Return to the Wear . . .

Stanhope looks much the same . . . time collapses somehow . . . synchronicities seem to suggest staying awhile is right . . . lovely welcomes from friends . . . some feedback on the blog and maybe a book from it . . . let's see . . . meanwhile these lines from TS Eliot express something about this 5 month experiment in freedom better than this apprentice writer, sometime pilgrim and returning social entrepreneur could aspire to do . . .

"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started,
And know the place for the first time."

Little Gidding (excerpt)

Is the blog done now? Maybe, though some editing, research and filling out are possible. Meanwhile, thanks for reading!

Brockwood again . . .

Traveline offered an easy 24 minute walk to the train, which goes to Petersfield and the Winchester bus to Brockwood . . . well, easy if the boat had arrived on time . . . as it happened there were 20 minutes available for a very brisk walk along the dual carriageway and down the unlovely pedestrianised high street . . . a free ticket office and helpful bloke "plenty of time, you've got 4 minutes yet" . . .

. . . and so to Brockwood in Spring . . . daffodils and primroses, birds singing and accommodation perfectly simple and not at all basic . . . having stayed in albergues, youth hostels, cabins and caravans, three star hotels and no star hotels, this has it right for me . . .

Supper is convivial with  another guest and a guest helper: Claire and Chantal from France, plus James and Wilfred from the centre. It's quiet until Friday, then full for an organised retreat.

Wednesday and Thursday pass with a perfect mixture of quiet, woodland walks, delicious food and some very interesting company . . . which extends the stay another day, and delays today's hitch-hiking . . . a half hour of which is enough and it's on the bus to Winchester Railway Station where a Newcastle bound train is due in ten minutes.

Research on travel options offered coach, rail, lift-share and flight possibilities . . . none of which stood out ahead of time . . . meaning full price for the train, but it will take me to Darlington in time for a bus to Crook and on to Stanhope . . . which is feeling increasingly the place to be . . . for now . . .

This morning's information from Charles, who left Doncaster by car at 2.30 am is of roadworks and long delays on the M1, which makes the bus, hitch-hike and lift-share options less desirable. The plane is quick, of course, but means getting to and from the airports . . . and something says that since this trip has so far not taken off from earth or sea, why start now . . .

Train is my favoured mode after walking . . . something about the pace of it . . . this route avoids London too, which suits . . . time to sit back, read a little, write a little, look at middle England go by . . .

The thing with Brockwood is that it embodies K's teaching, as well as holding the complete works. It is a beautiful space in which to combine study, reflection, discourse and meditation. There are no icons or ornate decorations, no graven images of K or anyone to distract from the core teaching: each takes responsibility for their own path.

This time, after all the lone walking (always vaguely aware of never being alone out there), the conversations are to the fore . . . philosophy . . . and tempering a temptation to talk too much, active listening opens the way for interesting information from Claire, Chantal, James, Helena, Gordon, Charles, Chi, Dipti and Sunni . . . mostly about energy and some heartfelt connections, which will surely lead to future meetings.

All this easing me into the next phase, returning to social projects in Stanhope, being true to my self (whatever that is).

Bay of Biscay to Portsmouth

The skies are clear and the sea is smooth, so a simple sundrop over the western horizon last night, an austere, short sleep on the carpeted floor, a simple sunrise in the east - now forward view, since the course is north-east after rounding Cape Finisterre before dawn.

Lots of other Brits returning from winter dodging in the south . . . lots of campers and Dennis and partner, who live year round in a caravan . . . a butcher by trade, never ventured north of Watford or abroad until a few years ago . . . enjoying the freedom and intrigued by the freedom without the car and caravan . . . though this footloose freedom loving pilgrim/writer/philosopher is maybe settling for summer, since the social activist role also calls and perhaps projects to pursue in Weardale . . .

