Day 38 – Sarria to Portomarin

Day 38 – May 10 Sarria (Km 115) to Portomarin (Km 93) = 22 km Cumulative - 651 km

From Sue Schubert

“Sarria to Portomarín, 22.9 K
Saturday, 10 May, rainy

There has been a hiatus; everyday can’t be a blog day or you would be convinced that we aren’t walking! This is the drill: Get into town, be greeted by Jean, who is as glad to see her fellow pilgrims as we are glad to see her! She already knows where our hostal for the day is (no more albergues for us; we have been spoiled by not sharing our bedroom and bath); she has the keys and escorts us to our rooms. Ahhhh, Canadian hospitality in Spain! Where’s the internet café? Where should we have lunch? Our hostess has it all figured out. Jean has joined this rather interesting sorority of bus\taxi riders who bare their souls. Jean listens. Have you ever noticed that when we are on an airplane, for instance, people want to tell us their life story? It is no different for Jean on the bus with other peregrinos reticentes, pilgrims who would rather not, or can’t, walk.

Our hike yesterday and today started and ended in the rain. But cold it is not. We shed our clothing quickly as we hike along each day (of course not all of it)! Last night in our Hotel Roma we wanted to do our laundry by hand and have it dry by the morning. No way! Since spring has sprung in Spain, the room heaters have been turned off. Oh, well, throw damp clothing in the backpack and off we go. The town of Sarria is rather new and uninteresting, but the path out of town intrigues us--old prison, old and reconstructed hospital for lepers. I have photos of all, of course!

The path today is incredibly unpredictable. Or, maybe it is quite predictable--wet, wet, muddy, sloshy and slippery, but oh so charming. Through tiny towns I could name but won’t; past farms small and large, poor and rich; stopping as the farmers escort the cows to the barn for milking or the sheep to the high field for grazing. The shepherd was wearing wool slacks and sweater with a blazer, holding an umbrella. When I spoke with him, telling him what a hard-working dog he had, he showed me the few teeth he has. These aren’t wealthy people. He answered me in Gallego, the local language, which I don’t understand. Every Spaniard is required to know Spanish or Castellano, as I explained before. But I assume this man is uneducated.

Our second breakfast today is in a bar in the tiny village of Mercado de Serra, population 20, más o menos (more or less), according to the patron there having his morning vino tinto cut with water! The proprietress is charming and interested in our countries of origin. The two were chatting it up about local affairs. There are a lot of old, lonely people here, and this is one way for them to pass the time and connect.

Today seemed like a long hiking day (for us). Some youngins´ can hike up to 30-45 K; we don’t compete. We all have our issues, feet, knees, etc., but mostly we are well and eager for the hiking day. We are now starting to see a lot of hórreos, the rectangular structures on stilts that measure about 5´ wide and maybe 20´ long, that protect grains and cereals from rats and rains. I think I may have mentioned them before (but rereading my writing isn’t a priority). Call it a history lesson.

Once in a while on the path we pass a cross in memory of a pilgrim who has died, either of natural causes or by accident (usually hit by a vehicle). Luckily the markers don’t bear any of our names.

Finally we are in Portomarín, a town which had to be moved during the 1960´s when Franco decided to damn the river, Río Miño, as a water source for the region. The new town was built up on the side of a hill, and some of the old structures (government, ecclesiastic) were moved stone-by-stone. We got our sello (pilgrim’s stamp) in our credential and settled in. And Jean has found a place where we can do our laundry (wash and dry) in the municipal albergue. While there, we see many "friends" from the trail, plus meet new ones. We meet our first Turk since starting the trail. He is young, worldly and speaks four languages. When I asked him how long we should spend in Turkey when we travel there, he said "2-3 months"!

Surprise! Dick went snooping about and found a 1 euro bottle of wine, no label, and some potato chips, and thus our first spontaneous pre-dinner cocktail party was initiated. What fun!

Bedtime, around 9pm, is always welcome!”