The aftermath and side-affects of walking the caminos

Every time I return from the camino I get this urge to make changes in my life and chuck stuff away!
For the last three weeks I’ve been spring-cleaning. Just a couple of hours each day which has resulted in us carting boxes of junk to the recycling bins, sacks of rubbish to the dump, and boxes of books, ornaments, clothing and other unwanted stuff to the SPCA. My poor husband groans every time he sees the piles of stuff coming up for dumping.

June 2002:
I remember standing in front of my clothes cupboard after the first camino in 2002.
“What are you looking at?” asked Finn.
“All this … this .. STUFF!” I replied.
I felt almost repulsed by all the clothing hanging there. Why did I need 13 t-shirts? How could I possible wear 9 pairs of shorts and 7 cycle shorts? Rows of blouses, shirts, denim jeans, track suits and dresses. Most of the t-shirts were hand-outs from running races and were much too big for me but I had jealously guarded them until that moment. Out they went – to anyone who needed them.

July 2004:
When I got back from walking for 6 weeks in France and Spain I had an irresistible compulsion to change the décor in my living rooms. Why did I need all those pictures and photographs, ornaments and souvenirs cluttering up table tops, mantelpiece and corner what-nots?
My poor husband watched bemused as I packed them all into boxes.
“Why are you getting rid of those?” he asked.
“We need to re-decorate” I told him.
“What’s wrong with the way it is?” he said.
“It’s all too busy,” was all I could say.

I still don’t know why our things and colour scheme lost their charm but I had an overpowering urge to go minimalist, quiet, plain, de-clutter. I had shelves full of birding books, flower arranging books. I used to scour second hand book shops and flea markets for these books, often spending my last few available pennies on them. I had a collection of every bird book on the market and flower books that that included everything from Ikebana (3 years of Ichiyo School) to George Smith (favourite flower arranger of Princess Grace). They nearly all went to the SPCA. Ditto all the novels.
I cleared away all the little ornaments, animal carvings: made plain cream curtains to replace the burgundy shantung and put in a plain sandy coloured corded carpet. I covered the Chintz lounge suite in a plain colour and covered the pink draylon dining chairs with cream curtaining.

July 2006:
When I returned home from walking the Via Francigena I decided that I wasn’t going to wear my gold watch and diamond engagement ring anymore.
“Why not?” asked my husband.
“I do so much walking – I could be mugged for them” I said.
Truth is I didn’t want to wear gold and diamonds. They’re better off in the safe anyway. I never have worn much jewelry but my tastes have changed. I wear a string with a Santiago shell on it or a cord with a wooden Tau. I wear a cord wrist strap from La Faba and a wrist band with Ave Fenix printed on it. (I'm starting to look like a hippie!)
For years I have been the one to plant the flower beds while Finn does all the hard work maintaining the rest of the garden. I love flowers and worked with them for 25 years, but I would really like to rip out the entire garden and go indigenous so that the garden will care for itself with Aloes, agapanthus, watsonia and other indigenous plants.
I now had two Compostelas and a Testimonium as well as pebbles from Paris and St Jean, Roncesvalles, Santiago and Finisterre, Lake Geneva, Gr St Bernard and Roma. What to do with them? I framed them all and hung them in the guest bathroom!

July 2007:
My artist friend Sandi Beukes did three small Santiago paintings for my entrance - Santiago Apostle, Santiago peregrino and Santiago Matamoros. My sister painted a pilgrim walking on the path to Hontanas. When I got back from walking the camino I took down all the framed prints in the house. Who needs prints of boats, Big Ben, waves crashing on some unknown beach when you can have Sant'Iago and peregrinas?

My friends and family buy me anything with scallop shells - soap dishes, gift boxes, ornaments, serving dishes. I added a shell ornament from Croatia to our entrance, a moulded shell to our front door, a little brass shell on the entrance table, replaced the door handles in our bathroom with shell handles. I started serving Spanish food when friends came to lunch. Nothing like a Tortialla Espanol and ensalada for lunch or a large Paella for supper!
I went through my clothes - again - and gave away more t-shirts, jeans, dresses, blouses. When summer arrived I looked for something cool to wear one day and found that I didn't have a summer dress - not one! I decided not to buy one either - don't need them.

I used to enjoy looking at the season's fashions and bought a few new items of clothing each season. My clothing habits have changed. I'm only attracted to outdoor and hiking shops. I can spend hours looking at the gadgets, backpacks, new hiking shoes and boots, feeling the weight of shirts and fleeces. No more Daniel Hechter or Jenny Button for me. Now it's not the colour for fashion that is important - it's the weight! If they don't weigh under 100g I'm not interested in buying them!

July 2009:
Last month when I got back from Spain Finn said, “What are you going to chuck out or change this time?” I think he’s getting nervous of this new, minimalist me! After all, some camino pilgrims not only change their lifestyle, they sell their homes and emigrate to Spain.
“I’m going to clear the storeroom” I said.
Our storeroom is two rooms underneath the house. They are only just higher than head height but are packed to the top with boxes and packets of stuff that ‘we might need one day’ – like boxes that new irons, kettles, toasters, key-boards, lamps, radios came in … all things that might stop working which would necessitate a return to the store where we bought them. So, the boxes they came in (with purchase slips stuck to the lids) all found their way to the storeroom. Some were from 2003. I don’t think we’ll be able to return these item, so the boxes have been flattened and taken to the cardboard recycle bin with all the other cardboard that ‘we might have needed one day’. This is a mammoth job which will feed my need to chuck out for at least three months - which is usually how long it takes for me to settle down again. While I'm working the little stone encased in wire dangles around my neck. It is worth much more to me than the gold chain I used to wear - it was made by Pepe, a perpetual pilgrim - and the stone is from Aragon, very precious.

