“Afoot and on the open road one has a fair start in life at last. There is no hindrance now. Let him put his best foot forward. He is on the broadest human plane. This is the level of all great laws and heroic deeds.”
____ John Burroughs, The Exhilarations of the Road[i]
Losing our way, we had to take the carretera to Melide
We lost our way out of Leboreiro in the early morning. In the dark we missed the turnoff from the main road to the Camino to Melide. Rather than try to retrace our steps, however, we decided to continue on the carretera (the N-547) to the town of Melide several miles away. At Melide we thought we could rejoin the Camino, for by then it would be light and we could ask directions from any inhabitant of the town.
The walk that morning was bitter cold; unprotected, my hands ached from the cold and my feet were senseless. The carretera was lined with occasional homes and small businesses, and as we walked by them in the dark, dogs barked furiously. In the dark the bark of dogs can be unsettling, for one does not know whether these aggressors are chained, fenced, or running loose and present a real danger.
The way into Melide was dark. It was a new moon, yet there was light. Above us the cold, clear and jet-black sky was a backdrop to the soft almost pulsating glow of the Milky Way. “If it is murk, murk night, if the Way is all dark, there are lights that show which way to go. There are innumerable lights.”[ii] These innumerable lights are astral; they are the stars of the Milky Way. In the popular imagination of the medieval pilgrim, the Camino ran parallel to the Milky Way, the Road of the Stars. The Historia Turpini relates how St. James approached Charlemagne in a dream and enjoined him to follow the Road of the Stars. The Road of Stars, St. James told Charlemagne, would lead the emperor surely to the Apostle’s grave. Like the pilgrims of an age long past, we saw and followed the Milky Way into Melide. If we see the Milky Way, said Léon Bloy, it is because the Milky Way exists in our souls. If we walk the Camino on pilgrimage, it is, I suppose, because the Camino lives in some way in our souls.
I I I
Into Melide
k
S. Pedro
On the Way: Melide
It was dawn when we reached Melide, a small, but pleasant town. On our right we passed a church at the entry to the town from the east named after San Pedro. It was Romanesque, although the church had been renovated, and only the portal is part of the original structure.
D
Cruceiro do Melide
In the town of Melide was a cruceiro of ancient vintage; indeed it is reputed to be the oldest in Galicia. It was old. How old, and whether it is one of the oldest, you’ll have to trust another to tell you, for I had no means to know. What I do know is what I saw. I saw an old stone cross, sculpted of granite, and rustic. It was stained with age, and mottled with lichen. It bore a scultpure of Christ, seated on His Throne of Judgment.
O bone Iesu, secun-dum magnam miseri-cordiam tuam miserere mei
I saw His hands raised, palms facing towards me, in a gesture equivocal. I could not tell whether His hands were raised in welcome or in warning or in repudiation. I found that disconcerting, and I thought about it. What I did know is that this Christ knew me, and I knew this Christ, and this gesture—whatever it meant to say—was intended for me. Maybe the message was intended to be ambiguous, for if I knew it was in welcome, I might be tempted to be presumptuous of it. And if I knew it was in warning, I might be consumed in perpetual scruple. And if I knew it was in rejection, I would surely despair. I did understand this: that regardless of what the Lord’s posture was and how I was to take it, I had but one unambiguous response, and that was a prayer for mercy. So I prayed a prayer for mercy right there and then by that cruceiro, and if you happen upon it—or for that matter if you happen upon any cruceiro—I strongly urge you do the same.
I I I
Over the Stream of San Lazaro
On the Way: Melide to Arzúa
Following several warming cups of coffee, we departed Melide, passing the Church of St. Mary. Near the church of St. Mary was a stream, named after St. Lazarus, and we crossed it on our way to the town of Raído. Between the stream and Raído the land gently ascended. We passed Caraballal, a hamlet of three homes. This led us to Ponte de Penas, a one-house-town by the río Catasol. Through a forest of pine and eucalyptus trees we traveled and came upon a river not shown on any of my maps which I supposed to be called the Raído.
Ascend to Raído
To Boente
At Raído the Camino bore left from the carretera toward Parabispo (a single house), across a forest and the arroyo Valverde, through A Peroxa and into Boente. Though not large, Boente has been divided by the villagers into Boente de Riba, the upper part of the town, and Boente de Baixo, the lower. There was a fountain in Boente, and the junction of the Camino and the carretera.