The sometimes forgetful, neglectful father role wants picking up too . . . elder daughter setting out on exciting new venture in Northumberland, younger heading off for adventure in Oz . . . one way ticket, working visa . . .

Terry, 62, from Stockton, turns up, half unexpectedly . . . he has a place in Portugal, near Graca . . . we met a few times when I was there . . .

Santander to the Bay of Biscay

The hospitaleira at the basic albergue turns the lights on at 6.45 am and wants everyone out by 8 . . . which is fine, since there is no common area for conviviality . . . Rudolf has met a camino veteran and part-time hospitaleiro, who speaks fluent Dutch and Spanish . . . just the kind of coincidence camino life produces . . . his pack is heavy and this first walking day is going to see him ditching the camping gear or the rather heavy book . . . maybe both by the end of the week . . .

Part-time hospitaleiro is a job that appeals . . .

After an early coffee and wifi, a walk along the bay in warm sunshine and over to a view of the sea . . . with equanimity on leaving Spain, what's next and whether there is a spare berth on the boat . . . everything is possible early on when the sun is shining!

Musing on language learning and the blessing and curse that is the lot of the native English speaker . . . it is becoming the universal language so enables some kind of communication medium through which to misunderstand other people; the language we think in structures the brain, which interprets the incoming signals of sight, sound, smell, touch, so only one language is limiting; motivation is vital - in Portugal, English is spoken by almost every young person (and French by many elders), in Northern Spain, not so much, which means practice every day, just to get food and shelter . . .

The ticket is bought, €89 for the crossing and a reclining seat . . . now plotting a sign to display to find a lift to Petersfield . . .

The last lunch in Spain, served by Andres, who speaks excellent English, will see me through to Brockwood and its version of food . . . fresh fruit and vegetables, beautifully prepared . . . flesh free, alcohol free, wifi free . . . which in this case means free from wifi, not free wifi . . . perhaps a public health issue waiting to emerge . . .

On the Pont Aven, this feels like a cruise, dolphins and whales to watch out for, the first newspaper since November, and another sunny day . . . not sure if it has been a dry winter in Iberia or if the rain has been elsewhere . . .

Santander is a place to visit again - long shore line with bay and coast, train, bus and maritime stations all close to city centre, sculpture, pedestrianised streets . . .

Santillana to Santander

Sitting in the sun, a view of snow covered mountains to the South, waiting for a bus . . . Santander is only 30km away and tempting to walk . . . the ankle is healing, but wants more time . . . other signs that a break is due: trousers worn through, seams coming apart on the shoes . . . this Camino del Norte wants walking though . . . from Irun next year maybe?

Meanwhile, musing on what's next . . . family and friends to see, before that, Krishnamurti, whose philosophy inspired the trip, who is known to many of the folks along the caminos . . . a chance to relax and review the adventure where it started last November - beautiful Brockwood in Bramdean, near Petersfield. K passed in 1985; his works are held at Brockwood and since the trip has been almost book-free, a welcome chance to study.

Stanhope calls . . . I felt at home there the first time I went . . . back to the fells having dodged the snow, though walking the fells with sun reflecting off snow is blissful too.

As for Santillana, if you want to see an example of a restored mediaeval village, with 5 star hotels tucked in ancient buildings and an amazing museum of pre-history, this is the place. No sea though.

The bus goes to Torrelevega, where a friendly Chinese bloke replaces the glasses left in San Vicente . . . then the train into Santander, which is a good way to arrive . . . with Claus, 52, retired further education teacher, from Frankfurt, now retired from the Camino del Norte, due to injury . . .

Santander looks fine in the sunshine, though the ferry port is closed. Strolling along the bay, Rudolf, 58, from Michigan, via Rotterdam, early retired facilities manager, due to early onset dementia, about to start the Camino . . . strangely he never once forgets my name in the hour or two we share over lunch . . . where Carol and Peter, Irish pilgrims, are off to join Ryanair's Dublin flight . . . Carol has been walking the Northern Route in instalments, Peter has cycled from Biarritz along the French Way to Santiago and back to Santander along the coast . . . epic trip!