Walking the camino changes your perspective on many things. It helps you to find what it important in your life - what you really need to be happy and how little you need to survive. It helps you to divest yourself of psychological and emotional baggage.

This clearing out transfers itself to material baggage too and many pilgrims have said that they too come back and start decluttering their lives. I know a pilgrim who sold her television, DVD player and computer when she got back from her third camino.

I could do without the television but I think I'll hang onto the computer. I need it to write stories, to sell to magazines, to make money to pay for my next camino!

WALKING STICKS AND TREKKING POLES

Q: What have the characters in these pictures got in common?

A: They all have walking poles!
When I was diagnosed with fairly severe osteoporosis I started using sticks when hiking. I don't mind the going up, but it is the coming down that makes me feel unsteady and using two sticks have been my saving grace. I may look like a crippled crab on crutches but they are my rod and my staff and are a great comfort to me!

You either love 'em or you hate 'em.

Walking sticks, hiking poles or trekking sticks - some swear by them others denounce them, most of us can't bear the click-click-clicking the metal tips make on hard surfaces when hiking or walking.


WHICH KIND IS BEST?Wooden staff, bamboo pole, carbon fibre, aluminium, metal, cane .....
Use what's best for you. Only you know. Test a few or borrow someone else's pole or use a ski pole or a broom handle or a pool cue, just to see how it feels. If you decide on having a pole, then make or buy what feels best. Remember, it should feel like an extension of your body. If it feels clumsy, then you will probably be clumsy. If it fits smoothly into your hiking rhythm and even enhances your rhythm, then you've got a good candidate for your third (and fourth) leg.
My favourite walking stick is a simple bamboo pole I found in a bundle standing next to a sherpherd's croft in the Alps when we walked the Via Francigena. We left a donation of 5 euro in a box next to the pile and chose a stick. I use it together with a telescopic pole.

TWO POLES OR ONEIt boils down to what is your preference. Or more specifically, what feels right on the trail. "Theoretically, I felt that two poles was the best thing to do. It didn't work for me, at first--it just didn't feel right. I couldn't get balanced--couldn't get a good rhythm. I didn't have problems on snow with two snow poles, but I couldn't seem to get the same rhythm on the trail. So, for a long time, I used only one aluminum pole, or one wooden staff, when (non-snow) trekking or hiking. Currently, though, I've gotten more comfortable with two aluminum hiking poles. I've found it helps my bad back, considerably."

WHAT LENGTH SHOULD THE TELESCOPIC HIKING POLE BE?

Hold the pole upside down under the basket with your forearm in a horizontal position. Adjust +10cm or so going downhill and -10cm or so going uphill.

Have a look at this short video from Backpackers Gear School on how to adjust your poles.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skXVMA5nShA

ACCESORIES

There are several choices one can make when using ski-pole type hiking poles.

Hand Grips:
Hard rubber, hard cork, plastic, foam are all common materials used for pole handles. Plastic is lifeless, cold, hard, and slippery. Foam isn't durable enough. Hard rubber and cork seem to mould to the hand well and are very durable. Make sure the finger grips fit your hands well. Some poles come with slight, subtle design differences between right and left hands (e.g., Leki Super Makalu) to provide less unnecessary friction against the hands.

Hand/Wrist Straps (and How To Use Them)Most hiking/trekking poles come with wrist straps. Several poles (e.g., Leki poles) come with a color coding. The right pole has a red or black dot on top of the hand grip and the left pole has a white or silver dot. The significance is that each pole has a hand strap that has been contoured to best fit each hand. If you use straps, find poles with straps that are made of one-inch nylon webbing that are pre-twisted to provide more comfort to your wrist. Most folks either don't use straps or, if they do, think the straps are just a safety device to keep them from losing the poles, should they drop them. Although that may be true, that's not their main function. If you are using poles correctly, your hands won't get tired.
The straps help to hold your hand in place on the trekking pole, allowing you to swing the pole using a light grip, thus less hand fatigue.
To properly use the wrist strap, follow these simple steps:

1. Put your hand up through the bottom of the strap
2. Grasp the pole grip, keeping your hand relaxed
3. Cinch the strap snug, but not tight and with your fingers, guide the pole to where you want to plant it, still very loosely holding it in your hand, then plant it on the ground with all the weight of your body, pack, etc. transferring to the wrist strap via your wrist and arm.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tfVEvxFXiPY&NR=1

Bottom line: the appendage stress associated with using poles should not be on your hands and fingers, but on your wrist and arms. Firstly don’t grip the handle too hard, it is the strap that should be doing all the work. Have a relaxed grip that allows the trekking pole to have natural swinging action. You should use opposite pole to the leading leg, so right pole left leg and vice versa. The position of the pole plant should be roughly level with your foot but it’s what ever suits you.

However - Pacer Poles do not rely on wrist bands but rather on a moulded left and right hand grip. http://www.pacerpole.com/

Some of the reviews on the website:

CAMERON McNEISH: “A truly innovative design which will I am convinced change the fundamental thinking on how we use poles to aid us when walking or trekking.”

CHRIS BONINGTON: “Pacerpoles are excellent and I will certainly be using them as my poles in the future.”

GRAHAM HOPKINS: “I through-hiked the Pacific Crest Trail with a pair of Pacerpoles from Canada to Mexico, a distance of about 2658 miles. I loved the poles. They gave great power on the up-hill climbs, and good control on the descent, the largest of which was 7,000ft. I truly have to commend you for a great creation.”

Shock Absorbers:Some poles (e.g. Leki Super Makalu) come with shock absorbers. Springs are integrated into the telescoping shaft joints, such that they absorb some shock otherwise absorbed by your elbow and wrist joints. Most poles don't incorporate them, but you can purchase them separately.