Sanctus Iacobus de Boento
Castañeda
Over the bridge and the río Iso
From Boente we headed to the río Boente through a forest of chestnut, which I suppose gives the town of Castañeda its name, for castaño is Spanish for chestnut. The town lay just ahead of this forest on the other side of the Boente River and the other side of the hamlet of Pomariño. Here at Castañeda years ago were the limestone kilns, where the pilgrims would gladfully dispose of their burdens that they had been carrying since Triacastela. The kilns are gone now, as is the requirement—if ever there was—that the pilgrims carry their bit of limestone here.
Casta-niolla
From Castañeda we walked onwards through Pedrido and, by the arroyo Rebeiral, the town of Rio and a lovely grove of sweet-smelling eucalyptus, whose hanging leaves would tremble as if nervous at the slightest breeze. Once past the hill, we descended into the valley of the río Iso and the río Randal and crossed them at the ponte de Ribadiso into the town of Ribadiso de Baixo.
Into Santa María de Arzúa
From Ribadiso we took the Camino (which joined the carretera) past an old cemetery on our right, into the town of Arzúa. Arzúa is a town relatively large, which has a pilgrim church dedicated to the Magdalene. The town hall had a clock, but we were unconcerned with the time. Rather, we began to concern ourselves with a place to eat and a place to rest. We decided in Arzúa that we could walk to the town of Santa Irene and stay at the refuge there.
Villanova – Arzúa
Leave Arzúa
Over the río Brandeso into Cortobe
On the Way: Arzúa to Santa Irene
We left Arzúa at the banks of an arroyo. Immediately ahead in the midst of a wood of oak we came upon the town of Barrosas. In the town, at the edge of the Camino, was a chapel dedicated to San Lázaro. A little further on the road divided. We were instructed by our maps to bear right, so we did, trusting in their lights. We joined the carretera down into the valley of the río Brandeso. Then we departed from the carretera and passed the Brandeso River only to join the carretera again as we headed to the tiny hamlets of Raído and Toldos.
Cross the Ponte Ladrón and into Calzada
Past Toldos we crossed the río Marrabaldos and departed the N-547 carretera. The Camino then headed into Cortobe and Pereiriña. There was a bridge in Pereiriña called ponte Ladrón, of no great moment, but it served to let us pass over a stream without getting wet. Our maps did not indicate the name of the stream, but it is sure to have been the Pereiriña. We then ascended through a wood of oak, eucalyptus, and pine into the town of Tabernavella, a town (if it may so be called) of two houses, one on the right of us and one on the left.
To Calle
Cross the río Langüelo
From Tabernavella we continued in the pleasant company of oak, eucalyptus, and pine to the town of Calzada. From Calzada we walked, by road good and true, into Calle, a town on one bank of the arroyo Langüello and the town of Langüello, which is really a barrio or suburb of the contiguous town of Calle, on the other bank.
Ferreras
By Ferreiros and Salceda to Xen
(403 m.)
Brea
The Altode Santa Irene
From Calle we went into Boavista. From Boavista we headed to the town of Salceda, and traveled to it through a forest of pine and oak. At Salceda we began our climb from the basin of the arroyo Abelenda to the Alto de Xen. The village of Xen is atop the hill, and from this height we descended down a shallow valley and walked through the towns of Ras, Brea, and A Rabina. At A Rabina, the Camino followed the carretera and we traversed the modern village of Empalme.
There was a store at Empalme, at which we should have stopped and bought some provisions, but we foolishly expected the next town to have a store or tienda. We were in a hurry to get to a refugio, for the afternoon sun had made things hot and we had already walked a great distance. From Empalme we walked up to Alto de Santa Irene and from the height of the hill walked down hill to the town of Santa Irene which, in theory, promised refuge.
I I I
Through Rúa to Arca
O Amenal
I said in theory, for in practice there was no refuge in Santa Irene. It was late afternoon, and by that time the refuge at Santa Irene was teeming with pilgrims. There was no room at the inn, and we were turned away. The weather had turned hot and inhospitable, and the sun bore down on us unmercifully, as the rays were not attenuated by any cloud. There was no store or café nearby, and we were in serious need of rest. Our options were very limited. What choice did we have but to go on?