The last albergue is simple (Carol said basic), tomorrow's bed will be on the boat, as long as they have a spare berth when the ticket office opens in the morning . . . for now there is cafe internet and a glass of wine . . .

San Vicente to Santillana del Mar

More pilgrims arrived at the very convivial albergue by the church last night: two Spanish cyclists, two Germans having walked for six days now returning to Cologne, an Austrian walking on to Santiago . . .

The bus to Santillana del Mar is busy with locals off to Santander for the day . . . and soon in Santillana, a very pretty old town with lots of museums and rather like a museum itself, all cobbled streets and old buildings . . . but no sea, which is 5km away . . . the wonderful Altamira Museum, on the site of the prehistoric cave with wall and ceiling art and layers of artefacts, rediscovered in 1879 after the entrance collapsed centuries before . . . well worth the 2km walk . . .

Back in town, pilgrims waiting for the 4pm opening of the albergue, including Maurice, 79, from Los Angeles via Canada and Hackney (where the spotty cockneys live) . . . he is homeless these days, just travelling around . . . currently cycling the Camino del Norte and free camping . . . life beyond the old folks home . . .

Ribadesella to San Vicente

Five km up to San Esteban and a very nice albergue was enough yesterday afternoon. This morning's walk back to Ribadesella for the train along the same route, in light rain, seemed shorter somehow . . . maybe because it was downhill, maybe because it was known . . . probably a bit of both.
Two Spanish cycling peregrinas, Amparo and Pilar, were the only others staying.
The porage purchased three days ago finally found a kitchen with more than a micro-wave and a shared breakfast was appreciated all round. Carrying excess weight at one time on the French Route became an obsession, now there are times the rucksack seems not separate from my body, no longer a burden . . .
San Vicente is the rather random choice at the station . . . an albergue and a train station two days from Santander being the the parameters . . . the ride was spectacular for the scenery and lovely for the company of Juanma, a teacher of German from Cordoba and sometime pilgrim. The station turned out to be a couple of kms from town, where a coffee, bus info for tomorrow and the beautiful albergue on the hill were soon revealed along with an estuary and bay beautiful to behold.
The gothic church is imposing from the outside and amazing inside, though it is still a mystery as to how the ornate altarpieces are dusted . . .
Margaret, from Germany, arrives at the albergue, otherwise no more pilgrims so far.
A filling menu del dia and pleasant wander around this beautiful place, then the public library, since cafe wifi does not always support photo uploading . . .

Plan B . . .

Santander draws closer and research shows boats to Portsmouth on Saturdays and Mondays. The idea is to return to Brockwood for a couple of days with the Krishnamurti folks, and since that is not too far from Portsmouth, the afternoon arrival on Tuesday makes that easy; a Sunday evening arrival would mean finding a bed in Portsmouth, which appeals not at all . . .

So, two days with the train and sightseeing, maybe meeting pilgrims, Santander Sunday, the boat Monday afternoon, a lost hour recovered, Portsmouth 14.15 . . .

Well, that's the plan . . .

Oviedo to Ribadesella

David from Alicante and Lara from Bristol via a childhood in the Dordogne arrive late and another Spanish bloke making a very cosy six in the 3 bunk dormitory.

Lara is starting the Primitive Route in the morning, with camping gear and no tablet, phone, watch or other modern device. Though a rather heavy rucksack, due to camping. Free spirit, taking it slow across the mountains.

This pilgrim is taking it a little faster, by public transport.