Adjustable Shafts:Some poles have telescoping sections with a screw-down-tight locking mechanism located at the intersection of each pole section. Some poles have three sections--they can be reduced more in length so that they are more compact--but they cost more. Other poles have two sections--they're longer when shortened, but they may weigh a little less, as well as cost less. Then there is the one-section pole which is cheaper but is not very packable.

Camera Mount:The handle on some poles will unscrew to reveal a 1/4" screw that is compatible with most compact point 'n shoot and zoom cameras. These poles are intended to have camera-monopod capability.

Baskets vs Non-Baskets:
These are those little upside down cradles at the bottom of the shaft. In non-snow terrain, your typical ski baskets tend to get in the way. They get caught in brush, wedged between rocks, and are difficult to use in crossing fast water.

Rubber Tip vs Carbide Tip:Most aluminum ski-type poles come with the carbide tip. Others (e.g., Tracks Sherlock) come with a rubber tip. Rubber tips can slip on wet ground and rock. Some people like the rubber tip because it doesn't sound like "fingernails on a blackboard" when crossing rock surfaces and it's easier to maintain a smooth hiking rhythm because the rubber tip doesn't create "drag" by penetrating the ground.

WHY SHOULD YOU USE POLES??

THEY CAN HELP YOU KEEP YOUR BALANCE

Crossing Creeks, Streams, Rivers

Traversing hillsides
Carrying heavy loads
Resting en route











On uneven or slippery ground















Hiking in muddy conditions












Crossing landslides, shale, scree

THEY WILL HELP YOU MANOEUVRE ....

REDUCE STRESS ON BACK, KNEES, LEGS, & FEET
Provides extra power & balance going uphill
Reduces shock on knees going downhill
Takes pressure off back & hips (mainly uphill)

OTHER USES

Help others to cross rivers, boulders etc
Center or side pole for a tarp
To prop up your pack
To lean on when resting
Pushing aside spider webs & brush
Self defense
A wash line in albergues
An exercise pole whilst walking
Picking up fallen objects


(Thank you to Backpacking.net and Alpkit.com for permission to use info from their websites).

Although I am not religious (I consider myself to be a Buddhist) one of my favourite spiritual writers is the Trappist-Catholic-Buddhist monk, Thomas Merton. I subscribe to the Merton Institute for a weekly reflection. The words that arrived in my email box the week before I left for the camino was like a message to a prospective hospitalera! I would like to share it here, with credit to the Merton Institute:

"Persons are known not by the intellect alone, nor by principles alone, but only by love. It is when we love the other, the enemy, that we obtain from God the key to an understanding of who he is and who we are. It is only this realization that can open to us the real nature of our duty, and of right action. To shut out the person and to refuse to consider him as a person, as another self, we resort to the impersonal "law" and "nature." That is to say we block off the reality of the other, we cut the intercommunication of our nature and his nature, and we consider only our own nature with its rights, its claims, its demands. In effect, however, we are considering our nature in the concrete and his nature in the abstract. And we justify the evil we do to our brother because he is no longer a brother, he is merely an adversary, an accused, an evil being.To restore communication, to see our oneness of nature with him, and to respect his personal rights, integrity, his worthiness of love, we have to see ourselves as accused along with him, condemned to death along with him, sinking into the abyss with him, and needing, with him, the ineffable gift of grace and mercy to be saved."
Thomas Merton. Seeds of Destruction (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1961): 254-255.

Musings from the End of the World

San Roque albergue is about 9km from Finisterre. Many pilgrims who walk the various caminos finish in Santiago and although some walk to Finisterre, many others catch a bus or go there by taxi. Those who decide to walk the ± 90kms might stop at San Roque albergue (about 1km from Corcubion). This is the last albergue on the camino before "Fin do Camino - Fin da Terra" (the End of the Camino - End of the World).

Although a few pilgrims might only start walking in Santiago to walk the Fistera route, the majority have walked many hundreds of kilometres - some thousands - by the time they reach here. By this stage they have long sorted out their backpack problems or blisters and have become quite stoical about aches and pains. A few pilgrims who stop at San Roque are excited about reaching the end of their long pilgrimage. "I am ready now - no more, no further. Tomorrow is the end." they say.

Others are terrified of reaching the final marker - the 0.00km concrete stele at the top of the peninsula. "I don't want it to end," they say with haunted expressions. "I can't believe that tomorrow will be the last day."

I'm sure that there is a completely different atmosphere in the albergues where pilgrims are just starting out. I remember the majority of pilgrims in St Jean Pied de Port with their new backpacks and brightly coloured clothes. They walked around with nervous, anxious, expectant looks on their faces. They were embarking on a long journey into the unknown. They would have to cross three mountain ranges, cross some 70 rivers, pass through about 250 towns and villages, forests, plains, high hills and deep valleys before arriving at the tomb of the saint. Could they do it? Did they have the stamina, the endurance, the will power, had they done enough training?

Hospitaleros in the 'starting' places must have to be constantly encouraging, reassuring, cheering them on.

Hospitaleros in the 'middle' albergues must have a different duty - placating, urging those to carry on who want to give up or feel that they have done enough. Massaging tired muscles and treating blisters and hot spots.

Here at San Roque weather-beaten pilgrims in faded clothes and walnut tans have already proven themselves capable, strong, eduring. Here, most of the peregrinos fear only the end. They have walked through the pain and the doubt and have been tested by the elements, have gone the distance and now feel that they could go on forever.

They don't want to go home.

They don't want to go back to their 'normal' lives.

Most are already planning their next camino.