On the Way: From Santa Irene to O Pino
With heavy hearts and sore and swollen feet we made slow progress downhill to the valley of the arroyo Burgo, through the villages of Rua and Burgo. From Burgo we went to Arca, which is also called O Pedrouzo or O Pino. A pilgrim’s refuge was there, but, it too, was completo or full. By then my feet were in full rebellion, and only with extreme effort and at a very slow pace could I walk onward. We debated whether we could walk to the next refugio—and whether it would be worth the walk for it was likely to be full. We stopped at a grocery store and bought some food, for it was not wise to think on an empty stomach.
It was at O Pino that we found that it is also not wise to think with pained feet and unclear head. Pain and exhaustion tied to a lack of trust in Providence expose the pilgrim to the schemes of the unscrupulous.
The grocery store by the pilgrim’s refuge advertised rooms for pilgrims, so we inquired at the register. The checkout clerk, a fat middle-aged woman with a white face and dark eyes, spoke about the rooms that were available with great animation. She told us how delightful the rooms were, how they were in a great setting across from the parish church of the town, were clean and well kept, were close by the Camino, etc., etc. It was with these silvery words that she coaxed a great deal of pesetas from us, with the rooms yet unseen, for they were more than half a mile away. It was a cash transaction that—with right mind and right feet—one never would have entertained. But as this lady knew, it is easy (albeit a great sin) to part a pilgrim desperate for rest unjustly of his cash. She gave us the very plausible explanation that caretakers did not take money, so we had to pay her at the register.
The rooms were a distance away. We had trouble finding them. We were met by an elderly woman—presumably a neighbor for she carried slop with her in a bucket and no one carries slop in a bucket far away from their home—and she showed us to our rooms. An old rock home had been converted into an inn for foolish or desperate pilgrims. The wrought iron gate had “Do Re Mi” on it. But at the gate the music ended. The rooms were dismal and dirty. They smelled sour with manure and with the pungent, acrid sickening smell of fermented fodder. There were great mounds of both all about the place. So persistent was the smell that it ruined my palate, for I swear that the wine I had that evening smelled and tasted like the fodder. I had no faith in the hygiene of the common bathroom, and so I did not shower. Rather, after dinner, I went straight to bed and settled down for a most uncomfortable and overpriced sleep.
It would be my last night as a pilgrim, for the following day we planned to walk to Santiago.
D Waxing crescent moon
k
[i] John Burroughs, The Exhilarations of the Road, The Art of Seeing Things: Essays by John Burroughs. Ed. By Charlotte Zoë Walker, p. 44 (Syracuse University Press, N.Y., 2001)
[ii] King, III.453“Afoot and on the open road one has a fair start in life at last. There is no hindrance now. Let him put his best foot forward. He is on the broadest human plane. This is the level of all great laws and heroic deeds.”
____ John Burroughs, The Exhilarations of the Road[i]
Losing our way, we had to take the carretera to Melide
We lost our way out of Leboreiro in the early morning. In the dark we missed the turnoff from the main road to the Camino to Melide. Rather than try to retrace our steps, however, we decided to continue on the carretera (the N-547) to the town of Melide several miles away. At Melide we thought we could rejoin the Camino, for by then it would be light and we could ask directions from any inhabitant of the town.
The walk that morning was bitter cold; unprotected, my hands ached from the cold and my feet were senseless. The carretera was lined with occasional homes and small businesses, and as we walked by them in the dark, dogs barked furiously. In the dark the bark of dogs can be unsettling, for one does not know whether these aggressors are chained, fenced, or running loose and present a real danger.
The way into Melide was dark. It was a new moon, yet there was light. Above us the cold, clear and jet-black sky was a backdrop to the soft almost pulsating glow of the Milky Way. “If it is murk, murk night, if the Way is all dark, there are lights that show which way to go. There are innumerable lights.”[ii] These innumerable lights are astral; they are the stars of the Milky Way. In the popular imagination of the medieval pilgrim, the Camino ran parallel to the Milky Way, the Road of the Stars. The Historia Turpini relates how St. James approached Charlemagne in a dream and enjoined him to follow the Road of the Stars. The Road of Stars, St. James told Charlemagne, would lead the emperor surely to the Apostle’s grave. Like the pilgrims of an age long past, we saw and followed the Milky Way into Melide. If we see the Milky Way, said Léon Bloy, it is because the Milky Way exists in our souls. If we walk the Camino on pilgrimage, it is, I suppose, because the Camino lives in some way in our souls.