At the train station, frequent fast trains go to Gijon for a very cheap €3.40 and once the machine is understood and operated it's 35 minutes through the mountains, past a big coal mine and into Gijon, displaying its political preferences with Carlos Marx Square. Another city is too much and a bus is going to Ribadesella, back to the coast and closer to Santander. It is very beautiful, with prices in the coffee economy to match - €1.60 for a medium con leche and the waiter has assumed my cheery "gracias" as I handed over a €2 coin, meant "and keep the change". Which assuages any feelings of guilt at sitting outside in the warm sunshine writing the blog . . . the promised internet turns out to be a pay as you go terminal . . . so posting must wait . . .

Having located the train station and the details for a scenic ride to Santander tomorrow, lunch is much friendlier and reasonable - a three course menu del dia, the bottle of wine left on the table, good wifi . . . sitting outside by the Camino, two pilgrims are in the cafe opposite . . . the albergue is 5km walk along the coast, which the ankle will manage . . .

La Caridad to Oviedo

Wandering towards Navia, with an albergue just beyond, testing the ankle with a comfortable 9km along the road to see what can be done . . . just before town, an impulsive left turn up to a viewpoint, which offers a great view of Navia and its estuary, of which I am on the wrong side . . . and, as usual, loth to turn back, follow a forest track, which becomes a path, then woodland, a scramble up a bank, across a field, then a garden . . . which adventure adds an hour to the trip and an ache to the ankle . . .

Having spotted the railway track, the thought occurs to rest on the train and speed up the trip . . . Santander coming into focus and my ankle maybe saying enough is enough. It's three hours on the slow train to Oviedo and philosophy with Victor, a young anthropologist and inveterate traveller from Madrid . . . a heartfelt connection.

The ride is spectacular too, along the coast and across the Picos mountains.

In Oviedo, where Caminos converge, only two other pilgrims so far at the albergue - Carolina from Spain and Massimo from Italy.

After a shower, it's out for a look round, and chocolate and churros to make up for the lost lunch . . .

Ribadeo to La Caridade

Irina's friend, Leonid, turned up at the albergue later last night and was very friendly, though verbal communication was limited since my Spanish is poor and Russian non-existent.

The albergue host, in this case probably someone from the Galician Xunta or government, didn't arrive at all . . . probably an Easter fiesta day . . . Leonid is concerned about getting his pilgrim card stamped . . . a fitting final Galicia hostel for me - very modern in form, rather useless in function . . . notionally accessible, with very steep ramps and a dormitory with no space to manouevre a wheelchair . . . tokenism or maybe the start of a process . . . anyway, for bureaucrats everywhere, please involve the customers in the design of services . . . not much evidence of that in the albergues or the literature describing the caminos converging on Santiago . . .

This morning, yesterday's strong North wind has dropped, the ankle is ready for a steady stroll, and I am over the bridge into Asturias by 8am, accidentally finding the E9 footpath (which was much in evidence on the Ruta Vicentina and is supposed to follow the coast from Sagres to St Petersburg . . . Santander will do me, thanks).

The path is beautiful and the odd yellow arrow pointing west suggests the Camino is here too, though no pilgrims so far.

The first coffee stop is a seaside town called Tapia, which is touristy and rather upmarket, with an imposing statue of Jesus on top of the church . . . the tourist info woman gives me a map of the Camino del Norte, with albergues and other useful info marked . . . though not distances or note of intermediate villages . . . still, helpful to have and will take me a long way towards Santander.

Wandering on from Tapia, with EN9 posts, the occasional Camino sign and most helpful of all, the sea to the left, never far away . . .  just past El Franco and its albergue option, up on the main road, avoided so far, a restaurant with a Menu de Dia for €8, and it is very good . . . should see me to the next albergue . . at the next table are eight priests, maybe their post Pascoa meal . . . was wondering about some philosophy, but they show no interest in this passing peregrino . . .

Jose and Marina, the hosts, however, are delighted to have photos taken, having made sure I had a lovely lunch. It is usually better out of the towns . . . less focused on the money . . .