A tourist in Spain (and homecoming)

Lola in the San Roque Living room

Today I was a tourist again in Santiago. After serving breakfast at San Roque for the last time I said goodbye to all the pilgrims (tears from the German) and collected my things. Isa and I just hugged each other. "Hasta siempre mi mama Africa" she says.

Begona arrived from Finisterre with another passenger for Lola to taxi up to Santiago. "Thank you" she says, "I think you enjoyed it?"

"I did, very much. I'd like to come back sometime." She asks me if I would mentor other volunteers from South Africa. Something to think about when I get back.

The weather clears as we head towards Santiago and when the sun shines it is actually quite warm. We park in the catedral parking and the first thing we do is have a hot chocolate at the Dakar bar close to the cathedral. The Dakar Bar forms part of the chain of bars that used to be called the "Paris to Dakar" pub crawl in Santiago. Then I take Lola to the Pazo de Agra to find a room for the night. Fernando is surprised to see me and we get a very warm welcome. I've stayed there in 2002, 2004, 2009 and have sent many friends there. He shows us Lola's room and then we head off for the cathedral and take our places on the pews for the pilgrim's mass. A young girl from the US sits next to me.
"Do you think the Botafmeiro will swing today?" she asks. The famous silver incense burner is already suspended above the altar. "Yes, there it is" I point it out to her. The nun with the beautiful voice sings the responses required of the congregation. The mass begins. I look up at the cathedral, water stains, ancient mason signs in the columns, stained glass windows.

A statue of Maria the mother of James gazing down at the people in the congregation. She must be one proud Mama! She looks like the nun who leads the mass.
This is truly a 'pilgrim' cathedral. It is one of the few medieval churches that was never an abbey. How different from Rome - from St Peter's - which is not warm or welcoming. As pilgrims in 2006 we were not allowed into St Peter's because our arms were not covered. Here, pilgrims of all ages, in shorts, t-shirts, boots and sandals, with backpacks leaning against the ancient pillars, cram the aisles and sit on the flagstones. It has always been like this. When communion is over the men in maroon grab the large wheel with the ropes attached and start swinging the botafumeiro higher and higher. It looks smaller than I remember it from 2002. This is a replica and is not the 80kg silver thurible that we saw 7 years ago. It still elicits gasps from the congregation as it almost touches the ceiling. After mass we throng out of the cathedral back into the sunshine.

Lola's phone rings. It is Judith, phoning to say goodbye to me. She and Francelino had intended driving to San Roque today to wish me farewell but I had left already.
"We did our best to keep up the warm tradition of San Roque" I tell her.
"The pilgrims won't forget" she says. "I hope to see you back again one day".
I hope so too - I'm already feeling nostalgic.
Santiago is crowded. There are many groups of young people (it has a huge university and it is holidays) lolling about on all the steps around the cathedral. The narrow streets are filled with pilgrims, tourists and a few stoic residents who have to negotiate their way through the milling crowds. There are beggars, some with dogs, buskers playing guitar or flute, there are singers, harmonising troubadours in traditional La Tuna tights and tunics. Santiago is truly medieval. I don't imagine it looked too different 700 years ago with its myriad of tiny alleys, cobbled or grey granite streets, overhanging balconies, alleys and arches.

We make our way back to the Dakar bar for lunch. They have an excellent Menu del Dia for 10 euros (better than most) which includes salads, a drink and a coffee. One of the Spanish pilgrims from 4 days ago finds us and there is much rejoicing - kiss, kiss, hug, hug. I leave them chatting and go in search of souvenirs to take home to friends and family. How many fridge magnets or key rings can one have? Then I find the internet cafe and send emails home. I meet up with Lola again in the square and we sit on the stones in front of the cathedral enjoying the music, the happy sounds of pilgrims and enjoying the sun. Then it is time to go. We get the car and pick up a friend of Lola's and stop at a little bar on the way to Lavacolla for a drink. It is less than 10km to Lavacolla - I could have walked there. At 6pm I am at the airport. Bye-bye Lola, gracias por todo - kiss, kiss, hug, hug.

The plane leaves at 8h40pm and I arrive at Madrid Bajaras airport at 21h45. My flight only boards at 1h25am - we'll be half an hour late. I sleep on the plane but am still tired when we arrive in Johannesburg. I see black faces and hear the familiar sounds of isiZulu. I am home.

There is snow on the mountains when we fly over the Drakensberg. It is winter and it has been cold in Durban. We fly over the beachfront and I take a photograph of the new soccer stadium. When I land in Durban at 3pm Finn and my sister Patty are there to meet me. How wonderful to have family to greet you when you return home. After asking about the boys, their wives, our baby Emily and the dogs, Finn says, "Enough about us, tell us about your trip."

My trip?? Sigh. Is that what it was - a trip?

"I'm jet-lagged" I say, "I can't even think straight. Ask me questions rather and I'll answer as best I can." They ask a few questions, 'what time did you leave Corcubion? Were you sad to leave the albergue? How was the flight? Easy questions to answer. Everything else will have to be remembered, savoured, understood, processed in the coming weeks.

We visit Mark & Tammy and I get to hold my little Emily. She recognizes me and her grin is so huge that her little cheeks look like apples. I sing the 'Emily-Ann" song and she waves her hands about in recognition. I give my family their souvenirs and then we drive Patty home where I get a big warm welcome from her furry little Yorkie called Muffin. Then it is home to my Labbie and street special. Wag, wag, lick, lick - the doggie version of kiss, kiss, hug, hug. I chuck everything onto the floor. It can wait for the morning.

Hospitalera in Corcubion - Last day

It is raining.