I I I
Into Melide
k
S. Pedro
On the Way: Melide
It was dawn when we reached Melide, a small, but pleasant town. On our right we passed a church at the entry to the town from the east named after San Pedro. It was Romanesque, although the church had been renovated, and only the portal is part of the original structure.
D
Cruceiro do Melide
In the town of Melide was a cruceiro of ancient vintage; indeed it is reputed to be the oldest in Galicia. It was old. How old, and whether it is one of the oldest, you’ll have to trust another to tell you, for I had no means to know. What I do know is what I saw. I saw an old stone cross, sculpted of granite, and rustic. It was stained with age, and mottled with lichen. It bore a scultpure of Christ, seated on His Throne of Judgment.
O bone Iesu, secun-dum magnam miseri-cordiam tuam miserere mei
I saw His hands raised, palms facing towards me, in a gesture equivocal. I could not tell whether His hands were raised in welcome or in warning or in repudiation. I found that disconcerting, and I thought about it. What I did know is that this Christ knew me, and I knew this Christ, and this gesture—whatever it meant to say—was intended for me. Maybe the message was intended to be ambiguous, for if I knew it was in welcome, I might be tempted to be presumptuous of it. And if I knew it was in warning, I might be consumed in perpetual scruple. And if I knew it was in rejection, I would surely despair. I did understand this: that regardless of what the Lord’s posture was and how I was to take it, I had but one unambiguous response, and that was a prayer for mercy. So I prayed a prayer for mercy right there and then by that cruceiro, and if you happen upon it—or for that matter if you happen upon any cruceiro—I strongly urge you do the same.
I I I
Over the Stream of San Lazaro
On the Way: Melide to Arzúa
Following several warming cups of coffee, we departed Melide, passing the Church of St. Mary. Near the church of St. Mary was a stream, named after St. Lazarus, and we crossed it on our way to the town of Raído. Between the stream and Raído the land gently ascended. We passed Caraballal, a hamlet of three homes. This led us to Ponte de Penas, a one-house-town by the río Catasol. Through a forest of pine and eucalyptus trees we traveled and came upon a river not shown on any of my maps which I supposed to be called the Raído.
Ascend to Raído
To Boente
At Raído the Camino bore left from the carretera toward Parabispo (a single house), across a forest and the arroyo Valverde, through A Peroxa and into Boente. Though not large, Boente has been divided by the villagers into Boente de Riba, the upper part of the town, and Boente de Baixo, the lower. There was a fountain in Boente, and the junction of the Camino and the carretera.
Sanctus Iacobus de Boento
Castañeda
Over the bridge and the río Iso
From Boente we headed to the río Boente through a forest of chestnut, which I suppose gives the town of Castañeda its name, for castaño is Spanish for chestnut. The town lay just ahead of this forest on the other side of the Boente River and the other side of the hamlet of Pomariño. Here at Castañeda years ago were the limestone kilns, where the pilgrims would gladfully dispose of their burdens that they had been carrying since Triacastela. The kilns are gone now, as is the requirement—if ever there was—that the pilgrims carry their bit of limestone here.
Casta-niolla
From Castañeda we walked onwards through Pedrido and, by the arroyo Rebeiral, the town of Rio and a lovely grove of sweet-smelling eucalyptus, whose hanging leaves would tremble as if nervous at the slightest breeze. Once past the hill, we descended into the valley of the río Iso and the río Randal and crossed them at the ponte de Ribadiso into the town of Ribadiso de Baixo.
Into Santa María de Arzúa
From Ribadiso we took the Camino (which joined the carretera) past an old cemetery on our right, into the town of Arzúa. Arzúa is a town relatively large, which has a pilgrim church dedicated to the Magdalene. The town hall had a clock, but we were unconcerned with the time. Rather, we began to concern ourselves with a place to eat and a place to rest. We decided in Arzúa that we could walk to the town of Santa Irene and stay at the refuge there.
Villanova – Arzúa
Leave Arzúa
Over the río Brandeso into Cortobe
On the Way: Arzúa to Santa Irene
We left Arzúa at the banks of an arroyo. Immediately ahead in the midst of a wood of oak we came upon the town of Barrosas. In the town, at the edge of the Camino, was a chapel dedicated to San Lázaro. A little further on the road divided. We were instructed by our maps to bear right, so we did, trusting in their lights. We joined the carretera down into the valley of the río Brandeso. Then we departed from the carretera and passed the Brandeso River only to join the carretera again as we headed to the tiny hamlets of Raído and Toldos.
