Sobrado dos Monxes

Last night I stayed in a Cistercian Monastery. I'm glad it wasn't winter because I think it may well be a very cold place.  The Cistercian monks live a very simple, austere life, spent in silence and separation from the rest of the world.  As they say in the guide they "share the frúts of their work by offering shelter and hospitality", from which we pilgrims benefit, with 110 beds available for pilgrims at the end of a fairly long day.

The monastery was built in 1147, becoming a Cistercian Monastery in 1498.  A Royal decree dissolved Monastic Orders in 1834, with the end result being that the Monastery was abandoned and was almost destroyed, but in 1954 a restoration programme began, and a community of monks have resided there since 1966.  I was quite amused with the silence rule as I was greeted by a monk called Santiago (he was born on July 25th, St James Day), who talked non stop firing questions at me and chatting, mainly in Spanish, but every so often in English.  He was far from silent, revelling in imparting his knowledge of the Monastery, and showing me where things were for me to access.

I later did a self guided tour of the monastery, and there is not a single bit of gilt or fancy frescoes, just simple stone carvings for decoration with the only color being green and black, caused by the mould and dampness throughout.  I'll let the pictures tell the tale.

Part of he pilgrim quarters in the monastery.

Walking into Sobrado there was a real surprise.  After trudging down hill along the road, the path diverted through a roadside forest and rounding a corner, a beautiful lake came into view.  Approaching it, there was an extremely loud frog chorus.  One pilgrim said to me later that they must have a problem because "its not normal to have so many frogs".  I told him of Mike Tyler, our Adelaide frog expert, who often says that frogs mean that the water is clean.  If that's so, this water is super clean!

The lake on the outskirts of Sobrado dos Monxes, complete with water lilies.

On the way out of Miraz the path went up hill, but so gradually that it was often only when looking back that it showed the slope.  At one stage it went over rocks, so large that it was as if I was walking on a road.

Not ashphalt, but rock.

Before going to Sobrado I spent the night at the English Confraternity of St James albergue in the small village of Miraz.  Here there are around 22 beds in the renovated and extended former priest's home.  The hospitaleros work for two week shifts and our hosts were Rick, from Florida, and Liz, from England.  I went up the road to the taberna with Rick and was fortunate to see a herd of goats being moved, a sight seen several times a day.  After dinner Liz opened the church for those initerested in seeing it.  A delightful church, with a lovely acoustic, which I know because I had a sing!

 The albergue at Miraz.

 The goats being moved at Miraz.

 Inside the church at Miraz, and below, a close up of the retablo. 

Rick showed me several inscriptions on tombs in the cemetery.  They had the man's name followed by "y esposa" (and wife) - poor thing, she didn't warrant having her name there too! 

Not only was the albergue at Miraz a treat, but so was the walk there.  It was a little shorter than previous days, and I could take my time and still arrive earlier than usual.

 A wayside cross not far from Baamonde.

A shed like building on the way.

The beginning of the end!

I am sitting in the huge, semi dark, upstairs dormitory of the refuge in Baamonde.  The sun has yet to rise, though it is now half light outside.  People are starting to stir, quietly, for a change and I would imagine that very soon the place will be buzzing.  Downstairs a few people have gathered for breakfast, but I will go to the bar a few doors down for mine.  Downstairs is where most people are sleeping - it is only the overflow and the latecomers, like me, who are upstairs.

Downstairs are two French women, two Swiss men, an American, and two Germans all walkers, along with a solitary Spanish cyclist, while upstairs I have shared the room with an older German man and a Czech couple.  I feel very sorry for the Czech woman as she has very bad tendonitis.  How do I know?  I can tell by the way she hobbles, because I have hobbled in exactly the same way!  I would like to be able to help her with some of the tips I have learned, but unfortunately I am not able to communicate with her at all, and from what I can gather neither can anyone else, which is unfortunate.

The albergue at Baamonde.

 The first stop of the day!  Cafe con leche and whatever is on offer for breakfast! 