It was a beautiful day yesterday - and all week - but today the mist is so thick you can´t even see the other side of the park. The electricity has tripped again. I uncoil the extension cord and drape it around the back of the benches so that I can put on the coffee and switch the fridge on. I boil a kettle, put a kettle of milk onto the stove and cut two loaves of bread for breakfast. Isa comes down - still sleepy. At 7 am sharp I put on Gregorian Chants and turn up the sound. The voices of the monks chanting echoes up the stairwell and wakes the sleeping pilgrims who slowly make their way down to the livingroom.

"Cafe?" I ask, "Solo or con leche?" "Cola Cao?" "Te?"

They dump their packs in the entrance hall and sit at the table eating toast, Marie biscuits, bread and jam sipping their hot drinks. "Is it raining?" asks one of the young German pilgrims. He has on a vest and shorts. Last night he told us that he would only be able to sleep in the municiapl albergue at Finisterre but not at the private one that charges 10€ because he has run out of money. "I will sleep on the beach" he says. The rain has really dampened his spirits. Kiss, kiss, hug, hug - angeles, engels - and then they are all gone.
"Thank you for everything" says Brian. "I hope you feel blessed by what you are doing here because we were blessed to have you". What a lovely thing to say - I am moved. I do feel blessed. Blessed that I am healthy and able to help the Association keep the albergue going in the spirit of camino - love, welcome, caring.

"I don´t think I´ve done it for the pilgrims so much as for the people who provide these shelters" I try to tell Isa when she asks why I volunteered to be a hospitalera.

´To give back´is a stock response but to give back to whom? For me, it has been to give back to those who provide the shelters, especially the donativo shelters. I am fulfilling a promise I made to myself 2 years ago, to come back and add my bit to the tapestry that is the camino.

It is still raining so we'll stay in today. After the usual 3 hour round of sweeping, mopping, dusting, wiping down, we defrost the fridge. We´ll leave the next hospitalera with a nice clean fridge. We tidy the pantry. Potatoes, lettuce, onions etc have all shed a few leaves or sand and the floor and boxes need cleaning. We tidy the pot cupboard. Its so easy to push a fry pan on top of a cooking pot and then the lids fall all over the place. We rearrange the books and CDs and tapes. Yesterday I put fresh hydrangeas into empty marmelade bottles. Lola brought me two red roses yesterday. These are now in the little pot with the Camomile daisies we picked in the forest at Finisterre. The place looks really homely.

I go upstairs and throw everything I possess onto my bed and sift through the old tickets, papers, rubbish collected along the caminos. I decide to leave the South African flag in the albergue - I put it on the mantlepiece when I arrived and it has stood proudly there for two weeks. I flatten my backpack and put it at the bottom of the folding kit bag. I pack all my camino stuff into the bag and leave out only the little folding backpack. I am ready to leave in the morning. I have mixed emotions.

The first pilgrims, a Spanish couple, arrive in the mist at about 2pm. Then two German men who look like Laurel and Hardy. They are soaked through and once inside the taller of the two struggles to get his credential out of his waistbag under the poncho. I put up my hands. "Nein" I say in my best German. "Sit down, take off your boots, leave your ponchos here. Go upstairs, choose a bed and have a hot shower. Come down and have some coffee or hot chocolate and then bring the credentials to me. I´m not going anywhere so we can do this when you are warm and dry. " They look at each other and the smaller one starts to cry. Oh shit!

"Nein, nein" I say. "Arriva, arriva" I shoo them upstairs. I find out that the younger (who is 64 years old) is an emotional man who cries when telling me about the kindness of strangers, about finding his daughter´s date of birth and sign of the zodiac on a marker outside Santiago, and who gets tearful recounting just about every other experience he has had on the camino. El Camino does that to some people - it can be a very powerful experience.

When they come down about an hour late the taller one asks me where I am from. When I say South Africa he startles me by bellowing out the entire National Anthem in a deep barritone.

Nkosi sikelel' iAfrika

Maluphakanyisw' uphondo lwayo,

Yizwa imithandazo yethu,

Nkosi sikelela, thina lusapho lwayo.

(He encourages me to join in by conducting with his hands. I join in but don´t know all the words so for this post I googled them)

Morena boloka setjhaba sa heso,

O fedise dintwa la matshwenyeho,

O se boloke, O se boloke setjhaba sa heso,

Setjhaba sa South Afrika - South Afrika.

(I know the next bit which is Afrikaans because we all learned the words at school. I bellow out at the top of my voice.)

Uit die blou van onse hemel,

Uit die diepte van ons see,

Oor ons ewige gebergtes,

Waar die kranse antwoord gee,

(I am lost with English because I never did learn the words)

Sounds the call to come together,

And united we shall stand,

Let us live and strive for freedom,

In South Africa our land.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qXKur2FAN7g

He sings in a choir in Frankfurt and sang at Free Mandela rallies carrying posters ad placards he says. He talks faster and faster in hybrid German/Dutch/English and I don´t really understand but I catch a few words and names - Walter Sisulu, Helen Suzman - so I nod appreciatively and show that I am grateful and proud of him. "Danke" I say. He smiles and nods.

After dinner we will sing the old Xhosa hymn again but this time in a small group.

More pilgrims arrive and then a very wet, bedraggled, exhausted looking woman arrives.

"You look like a very tired pilgrim" I say. "I am - I´m exhausted, I have walked over 40km today. I didn´t know that I could walk 40km and I am very proud of myself.

"Where are you from?" I ask, she has a familiar accent.

"South Africa" she says. Screech, screech, kiss, kiss, hug, hug. She is Ann from Cape Town. "Is there another South African here" she asks. "No, just me" I say. Her cousin should be here, or might be coming behind her. We get her out of her wet shoes, stuff them with newspaper and she struggles upstairs to find a bed, a hot shower and lie down for a while before coming down later.