Cross the Ponte Ladrón and into Calzada
Past Toldos we crossed the río Marrabaldos and departed the N-547 carretera. The Camino then headed into Cortobe and Pereiriña. There was a bridge in Pereiriña called ponte Ladrón, of no great moment, but it served to let us pass over a stream without getting wet. Our maps did not indicate the name of the stream, but it is sure to have been the Pereiriña. We then ascended through a wood of oak, eucalyptus, and pine into the town of Tabernavella, a town (if it may so be called) of two houses, one on the right of us and one on the left.
To Calle
Cross the río Langüelo
From Tabernavella we continued in the pleasant company of oak, eucalyptus, and pine to the town of Calzada. From Calzada we walked, by road good and true, into Calle, a town on one bank of the arroyo Langüello and the town of Langüello, which is really a barrio or suburb of the contiguous town of Calle, on the other bank.
Ferreras
By Ferreiros and Salceda to Xen
(403 m.)
Brea
The Altode Santa Irene
From Calle we went into Boavista. From Boavista we headed to the town of Salceda, and traveled to it through a forest of pine and oak. At Salceda we began our climb from the basin of the arroyo Abelenda to the Alto de Xen. The village of Xen is atop the hill, and from this height we descended down a shallow valley and walked through the towns of Ras, Brea, and A Rabina. At A Rabina, the Camino followed the carretera and we traversed the modern village of Empalme.
There was a store at Empalme, at which we should have stopped and bought some provisions, but we foolishly expected the next town to have a store or tienda. We were in a hurry to get to a refugio, for the afternoon sun had made things hot and we had already walked a great distance. From Empalme we walked up to Alto de Santa Irene and from the height of the hill walked down hill to the town of Santa Irene which, in theory, promised refuge.
I I I
Through Rúa to Arca
O Amenal
I said in theory, for in practice there was no refuge in Santa Irene. It was late afternoon, and by that time the refuge at Santa Irene was teeming with pilgrims. There was no room at the inn, and we were turned away. The weather had turned hot and inhospitable, and the sun bore down on us unmercifully, as the rays were not attenuated by any cloud. There was no store or café nearby, and we were in serious need of rest. Our options were very limited. What choice did we have but to go on?
On the Way: From Santa Irene to O Pino
With heavy hearts and sore and swollen feet we made slow progress downhill to the valley of the arroyo Burgo, through the villages of Rua and Burgo. From Burgo we went to Arca, which is also called O Pedrouzo or O Pino. A pilgrim’s refuge was there, but, it too, was completo or full. By then my feet were in full rebellion, and only with extreme effort and at a very slow pace could I walk onward. We debated whether we could walk to the next refugio—and whether it would be worth the walk for it was likely to be full. We stopped at a grocery store and bought some food, for it was not wise to think on an empty stomach.
It was at O Pino that we found that it is also not wise to think with pained feet and unclear head. Pain and exhaustion tied to a lack of trust in Providence expose the pilgrim to the schemes of the unscrupulous.
The grocery store by the pilgrim’s refuge advertised rooms for pilgrims, so we inquired at the register. The checkout clerk, a fat middle-aged woman with a white face and dark eyes, spoke about the rooms that were available with great animation. She told us how delightful the rooms were, how they were in a great setting across from the parish church of the town, were clean and well kept, were close by the Camino, etc., etc. It was with these silvery words that she coaxed a great deal of pesetas from us, with the rooms yet unseen, for they were more than half a mile away. It was a cash transaction that—with right mind and right feet—one never would have entertained. But as this lady knew, it is easy (albeit a great sin) to part a pilgrim desperate for rest unjustly of his cash. She gave us the very plausible explanation that caretakers did not take money, so we had to pay her at the register.
The rooms were a distance away. We had trouble finding them. We were met by an elderly woman—presumably a neighbor for she carried slop with her in a bucket and no one carries slop in a bucket far away from their home—and she showed us to our rooms. An old rock home had been converted into an inn for foolish or desperate pilgrims. The wrought iron gate had “Do Re Mi” on it. But at the gate the music ended. The rooms were dismal and dirty. They smelled sour with manure and with the pungent, acrid sickening smell of fermented fodder. There were great mounds of both all about the place. So persistent was the smell that it ruined my palate, for I swear that the wine I had that evening smelled and tasted like the fodder. I had no faith in the hygiene of the common bathroom, and so I did not shower. Rather, after dinner, I went straight to bed and settled down for a most uncomfortable and overpriced sleep.
