WHEN WALKING

Home to Santiago – Day 63

La Isla to Villaviciosa: 24km

Somehow, I’m one of the first up, and even one of the first to leave this morning. Obviously, not before the Germans.

I take a few photographs before leaving. This has been a catch-up point, a big albergue with few alternatives around. Another major stopping and starting point tomorrow, so many will leave or drop behind.

Canny Valentine asks me if I am judging. I insist I am not, and tell her it has been my stated intention not to judge on this particular Camino, not to judge. She’s a clever woman. She immediately understands what this means.

I walk the long coastal path. It’s very relaxing watching the sun rise over the sea. It probably means this afternoon will not be relaxing, but it’s easy every morning to forget the trouble you’re storing up for later.

At Colunga beach, it’s the same excitement walking over the virgin sand as it is waking up to untrodden snow on a winter’s morning. With the difference that this will be born a new with every tide. As it is low tide now, I find my way across the river as it turns to rivulets in the sand.

Just as I’m about to leave the beach, and start the 25-minute walk to the nearest supermarket and all the manner of second breakfast options, I’m faced by a sign saying 600 metres to the dinosaur footprints. I have a suspicion that I walked right past these footprints half an hour ago, before crossing the beach. But how can I not go back and see them. I look them up, some of the largest dinosaur footprints ever found.

When I find the footprints, left there on the once muddy shore of an inland see, I am in awe. The sauropod was not standing in this landscape, but when I go down the steps and put my feet in the fossilised footprints, I still get the feeling that we are standing on the same piece of ground. I could curl up in this footprint. I look up timelines which are beyond imagining, but these footprints are here and they are now.

Colunga village is one of these places I spend far too much time in when I come across them during the day. There’s nothing of particular beauty, but it has four supermarkets and a bazaar with absolutely everything I could possibly want, including a phone charging cable, to replace the second one I’ve broken on this trip so far.

I meet the Australian guy from Melbourne, who I’ve not seen for a week, and he marvels at the fact I could have broken a cable. Lost one, of course, but broken one, impossible. “How do you do that?” he asks. I’m surprised he doesn’t know. I do it all the time.

About halfway through a pleasant afternoon walk through large rolling hills, I’m suddenly at a convergence point of pilgrims. This seems odd at first until I realise these are half-a-stage-behind pilgrims, stopping for the day at a little hill-top albergue. I don’t recognise a single one of them. It is slightly disconcerting. A parallel universe of walkers.

Then as I walk on, bingo! I meet Leon from Japan. I have been practising my japanese all morning. I proudly greet him.

“Very good” he says “that is ‘Good morning’”

I had one job. He wishes me “Good afternoon”.

As I stop for water and he moves on, I ask him to tell me how to say “see you later”, but he says “sayonara”, so I guess the parting is for good in his mind. But I need to find Leon again. I need to say “good evening”. I curse myself for forgetting to say “nice to meet you”, and now, first meeting over, I’ll never have another chance.

It is time to do Lesson Three of Beginners Japanese.

On the last few kilometres, there are two more breaks. The luxury of having a reservation is the enemy of good timekeeping.

First, a little rest area where I can sit and read Camino comments. I’m tempted to write “chop chop” on a Post-it and stick it on the wall, but I resist. To my delight, there’s a can of shandy in the vending machine.

I stop once more at a locked church at the top of a large hill. There a German pilgrim, passes by, muttering about the needless diversion. I enjoy the bench.

But finally, I come to the town of Villaviciosa, where, as always, there is Grace. She always seems to be the first person I meet when I arrive anywhere. She hands me two bananas. “I have grapes,” she says, and takes a photo of me sitting on some apples. This is cider country, after all.

I check in but I need to be sociable tonight. Nives, who has not been persuaded to give up the Camino Primitivo route, will be leaving her group and the rest of us tomorrow, and she asks me to come out for a drink with her and Iván. We drink cider and eat cachopo. It is a shame that Nives’ friendly face and easy laughter will be missing from now on. She has been a constant since the first days of the Camino del Norte

It feels as if the final stages are approaching of this long, long walk. But the sadness of this thought is counterbalanced by a dryer-full of clean washing and a non-bunk bed.