It is my turn to cook. "Cook curry beans" asks Isa. She has developed a taste for spicy food. I blend all sorts of spices´- pizza spice, red and black piemento, curry powder, garlic, some spices I don´t know but they smell good, into a paste and start the dinner. I am preapring for 8 pilgrimgs, then two more arrive so the curry becomes a mixed one - white beans, lentils, bottles of vegetables, diced potatoes. I make pancakes which Isa helps to sprinkles with sugar and cinnamon and lemon juice and rolls them up onto a large platter. Winifried (the younger of the two German pilgrims) is delighted with the pancakes. "My mother made the best pancakes" he says wistfully, "we called them pfannkuchen". We all remember our mother's cooking, no matter how old we are or how far we are from home.

There is a knock on the door. It is Stephen from Johannesburg, Ann´s cousin. It is 8 o´clock and he has walked a long, hard day. We wait while he has a shower but he misses out on the San Roque choir singing "Tengo, tengo Hambre" "I am, I am hungry" "Ich bin Honrig" "Ek is, ek is honger".

The sun has come out. It will be a nice day tomorrow - my last day in Spain. We move the wash rack into the sun in the park. After dinner Winfried (of the Frankfurt mens Choir) Ann, a relucuctant Stephen and I stand up and sing nKosi Sikhele iAfrica to much applause. Then Winfried and Tomas sing a rather sombre German folk song. We serve coffee, tea, hot chocolate. Ann and I chat away - it is 11pm. I am tired. We go to bed. I can see the lights of Finsiterre through the window. Tomorrow I leave.

Hospitalera in Corcubion - Day 11

I´ve developed a thing about hair. I just can´t believe that humans lose so much hair and that it is everywhere. Wipe a tiled wall and there will be at least one offending snake left crawling across the wall. Shake the sheets when making a bed and they float up and settle back on the sheets - long blond hair, dark wavy hair, short and curly hair (you know what I mean!) It is starting to drive me nuts. Every morning the broom grows a beard Santa would be proud of - and I have to scratch it off. I´m sure they could manufacture duvet´s for the poor with all the hair that is shed on the camino.

I´ve had a few mishaps with the shopping. There is a stray cat that visits the albergue and we decided to buy some cat pellets when we went shopping the other day.

¨You get food for el gato¨says Isa. We have called the cat Sebastian (because Isa is from San Sebastian) but we don´t know if it should be Sebastiana. No one is prepared to catch the cat and look between its legs. Its happy to walk into the albergue and meow for food but it isn´t too happy with human contact. I've got scratches to prove it. So, off I go to the pet food section and see a very nice packet with a picture of a charming kitty on it. When Sebastian/a came in arching his/her back screeching for food, I opened the packet only to find that I bought Kitty-litter! Screech, screech went the indignant cat so we opened a tin of tuna.

With so many household brands with no pictures on the containers I have put laundry wash in the toilet bowls (no pictures of where the nice smelling´stuff should go. ) I´ve washed down the walls with disinfectant and the other day I cleaned the mirrors with stain remover. They need to have a colour picture manual of household items for those who don´t read Spanish. Isa and I have developed a very vocal ´hospitalera´language.

"Squish, squish" she says whilst demostrating the squeazing of an imaginary hand-held stain remover spray onto an imanginary item before I do the washing.

"Chaka, chaka, chak" accompanied by waist high Ninja-like chops of the right hand means "chop the onions and peppers".

"Floo, floo, floo" whilst rapidly waving the hands, palms up, up and down in the air means shake the sheets on the beds. There is a sound for every activity and duty.

We walked into Corcubion yeserday to do some shopping. The man in the Farmacia very kindly changed my glasses (yes, I managed to break another pair) for a new pair so I can see again. We had a photo of Isa and me printed for the new albergue book that pilgrims write messages in. I now wish that I had copied some of them. We are variously described as ángeles, engels, angel etc - all meaning ángels´. Well, pilgrims think you are an angel if you let them in early or give them a glass of cold water, or perhaps let them go upstairs and shower before having to sign them in. It doesn´t take much to be an ángeles´on the camino.

When we returned to the albergue there was a surprise waiting for me - Sebastien, the French pilgrim-cum-hospital-clown who we had met on our first day from Lourdes to Asson had finally made it to the Fistera Route. Kiss, kiss, hug, hug - long lost family member. Sebastien thought he had picked up bed bugs in Negreira so we found him a shirt (2 sizes too small) and a pair of mens boxers to change into whilst we put all his clothes and sleeping nag into hot water and then the washing machine. He walked around all afternoon with his clown´s hat and boxers. Newly arriving pilgrims were quite startled by the sight but once explanations were made they all nodded sagely and accepted this as the wise thing to do.

Our first Japanese pilgrim arrives. He speaks English and Spanish. "Thunk-ooo. Thunk-oooo!" he says when I tell him about dinner at 8pm and breakfast at 7h30am. "Thunk-ooo, thunk-ooo" he bobs up and down from the waist up with his praying hands together when I tell him that there is tea or coffee in the living room. He looks like one of those plastic birds one attaches to the side of a glass that bob up and down. He is painfully thin (only 50kg he tells me at dinner) like a stick figure. He has a large see through folder with a ton of paper, maps, guides, google maps, GPS positions. "Preparation is most important" he says nodding vigorously I wonder what Sant Iago, the fisherman from the east, would think about this wise man from the far east who has walked all the way from St Jean Pied de Port to visit his tomb?

Later in the afternoon a smiling pilgrim arrives and when I meet him at the door he grins and says, "I think I know you". I had never seen him before. Mistaken identity?

Then he showed me his Pilgrimage-to-Santiago forum badge - the first I've seen. Ah-ha! Who was he?

"I´m from Ireland" he said.

"Sagalout!" I shouted. Big mistake.

"No, he is from England" he said.