Yesterday was a glorious day, walking past farms and through woodlands.  All along this part of Galicia the settlements are more spread out.  On the Meseta the farmhouses are gathered together in villages of varying sizes and then in Galicia further inland they are in little hamlets - perhaps three or four farm, with all there associated buildings, whereas where I have been traveling the buildings are spread over the countryside.  The people haven't changed though.  The older women have a distinctive shape to them.  The Galicians I see seem short to me, and the women are bent, perhaps from working in the fields.  The scarecrows in the paddocks look realistic because many are topped with a head scarf, making them look like a woman working in the fields.

There is a sense of excitement in the air, because this is the start of the last 100 kms.  This is the destination, and in most cases the end, of a journey of varying lengths.  Mine is a bit longer than most!  I have a couple of very long days ahead and so will be nursing my feet very carefully as they are getting sore, and probably, if I'm honest, tired!  This is a quick post as I doubt that I'll have internet for a few days.

 Leaving Vilalba I passed this interesting wall.

 The "mowers" have been out.

 A renovators delight.

 The path goes in between farm buildings, these few deserted.

 A well at a farm I was passing.

 An interesting little bridge to cross - no trolls!

It was under this monstrosity - not over!

Another cemetery. This type is described as being "somewhere between Gothic and Gaudian" in my guide!

 I love these slate fences that line the fields here in Galicia.

Baamonde Iglesia.

Farewell Asturias, hello Galicia

I'm now out of Asturias and well and truly into Galicia.  I do like Asturias: its mountains, the way it oozes water, its square Horreos, and its quirkiness, so different to home.  One day while walking on the outskirts of a village I saw a couple unloading a car, or the man was, while the woman was placing the boxes of plants in the vege patch.  She was wearing clogs on her shoes which, which with their peg like stilts,  kept her feet above the dirt.

The quirkiness even goes to the shell waymarks, which in this region are back to front to everywhere else in Spain.  In Asturias we follow the closed part of the shell, but as soon as I crossed the bridge into Galicia the shells were inverted and now the open part of the shell points the way.

Galicia too has its individuality.  This is the land of small farming.  This is where farmers get out with a scythe to cut the grass, or go up market with a little petrol driven three wheeled "mower".  The tractors are many and varied, out in force at this time of the year, working in the fields like busy insects.  There are no air conditioned cabs in these tractors.  In the fields you can see the farmers and their wives forking the grass onto large trailers with forks.  As I've walked along the lanes these trailers have slowly passed me, either heading to the fields or back home.  One evening I was passed by a man and his wife returning home.  He was pushing a wheelbarrow loaded high with cut grass, while she, dressed in her " pinnie", carried the long fork.  It is a common sight in the afternoon to see a woman, always wearing her "pinnie" and a head scarf, bent over working in the vege garden.  They are oblivious to people like me walking past, intent on their work.

 La Caridad.

Prior to the building of the bridge across the Rio Eo at the border of Asturias and Galicia, pilgrims of old had to walk upstream to the village of Castello and cross there.  Now though, it is easy to cross, and of course shorter!

 The bridge at Ribedeo, with part of the marina.

The marina at Ribadeo.

An upmarket hórreo.

Looking down on the village of Ponte de Arante, before going up.

Descending into Vilamartin Pequeno.

St James on the exterior of the church at Lourenzá

Making sure we know which way to go leaving Lourenza.

This was a hard day.  The path goes over the hills in the distance on the left.

Here the path goes under the hórreo between the houses.

 Here it goes beside, and under the farm buildings.

 Looking down on Mondoñedo.

 The path fortunately stayed on the opposite side of the valley to the highway, though at the top of the hill, we went under it.

 The bells at the Iglesia at Goiriz......

 ...... and the cemetery behind.

The path after Goiritz.  Note the slate fence.

 The tower at Vilalba, now a Parador hotel.

The church at Vilalba. 

This is a very quick post as I'm not sure when I will get WiFi again.  I have quite a few long days ahead, but there is only a 120kms left to go.