It would be my last night as a pilgrim, for the following day we planned to walk to Santiago.
D Waxing crescent moon
k
[i] John Burroughs, The Exhilarations of the Road, The Art of Seeing Things: Essays by John Burroughs. Ed. By Charlotte Zoë Walker, p. 44 (Syracuse University Press, N.Y., 2001)
[ii] King, III.453
____ John Burroughs, The Exhilarations of the Road[i]
Losing our way, we had to take the carretera to Melide
We lost our way out of Leboreiro in the early morning. In the dark we missed the turnoff from the main road to the Camino to Melide. Rather than try to retrace our steps, however, we decided to continue on the carretera (the N-547) to the town of Melide several miles away. At Melide we thought we could rejoin the Camino, for by then it would be light and we could ask directions from any inhabitant of the town.
The walk that morning was bitter cold; unprotected, my hands ached from the cold and my feet were senseless. The carretera was lined with occasional homes and small businesses, and as we walked by them in the dark, dogs barked furiously. In the dark the bark of dogs can be unsettling, for one does not know whether these aggressors are chained, fenced, or running loose and present a real danger.
The way into Melide was dark. It was a new moon, yet there was light. Above us the cold, clear and jet-black sky was a backdrop to the soft almost pulsating glow of the Milky Way. “If it is murk, murk night, if the Way is all dark, there are lights that show which way to go. There are innumerable lights.”[ii] These innumerable lights are astral; they are the stars of the Milky Way. In the popular imagination of the medieval pilgrim, the Camino ran parallel to the Milky Way, the Road of the Stars. The Historia Turpini relates how St. James approached Charlemagne in a dream and enjoined him to follow the Road of the Stars. The Road of Stars, St. James told Charlemagne, would lead the emperor surely to the Apostle’s grave. Like the pilgrims of an age long past, we saw and followed the Milky Way into Melide. If we see the Milky Way, said Léon Bloy, it is because the Milky Way exists in our souls. If we walk the Camino on pilgrimage, it is, I suppose, because the Camino lives in some way in our souls.
I I I
Into Melide
k
S. Pedro
On the Way: Melide
It was dawn when we reached Melide, a small, but pleasant town. On our right we passed a church at the entry to the town from the east named after San Pedro. It was Romanesque, although the church had been renovated, and only the portal is part of the original structure.
D
Cruceiro do Melide
In the town of Melide was a cruceiro of ancient vintage; indeed it is reputed to be the oldest in Galicia. It was old. How old, and whether it is one of the oldest, you’ll have to trust another to tell you, for I had no means to know. What I do know is what I saw. I saw an old stone cross, sculpted of granite, and rustic. It was stained with age, and mottled with lichen. It bore a scultpure of Christ, seated on His Throne of Judgment.
O bone Iesu, secun-dum magnam miseri-cordiam tuam miserere mei
I saw His hands raised, palms facing towards me, in a gesture equivocal. I could not tell whether His hands were raised in welcome or in warning or in repudiation. I found that disconcerting, and I thought about it. What I did know is that this Christ knew me, and I knew this Christ, and this gesture—whatever it meant to say—was intended for me. Maybe the message was intended to be ambiguous, for if I knew it was in welcome, I might be tempted to be presumptuous of it. And if I knew it was in warning, I might be consumed in perpetual scruple. And if I knew it was in rejection, I would surely despair. I did understand this: that regardless of what the Lord’s posture was and how I was to take it, I had but one unambiguous response, and that was a prayer for mercy. So I prayed a prayer for mercy right there and then by that cruceiro, and if you happen upon it—or for that matter if you happen upon any cruceiro—I strongly urge you do the same.
I I I
Over the Stream of San Lazaro
On the Way: Melide to Arzúa
Following several warming cups of coffee, we departed Melide, passing the Church of St. Mary. Near the church of St. Mary was a stream, named after St. Lazarus, and we crossed it on our way to the town of Raído. Between the stream and Raído the land gently ascended. We passed Caraballal, a hamlet of three homes. This led us to Ponte de Penas, a one-house-town by the río Catasol. Through a forest of pine and eucalyptus trees we traveled and came upon a river not shown on any of my maps which I supposed to be called the Raído.