Whoops! He was Brian - Brian McKenna from the forum, a delightful pilgrim with a big grin and so happy to be at San Roque I think I would have kept the albergue open just for him.

Isa made spaghetti with mushroom sauce and we got three peregrinas to make fruit salad which we had with cheese and membrillo - a firm, quice jelly-jam that you can cut in thin slices to serve with the sliced cheese. Two young German pilgrims sang a lovely song about about walking with your back to the wind, the sun in your face and when you die, being in heaven for 40 days before the devil knew that you were dead. (At least I think that is what it was about.) The young German chicos didn´t go to bed until after 11pm so Isa went up and left Lola and me holding the fort. I am getting more and more tired and am in need of a loooooong sleep. This up at 6am and getting to bed after 11:30pm is for the younger birds.

Penultimate day and I have mixed feelings. I love it here but I miss home and my family and I want to see my little Emily who was 7 moths old when I left and is now over 8 months and is sitting, crawling about and doesn´t know her ´Silly´granny.

Hasta manana.

Hospitalera in Corcubion - Day 10

Yahoo!! Today we escaped again and went to Finisterre. Lola drove us to the outskirts of the village and we walked half way up the hill to the Faro, taking an alternate path to see the ruins of San Guilleremo - a local saint who lived high up on the bluff and helped woman who couldn´t have children. I'm not sure how he accomplished that but there is a little stone font in the ruins of his home where young women put money. Isa put in two 5c pieces.

"Twins?" I asked. I had to make a sign of 2 fingers and roll my hands over my tummy, "Dos ninos?" "NO!" she laughs.

It is a lovely walk, about 3km through pine woods to the ridge of the bluff with stunning views over both sides - the Finisterre village way down below on one side and the beautiful Playas (beaches) on the other. On the way back we see a squirrel on the electricty line. He is chirping and twitching and flicking his tail about. We keep very still and watch him for a long time. When he scampers down the electricity pole we just grin at each other - what a privelege to see a little wild creature so close to humanity.
Then we walked down to the Playa do Mar Foro where we ate our picnic lunch. There are caves here where many pilgrims sleep when they can't afford to pay for alternative accommodation.

I paddled in the Atlantic ocean - cold - and walked along the beach looking for shells.

We visited the Fistera albergue when we got back and met the French pilgrim from the night before. We all had a drink at the cafe bar across the road and then Isa and I took the bus back to Corcubion. "How many pilgrims will be waiting?" asks Isa. "Mmmm... its a beautiful day so I don't think many" I say confidently, "maybe 2, or 3 at the most".

7 pilgrims waiting for us in the park. (Groan!) "Sil, por favor, lets shower first?" asked Isa. "OK, you shower while I let them in, its no problem."
So after changing out of our shorts and me my boots, I let them in. A group of 5 Spanish women walking together to Finisterre. A beautiful young man with a sad face from Hungary. Tomash (that´s how he pronounced his name) is sad because his camino is coming to an end. He has to go back to work but he doesn't want to.

"So much has changed" he says, "So many things, places, people." He doesn't want his camino to end. He was going to walk straight through to Finisterre but he is delaying the end by spending a night at San Roque. He has studied Dutch and is a translator so we chat in Afrikaans. I make Potato bake with no oven. Potatoes, butternut, onions, mushrooms all precooked and tossed together. Sprinkle over cream of mushroom soup powder and add a large cartoin of cream. Put into two plastic bowls and cook each in the microwave for 10 minutes. It goes down well and the Spanish ladies all want the recipe. I also make a salsa with onions, peppers, garlic, tomato from a tin and chopped up frankfurter sausages.
At about 6pm Sonke - a German pilgrim who stayed with us 3 days earlier - arrives. "I am back again!" he says. "I walked to Finsisterre and to Muxia and am now walking back to Santiago. Can I stay here? You have a bed?" He has dark brown eyes, curly dark hair and a face like a cherub. He could be mistaken for Greek, or Turkish or even Italian or Spanish. How can we refuse? "Of course you can" I say. "What is for dinner?" he asks. "I have missed your cooking and have been dreaming of a good dinner. It is my birthday today and I wanted to spend it with friends." A man comes to the albergue with two dogs, pulling a trolley with his camping and clothing. Can he have a shower he asks, and he´d like to camp in the park. He is not really allowed to but it is not our park. We tell him its up to him to take a chance. At 8pm as we are bring the food to the table two more pilgrims arrive. The young man is from the USA and the young woman from Ecquador. "Go straight upstairs and find your bed" I say. "We are starting dinner so you can bring your credentials down when you come." We wait a while for them before starting dinner. We sing our "I am hungry" song and tuck into the meal. Isa brings out a Caramel desert and a candle and we all sing Happy Birthday to Sonke who gets quite emotional. No one minds. Lola made Arroz con leche - Rice pudding - so we all have desert. As we are clearing the tables, two more pilgrims arrive. Phshew! We get them settled in, dish up salad into two plate and heat up the left over potato and salsa. Eventually, at about 11pm they finally start saying Buenos noches, gooda-night.
I shower - I still have beach sand between my toes. "Manana" says Isa. "Sleep tight" I say.

Hospitalera in Corcubion - Day 9

When pilgrims leave in the morning they smell differently to when they arrive. If it is raining when they arrive they emit humid clouds of damp, sweaty and mouldy aromas. They have to leave their boots on a rack behind the front door so when all those wet boots come off in our little entrance hall the smells are sometimes overpowering. The boots are stuffed with newspapers and this adds to the smell of damp.

In the morning when they all come down to put on their boots, the smells are also overpowering - Vick rub, eucalyptus, Deep Heat, Arnica mingling with after shave, deodorant and shampoos. The entrance hall always needs and extra good sweep and mopping and we spray it with air freshener.

