Day 7: Portomarin to Palas de Rei (16mi/23km)

Portomarin was built in the 1960's after a (planned) new dam flooded the old town site. In the midst of the 17th and 18th century architecture one finds throughout the villages, it seems like they hired the same city planner/architect who designs those new airport hotels at Orly or Heathrow.

Toes bandaged/blisters popped and protected, we stepped out in good weather and and began a grueling day that seemed to stretch forever. We passed through some lovely countryside, and passed lots of crop and cow fields.

We passed through small villages marked by iconic grain storage structures whose form hasn't varied for centuries.

And dodged some cows being herded up the road.

We enjoyed watching a flock of sheep devour stale bread flung by the farmer.

And passed lovely, small romanesque churches.

We also took time to talk to other peregrinos. Besides the expected, "Where are you from?" (and of course, everyone is impressed that we are from San Francisco), we were often asked, "Is this your first Camino?" So many pilgrims have done parts (if not all) of it before, and have returned to savor it again. People talk about the awful weather they endured (it rained for weeks straight before we began walking), and celebrate the sunshine when it emerges from behind the clouds. Some are marking an event (30th birthday, traveling with her mother) or a passage (death of husband). Others are walking to experience the land ("Next year," one German pilgrim told us, "I am going to walk 800km across Switzerland and France and Spain; my friends think I am crazy.") Most are carrying bulky backpacks and staying in albergues, but there are enough softies that suitcase transportation companies do a good business. We met one family who was not only carrying their gear, they were pushing their son down the path in a three-wheel baby stroller.

We think that when we return we might carry our gear, and travel with more control over where we stay -- both in terms of location and accommodation. For John, the jury is still out regarding albergues -- bunking down with 30 of your new best friends in a sterile room does not appeal strongly, but some albergues have private rooms that could provide a good compromise between the international mix of peregrinos found at albergues, and his desire for privacy. And we do want to return, and walk from St. Jean Pied de Port in France, over the Roncesvalles pass in the Pyrenees, where Charlemagne was defeated and Roland died, to at least Pamplona, and perhaps to Burgos.

So why are we walking? The easiest answer is we like to walk through new country and culture, and challenge ourselves physically. We are having a good time, enjoying the experience and each other. There is also time to think, but I find that I don't have the capacity to dwell on issues or concepts for extended periods while walking. There is too much to see and it is too easy to trip. But spurts of walking are good for thinking and wondering. It's hard to travel through this country without considering the role Catholicism has played in people's lives, and the overall functioning of religion in general. I had thought that I might dwell on spiritual topics, and began listening to St. Augustine's Confessions, a book I first read at Wesleyan in 1966. But I don't know how that is going to work out. Augustine was a rhetorician, and a devout believer in God, and there is much to wade through and think about before getting to the reason I wanted to listen to the book: What brought Augustine to God? Why, after a dissolute life, did he stay? Jessica tells me to be open, suggesting that a purpose-driven approach to spirituality is a dead end. And this may be. But I worry about "missing" wisdom: walking all these miles and leaving with only a headful of vistas and lovely feelings. Isn't a pilgrimage supposed to bring more?

At mile 14 we packed it in. Jessica developed a new blister, and each step was an electric shock. We made it to a cafe, and they called a taxi. Thirty minutes later we were ensconced in our guesthouse for the night -- a renovated 18th century farmhouse, the open-hearth kitchen made into a sitting area, but with smoke on the walls, and relics of the past.



































Dinner was lovely (Jessica had salmon, I had stewed beef), and the wine was fresh and local. There was homemade raspberry sorbet for dessert (more about food later). Thoughts of albergues and group meals receded (at least for a while), and I felt very, very lucky to have and share this experience.