Why Take the Easy Way? -Taking the High Route Along the Camino de Santiago

This is Part 2 of a 6 part series on my experiences while trekking along the Camino de Santiago (the St. James Way) in northwestern Spain. To read other parts of the series, please use the term “Spain” in this site’s search function.

Our trek starts out on relatively flat ground. However, there are the occasional rolling hills that we must climb and descend, but their elevation gain and loss are very manageable. There are vineyards everywhere- as far as the eye can see. We walk through and amongst them. Occasionally, the temptation proves too much and we sample their delicious juiciness.

   

We pass through little villages each with the own character. There are homes both simple and elegant. There are also various restaurants, bars, cafes, and, in this area, wineries and bodegas. Villagers smile and wave.

"Hola, buenos dias", we call out. 

The reply is often "Buenos dias. Buen Camino”, meaning, "Good morning. Have a good walk."

Soon, the route presents us with two options for us to consider. There is the low route which follows the highway as it traces through the valley for most of its length, the path being the paved shoulder off to its side.

Alternatively, there is high route, 500 to 1000 feet up in the mountains along a dirt track with views of the surrounding country and of the valley and river far below.  Since today is MK's birthday, and since we have a history of walking the hard way on her special day, we choose the high route through the mountains.

The mountain side is full of groves of chestnut trees. We see men raking the fallen nuts into rows along the open spaces between the trees where trucks would presumably come along later for easier pickup.

Fruit and vegetable gardens are seen along the way as well.  Back in Ponferrada, many of the gardens we encountered were surrounded by masonry walls or wrought iron fences to keep out enterprising and hungry pilgrims. These security measures were often used to protect the more valuable, tastier fruits and vegetables like lemon trees, fig trees, tomatoes, and peppers. Vegetables such as corn and cabbages weren't so protected. Today, high up in the mountains where few tread, all of the gardens are out in the open, unprotected from marauding pilgrims.

Indeed, only a few of us are hiking along this high route. While far below, we can see many pilgrims walking the route along the road, up here there are only a dozen or so of us. And interestingly, other than myself, there are no men walking this route. Everyone we meet on this high route is of the female persuasion, walking in groups or walking solo and alone. C'mon men! We have our insecure egos to protect! Get on up here!

Someone used a sharpie to write an occasional message on some of the flat faced rocks that lie along the trail. "Why take the easy way?", "Train your brain to see the positives", "Don't litter," (this one was laced with expletives which I won't divulge since this is a family blog), and "Learn something about yourself" are some of those we note. They are good, strong statements that help push us along and up and down the steep slopes.

We see a man stooped over on one of the hillsides. He has in his arms a large wicker basket.

"Hola," he says as we approach, "Buen Camino."

He is a mushroom hunter. His basket is full of softball-sized mushrooms.  Another man is on the trail.  He is raking the fallen chestnuts into piles.  The nuts fall where they may, sometimes onto the trail itself. He pauses to allow us to pass.

"Gracias," we thank him as we walk by.

After a long descent, we make it to the valley floor and file in amongst the other pilgrims who have followed the low route along the road. We figure that our high route likely added 3 miles to our otherwise scheduled 9 mile day.

Soon, we reach our hotel which is combined with an attached bar and restaurant. After checking in, we walk down the street to have a beer at the only other tavern in our small village of Ambasmestas. This one, unlike the one back at our hotel, is for the locals. Smoke filled, loud conversations, and card games at the side tables seem to be the norm. MK and I take my beer out to this tavern's so-called outdoor cafe, which consists of a couple of chairs and a beer barrel for a table, all of which are located only feet away from the adjacent street's pavement and its fast moving cars.

We walk in brightening skies as we leave our hotel the next morning. The outlook is good for we see patches of blue skies. But after only a kilometer or two, the clouds regroup and the rain begins. It will rain on again, off again throughout the day (more on again than off).

The trail is steep.  We climb 2500 feet in over 9 miles. Much of the trail surface is a mixture of murky water, mud, and manure. The manure is from the horses one can hire if you are tired or need assistance in making it up to O'Cebreiro, our day's destination. In many parts, it is not a mud trail but instead it is, as MK calls it, a manure trail.

The temperatures are only in the upper 40s. Still, we sweat underneath our rain capes as we move uphill. In between rain squalls, there are beautiful views of the fields and pastures down below and up above. All of the fields and meadows are different shades of green, dotted with grazing sheep and cattle. We are now in Galicia. This area has ancestral roots to the Celtics. No wonder, for the area has a look of Ireland to it. I joke with MK. I tell her that other than the rain, the steep incline, the cold wind, the sweat, the mud, and the smell of manure, it's been a pretty good walk.

We are separated temporarily due to two men on horseback who have stopped between us. They are leading two rider-less horses. They are making the return trip downhill after hauling some weary pilgrims up the steep slope we are now traversing. The reins on one of the rider-less horses are loose. This horse keeps stepping on the loose rein which then pulls his own head in an aggravating direction. For awhile, I cannot pass since the other horses straddle the trail to graze on the grasses and other vegetation, taking advantage of the time given to them due to their brethren's misfortune. I am eventually on my way again after one of the horsemen attends to the problem.

We arrive in O'Cebreiro after only five and a half hours, doing so much faster that we thought given the rain and the slick mud (or manure) that made up most of the trail's surface. We check into our room. It is one of many that are created out of an ancient monastery, now a thriving hotel. These are basic yet comfortable accommodations.

The village is simply fascinating. Slate and stone buildings are the norm. Many of them have thatched roofs, a construction practice dating back many centuries. Irish and Celtic music is being played inside some of the stores.

The village's main church dates back to the 14th century. Simple wooden pews fill the nave. Off to the side, there is an array of dozens of bibles. They are each in different languages. One is in English, another in Spanish. There are ones in Greek, German, French., Chinese, Tagalog.....many more in many different languages. There is even one in Braille.

I light a candle for mom and say a silent prayer that her health improves and that she will be okay while we are away. We left the U.S. with her being very ill and weak from her chemo treatments. My brother keeps us informed throughout the week via email as to her condition. We questioned whether we should have even gone on this trip given her medical situation. She insisted that we go saying that all will be okay. We ended up convincing ourselves that we should feel comfortable in leaving her given her strong will and spirit along with my brother's care and oversight.