We only had 10 pilgrims last night, from Poland, Germany, Japan, Chezck republic, and France.

The French pilgrim walked in with a Basque beret. Isa immediately started talking to him in Spanish. "Non, non" he says, "He is French not Basque." "I am Basque" says Isa. "I like the Basques very much he says quickly." He has walked from the north-east of France and has been on the road for 4 months. He has to telephone his mother every second day to let her know that he is alright. From his bald head we guess that he is in his mid-forties.

A young woman from Poland played guitar and sang folk songs after dinner. We served Marie biscuits with hot chocolate. A Swedish pilgrim tells me that Marie biscuits originated in Sweden. I remember something about them being made in England to celebrate the marriage of the Duke of Edinburgh to a duchess named Marie?? (I'll have to check that when I get home). You learn a lot from interacting with people from so many different countries and cultures. One of the German pilgrims tells me that he comes from the town with the famous piper - Aahh, it is Hamelin. He tells me the true story of the pied-piper of Hamelin. The Polish pilgrim tells me that everyone in Poland has to learn other languages becuase their language is so difficult nobody can learn it.

This morning I read some of the coments written in the Albergue book by pilgrims. One was by the guy from Belguim who, it turns out, is the President of the Belguim Society of St Jacques. You never know who your guests will be!

We had many professionals last night, doctors, teachers, nurse, linguist, paramedicas but no electricians - we need an electrician. One of the plugs (not sure which one or which circuit) is tripping the electricity. So, we have an extension cord draped behind the benches at the two dining tables, where we can plug in the fridge and the CD player.

It was my turn to do the bathrooms today. Albergue San Roque has, in my opinion, the best showers on the camino. They are roomy - enough I reckon for 3 people to shower at the same time - with a double hook for towel or face cloth, a plastic coated corner shelf for shampoos etc as well as a soap dish. Unheard of luxury in most showers on the camino. The water is always hot, the taps are easy to work - turn to the left and it is hot, to the right for cold, in the middle for just right.

The worst showers are those where you push a knob on the wall and the water spurts out for about 10 seconds leaving you with shampoo running down your face while you blindly try to find the knob and press it again. Some say that you should keep it pressed in with your elbow whilst washing with the other hand. Many shower heads don´t stay up on the hook fittings and often those that you can hook up slowly collaps downward like dying swans forcing you to hold it up with one hand whilst trying to wash with the other. (Elbow on the knob, shower head in the other hand means no hand to do the washing!) Our shower heads give a good hard spray of water but not enough to wet the goodies in your corner shelf, so unless you are going to do a pirouette in the shower, there is no chance of it getting wet. And, the water stays in the shower cubicle where in many others the water ends up flooding the floor of the bathrooms. I check the wall and floor tiles for the scourge of camino showers - algae. It might be the most ancient and enduring of life-forms but its not taking up residence in my showers - not on my shift, its not. Any little black spot is examined and vigorously scrubbed away.

Hospitalera in Corcubion - Day 8

We cleaned the albergue to the sounds of Full Monty again - Isa´s favourite tape in the collection. Its like doing aerobics with a mop and a broom.

"We are family" sweep, sweep, sweep, sweep - wiggle the butt.

"I´ve got all my sisters with me." Twirl, twirl, twirl the mop - side to side sway.

"We are family". Mop, mop, mop, mop - bop, bop, bop.

"Get up everybody and dance".

We walked into Corcubion where we collected a few shells on the little beach along the esplanade. I bought new glasses and we bought a few salad ingredients for dinner. We walked back on the camino trail, a steep little track between high, moss covered stone walls and between barns and gardens rather than on the road. Along the way we pick orange wild flowers for the albergue.

There were 6 pilgrims lying around on the grass waiting for us. "Give us half an hour to unpack our shopping" I said, "we will open early for you." You could see their relief. All a pilgrim really wants is to get into the albergue, have a shower, wash their clothes and relax. Of course at San Roque they can also have water with lemon, tea or coffee with biscuits. Tonight I made veg curry and rice and salad. Before eating we sang the albergue theme tune, "Bang, bang, bang - bang, bang, bang. Tengo, tengo hambre. Bang. bang. bang. "We are, we are hungry". Bang, bang, bang. I put the lemon yellow arrows on top of the salad every night and most pilgrims take photographs of them. We had 15 pilgrims so the table was full but not overcrowded. Pilgrims from Korea, Poland, Spain, Belguim, Sweden, Ireland, Germany, Holland, Switzerland and Canada.

The Korean peregrina, a doctor, had a swelling on her foot. She said that she usually has to use orthotics but decided not to use them on the walk. Go Figure?? So, I gave her a foot massage and wished her well for the next day´s walk.

There is a discussion about the Camino Frances. It is very crowded, especially from Sarria. "There are just too many pilgrims that start from Sarria" says a Dutch pilgrim. "Many Spanish pilgrims only do the last 100km, what is the use of that? And, when we reach Sarria after walking 700 kms we have to rush to get beds." A Spanish pilgrim objects. "The problem is too many foreigners" she says. "It is OK for a Spanish pilgrim to start at Cebrero or Sarria but then there are too many foreign pilgrims who take all the beds. We pay the taxes and they sleep cheap." The Dutch pilgrim backs down and walks over to the table to pur another cup of coffee. Nobody wants a confrontation.

At about 10:30pm we started tidying up and getting the table ready for tomorrow when there was a knock on the door. A Swiss pilgrim had arrived at Cee too late to get a bed at the hostal so he walked the 1km up the hill to the alberge. OK we said. You can sleep here. Are you hungry? Yes please. So out came the left overs, curry, rice, salad, bread, wine and fruit salad. Got to bed at 11:15pm.

View of Finisterre from our bedroom window