The path takes me to another photo opportunity, then down into a village harbour and up to La Caridade and an albergue with 20 beds and several pilgrims already here, including Spaniards, French, German and Basque . . . no wi-fi but the cafe up the road will hopefully help me post this later.

And the ankle is slowly recovering . . .

Santiago to Ribadeo

The ankle decides it needs more rest . . . self-diagnosis suggests shin splints, ligaments . . . sufficient rest the remedy . . . so it's an early coffee at the very friendly Restaurant/Hostal San Martin, which I forget to pay for and the host perhaps decides not to spoil the love by asking . . . anyway, it's paid forward at the bus station, to a plausible, well presented panhandler, playing the "just need 50 cents for my ticket" game . . . rather bemused by my naive open hand full of change and with a friendly smile takes €1.50 . . . other methods in town include folks kneeling silently with heads bowed, a sign saying how many children need feeding . . . a one legged assertive chap who responds to my offer of the only coin in my pocket, 10 cents, with disdain . . . the odd one wandering the restaurant tables asking . . . and at the doors of churches and cathedrals, not only in Santiago . . . testing the charitable instincts of the faithful . . .

I am on the bus for Ribadeo, on the coast and some way along the Camino del Norte . . . . perhaps some more rest, then some gentle walking towards Santander . . .

At the albergue, the last in Galicia for me, Irena from Russia, Raul from Spain, Stefano from Italy . . .  no sign of the hospitalier, just a notice that credentials will be stamped at 1915. Irena gained entry by ringing the police, who opened up and left her the key . . . a stunning location, by the bridge, overlooking the port and across the river to Asturias . . .

The ankle is responding to the rest and the promise of gentle stages . . . the plan - to wander east on foot or by bus for ten days or so . . . see how it goes . . .

Easter Sunday in Santiago

Plans, of course, are one thing . . . events sometimes another . . .

The steep descent on a cobbled lane before Redondela stressed the left ankle, the afternoon 25km and yesterday's 40+ exacerbated it and walking out of Santiago this morning is really not a good idea . . . rest it and let's see tomorrow . . .

Which means Easter Sunday in Santiago, an elaborate pageant, a speech from the archbishop, hooded people, marching bands and an underwhelming attendance . . . maybe the faithful are watching the live coverage from Rome instead . . .

Plenty of pilgrims though . . . Monika, Anna and Simone plod by the hostal around 10 . . . Joao and Mariana are by the cathedral later and report that the pilgrim dog accompanied them from Padron, declining ham or other food . . . if the book has not been written, maybe a collaboration of pilgrim stories and photos? This dog is special . . . Tiago seems a good name, though others may disagree . . . and maybe it's not male anyway . . .

Paul, Antonino, Isabel and Lurdes stop to say hello . . . and goodbye . . . they are on the train to Coimbra later today . . .

I head to the bus station to find out about options for tomorrow in case the ankle needs more rest . . . maybe ride up to the coast and see if it recovers in a day or two . . . 9 hours and €50 to Santander . . . let's see what the morning brings . . .

Caldas de Reis to Santiago

Since Santiago is possible, since the pilgrims I speak to propose to stop 10km before, at Teo, at an albergue with 28 beds and probably three times that knocking at the door, and since the alternative Hotel Glorioso looks less than glorious as we pass, Santiago it is . . . after 40 km, the last part with Jose-Luis, from Vigo, who speaks less English than I speak Spanish, but keeps speaking, since I nod and smile and he thinks I understand what he is saying . . . still communication is far more than words and we enjoy each other's company and support until Santiago and 10 minutes before the cathedral . . . a hostal appears, the last room is €20, it is a big festival here and I am lucky to find it . . . Jose-Luis declines, maybe he will take the train home, maybe find a pilgrim bed cheaper . . . after checking in and drinking a glass of wine to celebrate arrival, I wander up to the cathedral in case he is looking for somewhere, but no sign . . .

