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Pontevedra, Spain

So just when I have perfected the art of ordering coffee to get it the way I like it in Portuguese, I am back in Spain. So now the greetings change from “bom dia” to “buenos dias” and I get them terribly mixed up, not to mention the “obrigado” and “gracias”. Ai tog. Anyway – the beer is better in Portugal, the olives better in Spain.

My Hotel Parque is really run down, but I have a great dinner (tuna salad, steak and chips, a “few” glasses of vina del a casa for 9 euro). Hot bath and bed for the weary traveller – at 01h30 a child starts crying. And crying and crying and crying. And crying. As I am not yet the Dalai Lama, I consider my options. Just before I execute a murderous plan it stops. Of course – I am wide awake. And I don’t have emails to answer. And I have over 20 kms to do in the morning. Anyway, I eventually go back to sleep. The child also. (For which his parents can thank their lucky stars…).

The cafe around the corner on the sqaure serves a large cafe con leche WITH a little freshly baked croissant and a piece of cake for 90 cents! (Where there was the war between the local and the pigeons). My walk starts on the main town square. It is always a pain to get out of the city – you can choose between going via Paarden Island, Montague Gardens, or Epping Industria. Take your pick. Whichever route you take, it is kak. By now, it is amazing how the mind adapts. If I think how disturbing I found this at the beginning, thinking why on earth I am walking here – now, I just walk. The same with getting up in the morning – at home I would wonder “why oh why this day?”. Here, I get up, shower, get dressed, pack up and walk. Just like that. I don’t give it a second thought. And the walks have become quiet. I am eternally grateful that the bloody hallelujas have disappeared. And the FAK songs. Now, I listen to my feet on the ground, my breathing, the birds, the traffic, the barking of the dogs. And somehow, I have walked into a quiet space. A blissful, gentle quiet space.

Of course I think “what is this all about?” and “what has changed?” and “is this really a life changing joiurney?”. And I have serious conversations with myself. And thus far, all I have decided to change is to have breakfast every day. It might improve my moods. I am so glad that I managed to do this on my own (except for Marco of course – he might just pop up again any minute soon!). The solitude has been my greatest gift. Spending time with me, doing it at my pace, and in my space. I often wondered if I am missing out because I am not meeting other people and sharing experience. And every time I realise that I have no desire to do so. Being on my own for the past 25 days, not making small talk, not having to listen to other people, has been wonderful. I walked into my own sadness, into some deep, dark places where I have not been for many years. And I walked out of them again, knowing (as I have always believed) that only to the extent that one is prepared to go down into that dark place, will you be able to go into the light again. It is a law of physics – the amplitude of life. If you are not prepared to go down, you wil not go up. You can spend all your life energy trying to balance an equilibrium – never too sad, never too happy, showing the brave face to the world. Or you can be true to the inner tide and let life be with you, through you and because of you.

Along the way I see a pilgrim whom I have noticed a few times in passing. He is very small (looks about twelve years of age), blond, a little bit of fluff (really) on his chin, the thinnest little arms. His boots look as if they are three sizes too big, dragging his right foot that looks slightly turned inward. He has a small backpack, a little briefcase, and a plastic shopping bag with a big book in it. He also carries a large bottle of water, a leather jacket and sweatshirt hanging from his backpack. He walks like I sometimes do when I go to work in the morning, juggling too many things on my way to the car because I am too lazy to walk twice. But – he is walking the Caminho like this! From Lisbon, I find out as I catch up with him. He is giving SUCH short steps that it looks as if he is actually stumbling all the time. He is from France, and a really pleasant person. But after ten minutes I have to walk on as I cannot walk that slow. For the rest of the day – not a single other pilgrim. In Redondela I stop for coffee and a pie (yes they do wonderful pies in this area). I have already done my bit with a beer, a Tarte de Santiago (beautiful frangipani tart – a moist almond filling in a thin shortcrust pastry), so the pie is just to have a seat for a while. I decide not to stay in town, but rather go to the coast, off the route, and explore what the coast has to offer.

This part of the coast has several deep cuts inland, that form lagoon-like, quiet strands, blissful beaches and seemingly popular fishing spots. There are some huge houses, but also some tiny little seaside huts, all making for a wonderfully romantic area. Since the tide is extremely low, I decide to take a chance and actually walk on the beach. The peace and quiet is tangible. At a little cafe, a young boy is sitting next to the water doing his homework, with two canaries in their cages for company.

To end this blog – and please stop reading here if you are religiously sensitive, I have to share an experience. As this is a pilgrimage route, it literally goes past just about every single church in Portugal and Spain. One would take major detours in order to just walk past another church. But hey – when in Rome… As I mentioned before, the architecture of some of these churches and chapels are quite extraordinary, so I go in, take a break and enjoy the peace and quiet inside. Most of the time, the interior is so over the top in gold and angels and miserable looking Jesuses that it is hard to take it all in. But it is quiet, away from the sun, and the benches give good back support for a while. So I walk into one of these many churches, and notice a woman busy dusting Jesus on the cross. “Aha” I think, “it must be getting quite dusty in these old buildings, glad to see He is getting a bit of a cleaning up before the weekend”. In order not to disturb her in her holy task, I sit down very quietly without her noticing me. As I sit down, I realise that she actually is not the cleaning lady, she is touching Jesus, obviously as part of her “hail Marys” or prayer rituals. So not knowing that I am behind her, I watch her reaching way up to touch the crown of thorns, then she (yes) puts her finger in His mouth, then in her mouth, she strokes his sides and puts her finger in the stigmata on His side. She then starts kissing His loin cloth, as His ****** is exactly at eye level for her. Then she proceeds to kiss His loins over and over, and it looks exactly as if she is – ok, you get the message what it looks like. And there I am, like a voyeur, watching this little scene playing out in front of me, totally stunned! I am too scared to move. (For one I don’t want to miss anything, secondly I will be horrified if she knew I was watching her!). Before I could slip out, she turns around and sees me. Well, I just got up and walked out. Outside, I did not know if I should laugh hysterically or be hysterically concerned. WHAT on earth is this about? The image is SO absurd that I cannot get it out of my head….

Anyway, all in a good day’s walking.

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