiful and interesting. They’re also ubiquitous. They’ve been ubiquitous since day one.

Also, my foot still aches, so the hilly suburbs north of Arcade, no matter their quaintness, do nothing to lighten my mood. Which I’m sure is a contributing factor to my response when the path crosses a road and enters a shady, wooded area. I am suddenly thinking of Pennywise the Clown, and Steven King’s fictional New England towns studded with forested parks where all kinds of kids go missing.

So…yeah….kinda in a bad mood.

Still, the forest path is undeniably beautiful. It follows a river. And then, over the sound of water, I hear music. I’ve reached the bagpipe guy! This famous fellow plays pretty much every day for pilgrims. He’s talented, which is important for an instrument that often sounds like the player is squeezing a bag of cats to death. But this is lovely, yowl-free music.My mood lifts with the tune. It’s the kind of magic I needed today.

The path continues to climb ( of course) through the forest, the substrate changing from carved stones to jumbled boulders to gnarled tree roots, and then back though the repertoire. If I don’t watch where I put my feet, I’ll fall for sure. But no bloodthirsty clowns have shown up, so things are looking up even if I can’t.

I get a pilgrim’s stamp from a fellow with a donativo stand along the path, the first of many. He’s giving everyone directions to the alternative path that skips the industrial section of town. Nice guy. Just a bit further I come across a length of steel grid fence into which perigrinos have woven hundreds of crosses made from sticks and bark found on the path. I also encounter a repeating chalked pink heart on the path’s stones. The pilgrims before me have felt the angst of these last few climbing days, so have left messages of encouragement. More magic.

There’s an element of insanity necessary in walking 10-plus miles a day with only a vague idea of what the Camino or the next stop will throw at you, good and bad. But it’s a magical insanity. At some point today, I gave in to it. Supernatural spider or bagpipe lullabies, I say, ‘Bring it!’

I am, however, still alone and craving the sound of my own language. Some 200 or so pilgrims have zipped past my hobbling self today. They travel in packs, speaking Spanish and German and French. Sometimes someone will give me a worried look as they wish me “Buen Camino,” but everyone is in a rush to get a bed or a beer at the next town.

When Richard and Moira wander up behind me speaking Canadian English, I pounce. They’re happy to have my company, and they’re in no hurry. Richard comments on the happy birdsong, and Moira stops to take pictures of butterflies. They are perfect company for this bit of Into the Woods travel.

We reach the big city of Redondela in the afternoon. I take a left at the roundabout, scurrying across the street. But Richard and Moira are going straight. I turn around to find them across several lanes of afternoon, big city traffic. We’re all too worn out to regroup. Moira waves and hollers across the traffic:

“It was lovely walking with you today, Tammy.”

I have just enough time to snap a photo of them scurrying across an intersection, and then ‘poof!’ They’re gone.

This is an integral part of the magical insanity of the Camino. You make some friends only to lose them a couple of hours later.

It’s ok. I don’t need the Canadian couples WhatsApp number. We came though the magical wood together and went our merry ways. And now I’m humming ‘No One is Alone,’ from Sondheim’s Into the Woods. This is a significant improvement over this mornings sewer clown imaginings.Read more