. . . before all that . . . an early start always opens up possibilities and I am out of the albergue at 7.30 . . . pre-dawn, but I know the way and the first few hours is steady, with lots of pilgrims to pass, some walking, plenty cycling too . . .

At Valga, chatting to Joao and Mariana from Lisbon, a little dog trots alongside . . . no collar but looking healthy enough . . . and stays on the camino to Padron, by which time I have joined Jaime and Joao from Vigo, who say they saw it yesterday before Redondela. Maybe the spirit of a past pilgrim suggests Jaime . . . it certainly is otherworldly . . . crossing the bridge over the Rio Ulla into Padron, it eschews the pedestrian path and cooly trots towards the oncoming cars, forcing them to swerve, causing concern to Joao . . . sitting with a coffee in Padron, it comes to say goodbye . . . strange, but true!

After Padron, I pop into the shop by the church for chocolate to go with my bread, fruit and honey, when a bus going to Santiago stops right in front of me . . . temptation, but not for long . . . by the church Antonino, Isabel, Paul and Lurdes from Coimbra, are having a picnic and invite me to join them for a coffee . . . onwards and Jose-Luis, plus Monika, Anna and Simone, Erasmus students from Lisbon, are having their lunch.

Which brings us back to the beginning . . . it's all happening in town . . . and having had supper, this very tired pilgrim is going to bed . . .

Pontevedra to Tivo, Caldas de Reis

After yesterday's effort, today's 22 km feels like a rest day, the combined 72 km is a good average . . . and the legs appreciate the break . . .

At the first coffee stop there are two cafes and a persuasive young woman from the second is standing before the first tempting pilgrims with all sorts of bargains. . . wondering how that competition plays out . . .

Joining Michael from Vienna, Austria, some philosophy ensues . . . a practising catholic, he suggests Jesus may have spent time in India and learnt from the Buddhists . . . though hasn't shared the idea with his priest . . . heresy is still frowned upon in the Roman church, along with female priests, married clergy . . . open minds . . .

Onwards to Caldas de Reis and the Albergue Catro Canos draws me, just before the town. Upstairs is full, Soraya says, and shows me to the downstairs one, with two bunk beds and a single . . . which is luxury after last night's room crammed with bunks . . . lunch is home-made vegetable soup, easter cake, home-made red wine and a complimentary Orujo . . . just as well today's walking is done.

At the table are Philip and Robert, sharing a son and father bonding experience, which both are enjoying. From Hanover, they fulfil the German stereotype, with father and mother engineers and son studying to be one too.

A wander into town establishes tomorrow's route, though taking the wrong road back puts me on the other side of a river, which I end up wading across . . . no problem since it is hot and shoes and trousers will soon dry . . .

Two days to Santiago (or one if another epic calls) and an intriguing alternative presents itself . . . the Via Romana XIX, which shares the Camino in places, seems to head for Lugo from here . . . cutting off Santiago and picking up the Primitive Way early is tempting . . .

In any case, it is good to get back into the rhythm of walking with a shared purpose (albeit vague and different for each pilgrim) . . . Michael asks about British routes and Richard has proposed reviving or creating some . . .

Redondela to Pontevedra

Tui to Pontevedra is two or three stages according to the guides and I seem to have done it in one day . . . over 50 km and too far . . . still, it means Santiago is only two days away and tells me 30km a day is enough.

The last 12 km is on the roadside, just head down and plod and at Pontevedra I am so tired I miss the sign to the albergue, arrive at the cathedral with crowds of people having a fiesta, trudge back to the albergue, which has 56 beds and only one left.

I am grateful.

Redondela to Pontevedra

Tui to Pontevedra is two or three stages according to the guides and I seem to have done it in one day . . . over 50 km and too far . . . still, it means Santiago is only two days away and tells me 30km a day is enough.

The last 12 km is on the roadside, just head down and plod and at Pontevedra I am so tired I miss the sign to the albergue, arrive at the cathedral with crowds of people having a fiesta, trudge back to the albergue, which has 56 beds and only one left.

