I never liked the Danes

Miriam doesn’t wake gently or gradually. Once she crashes out of bed, the blinds are pulled, windows opened and lights are all ablazing.  I’m not one of those people who needs to be up an hour before I speak to anyone, or have six coffees before I can be polite, but even for me this is a startling way to start the day.  This woman wakes hyper! She’s leaping around the room looking for various items of attire, and telling me she hasn’t slept because of my legendary snoring. (yes, it’s legendary now apparently. I keep telling you: drama queen).  It’s a good job I’m so tolerant so I don’t explain that I know for a fact she slept because no woman of sane mind would knowingly make the noises she did last night in company.  No point in upsetting her though, so I smile and nod and apologise, hoping that, like an excitable puppy, she will quickly wear herself out.  Deep down I know better!

It’s a miserable day of grey skies and incessant rain and we are soaked within minutes of setting out. After one false start, having inadvertently omitted to pay the hotel, we get on the camino for the 29 km route for today.

We don’t get the whole ‘walking with sticks’ thing. I’d understand it going up or down a steep slippery hill, or going through boggy terrain where you’d need something to help your balance. But on flat, tarmacademed roads?  One gadget too far. I’ve seen people with ear phones in too, presumably listening to the radio or music. Mir suggested they are listening to mindfulness guidance but I suspect they are tuned into the news. They do have awful frowns. And anyway, why would you listen to a meditation when you can listen to the birds instead?  Either way, it doesn’t seem akin to the camino spirit somehow.

We stop for a break after walking over 20 km. it’s been a tough walk and we are wrecked. They say the simple things are the best.  There is no denying the joy of unpicking the soggy laces and loosening the crusty boots; easing them off, peeling back the sodden socks and releasing our crushed and wizened toes to the cool air. Ah, bliss.

Mir arrives back at the table with our lunch. She is the Holder Of The Kitty so gets to do all that stuff. It’s a decision I’m beginning to regret. A group of Irish women arrive and settle themselves at the table next to us and their Holder Of The Kitty goes in to place their order. We can hear her sing song a request for three white wines, one rose and two beers. Mir and I look ruefully at our tray of tea and sambos. We won’t make that mistake again.

This is not wealthy countryside. Outside the towns, cars are reminiscent of 1970’s Ireland; we frequently glimpse fields littered with rusty farm machinery and there are abandoned  buildings at every corner.  The land looks lush and green but there are lots of areas divided by rocky walls, just as they are in Connemara, so perhaps the land isn’t as fertile as it appears.

There are some pretty steep walks today and we are weary as the day goes on. It’s like crough Patrick in that you think you’ve reached the summit then turn a corner and realise you’ve a massive incline ahead. We manage to drag ourselves to the end of one of these mountainous sections ( ok it’s not exactly Everest but we aren’t exactly mountaineers!) and stand at the pinnacle, panting and breathing way too fast. An elderly Danish man who we’ve been chatting to earlier is coming up behind us as we bend over double, hands on thighs, trying to catch our breath.

‘Is hard, yes?’ He smiles as he walks past us, pension book sticking out of his back pocket and not breaking his stride for a moment.

I never did like the Danes.

Finally we reach our rather plush location for the night: pazo Santa Maria. I’m so relieved that Mir doesn’t do steerage either. And this evening we are being joined by Claire Grady and Ciaran Kinsella who will walk with us for the next couple of days. I’m delighted about the company because, well, I love Miriam to bits and everything but the reality is, I wouldn’t like to hurt her feelings or anything but, well she’s kind of boring after a while. So some fresh blood (don’t read anything into that ) will be very welcome.

 

The meal is fantastic, the company great and just enough local vino to put us in mind of an early night. My legs and feet ache ever so slightly, my hips feel a bit dodgy and my shoulders definately need a rub, but I am very proud of having got through this massive walk (over 37,000 steps or about 30 km) in one piece. And still talking to my companion Mir!