Friol to Melide to Salceda

The Camino has changed. The increased number of people have made the alone times less frequent, reduced even further after Melide when the Camino Frances melds with the Camino Primitivo. The earlier collective comraderie has narrowed to one’s immediate circle. The pilgrimmage is beginning to feel more like a long tourist walk through the countryside.

The scenery is more rolling hills than mountains, as to be expected; certainly easier on the legs. One can still overlook  valleys and vistas of fields and forests and streams. I do enjoy wading through the farming villages, stone houses, moaning cattle, and barking dogs. And take in that fresh…cough, cough…country air. Rainy weather mixed with the mud and manure made for slick pathways, all part of the experience. And there is nothing like joining a parade of cows.

I found myself greeting the animals in Spanish and English. “Buenos Dias. Good morning.How are you this fine morning. What are you doing out here on your own. No need to worry, just me.” The horses or sheep never respond verbally. The dogs and the cats and the cows on the other hand always seemed to acknowledge my presence.

My new challenge is to ring the bell atop as many churches as possible along the path. I approach them in hopes of finding a stamp as in the first three stages. Alas, the doors are now locked, the grounds filled with nichos to hold the deceased, and a chain hangs within reach. Sometimes one yank produces the desired sound; for others, several pulls get the bell to sway until the clacker strikes. I consciously strive for only one chime so as not to confuse the local residents. I was fortunate to ring two bells on each of the last three stretches. The road from Melide to Salceda revealed only two churches, both without a chain, another manner in which the Camino has changed.

And for reasons unknown, I kept singing to myself, “God is in the roses and thorns”, a song by Roseanne Cash on an album she released after her father died. I love the entire album yet this song comes to mind readily. As I look carefully at the lyrics, they don’t match my current circumstances; however, the notion there is some good to be found in all situations resonates. Yes, the Camino is crowded at time; most of the people respond with the obligatory, Buen Camino, many times muttered, lacking sincerity. I am annoyed at the vandals who have been writing gibberish on the official markers, a Carlos actively defacing them today. At the same time, kind and generous people have brightened the days.

My favourite moment occurred approximately halfway between Melide and Salceda, in the small city of Azúa. I had walked past an elderly Spanish couple, leathery faces of age, slowly trudging along, arm in arm, the woman helped by a walking stick. As usual, I conveyed a Buenas Dias, smiled; they returned the greeting. I walked on.

Approaching the centre is a display of large white letters spelling out the name of  the city. This signage is common in most tourist spots providing photo opportunities for visitors. I could see several people ahead posing. They were gone by the time I arrived and my attempts at a selfie proved fruitless. I looked around. The elderly Spanish  couple were plodding closer. I waited.

“Would you take my picture in front of the letters?” I pointed to the sign, to my phone, to him. The man understood and his face responded with enthusiasm, “Yes, I would be happy to help.” Okay, I made that up – neither of the two could understand or speak a word of English, but he was eager.

I handed him the camera, ready to point and click. The woman hobbled to the side, I moved into place, the man kept moving back to capture the whole word display. He looked up, looked into the camera, appeared to press the button several times and declared it done. He handed me the phone to ensure I was happy with the pictures. I checked. There was nothing, no new photos.

“Huh! Really? How is that possible?”, at least that is my interpretation of his body language and how his  Spanish words felt. “I will take another picture.” I set it up again, took my spot, he took his, aimed, pressed a couple times and handed the phone back. Still nothing.

By this time the man is befuddled, cannot figure out what is happening but insists to give it a third try. The woman waits patiently to the side, a hint of a smirk. I point to the button, which he claims to know. We go through the same routine. This time he has managed to snap a photo of the sidewalk. Determined he grumbles more in Spanish, admonishes himself and I hand the ready camera to him for a fourth attempt.

Hurrying the phone back to me, the man draws close, anxious to witness his efforts, as I open the photo gallery. Success. Two pictures. We both laughed heartily; he clasped his hand on my shoulder in celebration. The woman smiled broadly. “Gracias, gracias. Buenos Dias!” It was the best five minutes on the path in the last two days.

I walked a little lighter. God is in the roses and the thorns.

I arrived in Salceda at 3:00 pm, seven hours and 25.1 km later. Olga was waiting. We usually text each other along the way, keeping track of my pace and sharing pictures. These days are difficult for her given the constant movement from place to place, unprepared for the considerable downtime. Just one more long stretch tomorrow before we walk together to the cathedral in Santiago.

Buen Camino