I am grateful.

Tui to Bar Corisco, Redondela

Spanish time, custom and culture mean an adjustment, especially if Santander is to be walked . . . though buses are available.

To trick the mind and legs, whilst fuelling the stomach, today's plan is to go native, start early, take a long lunch, continue later, when the sun has cooled a little.

So, out at dawn and more or less non-stop to Porrino, along woodland, riverside paths then a long straight road through an industrial estate, before the first coffee after 3 hours walking. There is a new alternative route to avoid the industry, but the yellow arrows still show the old way and we are conditioned to follow them . . . along the wrong route are at least 6 other pilgrims walking, plus plenty cycling too.

Before Redondela, the possible overnight stop, the route climbs steeply, then descends steeper . . . and before the town, Bar Corisco appears, offering a pilgrim lunch for €7.50, and I am hot, hungry and tired . . . a proper peasant bar, with rough red wine served in china bowls and big plates of food.

Oscar and Anabel are proper hosts and give me a photo as well as a complimentary liqeur. Do call in and try some Galician hospitality if you are passing.

I join Jose-Luis and try some Spanish . . . he was at the albergue in Tui and is pushing on past Redondela.

And now that my meal has settled, so am I.

Ashley and Dalma

Ashley, from Pennsylvania, USA, is studying sports, business and administration in Madrid and is a semi-professional footballer. She was frustrated by the lack of opportunity in the US and found the Spanish set-up more helpful. Now she plays in the Spanish second division and has formed a company to help other women do the same.
www.mastersinmadrid.com

Dalma, from Budapest, Hungary, is studying art and design in Porto and has discovered that she does not want to live in Hungary, but wants to travel. Having walked the Camino Frances last summer, she seems to have caught the camino bug.

Both were still asleep when I left the albergue at dawn . . . Ashley is cycling so she may pass me; Dalma, perhaps at Redondela . . . anyway I enjoyed our evening picnic and meaning of life conversation in the garden of the albergue at sunset . . .

Cerveira to Tui

After three hours wandering along the Rio Minho on the brand new and not quite finished ecopista, it's Valenca and the traditional Caminho Portuguese . . . the coastal route was suggested by a couple of arrows on the Spanish side of the Friendship Bridge by Cerveira and other yellow arrows appeared at various random places today . . . sometimes they are helpful, but today it's the ecopista all the way . . . a motorway for walkers and cyclists.

The castle of Valence is very impressive. On the Spanish side, in Tui, they don't seem to have bothered . . . perhaps indicating which side was doing most of the invading (must research this topic because the French and the British have been involved here too).

For a last lunch in Portugal it's an ironic tortilla . . . ubiquitous and delicious in Spanish cafes but almost unknown in Portugal . . . then across the International Bridge, opened in 1886, with the railway on top, cars underneath, pedestrians either side . . . farewell Portugal, hello again Spain . . . where the Camino de Santiago steps up a gear . . . after all Santiago is in this region and EU funding has enabled lots of infrastructure and signage . . .

The church albergue is located within the cathedral grounds, with panoramic views across the river . . . other albergues compete for business as do restaurants offering pilgrim menus. €6 for the bed in a dormitory and a hot shower . . . kitchen with hob but no cooking pots . . . door closes at 9.30 pm and we have to be out by 8 am . . . lost another hour crossing the bridge, making two in a week, which seems rather careless . . .

Tui is lovely, the weather has warmed up, the tourist info folks have provided enough to give plenty of options for the 3 weeks or so in Spain . . . maybe Santiago in 5 or 6 days, then towards Oviedo on the Primitive Camino . . . maybe even Santander on the Northern Route . . . Finisterre is still tempting, but 3 days west and the boat for England is east . . .

Having taken it easy from Porto to here, maybe time to put in some longer stages . . . see what's possible . . .