Ascend to Raído
To Boente
At Raído the Camino bore left from the carretera toward Parabispo (a single house), across a forest and the arroyo Valverde, through A Peroxa and into Boente. Though not large, Boente has been divided by the villagers into Boente de Riba, the upper part of the town, and Boente de Baixo, the lower. There was a fountain in Boente, and the junction of the Camino and the carretera.
Sanctus Iacobus de Boento
Castañeda
Over the bridge and the río Iso
From Boente we headed to the río Boente through a forest of chestnut, which I suppose gives the town of Castañeda its name, for castaño is Spanish for chestnut. The town lay just ahead of this forest on the other side of the Boente River and the other side of the hamlet of Pomariño. Here at Castañeda years ago were the limestone kilns, where the pilgrims would gladfully dispose of their burdens that they had been carrying since Triacastela. The kilns are gone now, as is the requirement—if ever there was—that the pilgrims carry their bit of limestone here.
Casta-niolla
From Castañeda we walked onwards through Pedrido and, by the arroyo Rebeiral, the town of Rio and a lovely grove of sweet-smelling eucalyptus, whose hanging leaves would tremble as if nervous at the slightest breeze. Once past the hill, we descended into the valley of the río Iso and the río Randal and crossed them at the ponte de Ribadiso into the town of Ribadiso de Baixo.
Into Santa María de Arzúa
From Ribadiso we took the Camino (which joined the carretera) past an old cemetery on our right, into the town of Arzúa. Arzúa is a town relatively large, which has a pilgrim church dedicated to the Magdalene. The town hall had a clock, but we were unconcerned with the time. Rather, we began to concern ourselves with a place to eat and a place to rest. We decided in Arzúa that we could walk to the town of Santa Irene and stay at the refuge there.
Villanova – Arzúa
Leave Arzúa
Over the río Brandeso into Cortobe
On the Way: Arzúa to Santa Irene
We left Arzúa at the banks of an arroyo. Immediately ahead in the midst of a wood of oak we came upon the town of Barrosas. In the town, at the edge of the Camino, was a chapel dedicated to San Lázaro. A little further on the road divided. We were instructed by our maps to bear right, so we did, trusting in their lights. We joined the carretera down into the valley of the río Brandeso. Then we departed from the carretera and passed the Brandeso River only to join the carretera again as we headed to the tiny hamlets of Raído and Toldos.
Cross the Ponte Ladrón and into Calzada
Past Toldos we crossed the río Marrabaldos and departed the N-547 carretera. The Camino then headed into Cortobe and Pereiriña. There was a bridge in Pereiriña called ponte Ladrón, of no great moment, but it served to let us pass over a stream without getting wet. Our maps did not indicate the name of the stream, but it is sure to have been the Pereiriña. We then ascended through a wood of oak, eucalyptus, and pine into the town of Tabernavella, a town (if it may so be called) of two houses, one on the right of us and one on the left.
To Calle
Cross the río Langüelo
From Tabernavella we continued in the pleasant company of oak, eucalyptus, and pine to the town of Calzada. From Calzada we walked, by road good and true, into Calle, a town on one bank of the arroyo Langüello and the town of Langüello, which is really a barrio or suburb of the contiguous town of Calle, on the other bank.
Ferreras
By Ferreiros and Salceda to Xen
(403 m.)
Brea
The Altode Santa Irene
From Calle we went into Boavista. From Boavista we headed to the town of Salceda, and traveled to it through a forest of pine and oak. At Salceda we began our climb from the basin of the arroyo Abelenda to the Alto de Xen. The village of Xen is atop the hill, and from this height we descended down a shallow valley and walked through the towns of Ras, Brea, and A Rabina. At A Rabina, the Camino followed the carretera and we traversed the modern village of Empalme.
There was a store at Empalme, at which we should have stopped and bought some provisions, but we foolishly expected the next town to have a store or tienda. We were in a hurry to get to a refugio, for the afternoon sun had made things hot and we had already walked a great distance. From Empalme we walked up to Alto de Santa Irene and from the height of the hill walked down hill to the town of Santa Irene which, in theory, promised refuge.
I I I
Through Rúa to Arca
O Amenal
I said in theory, for in practice there was no refuge in Santa Irene. It was late afternoon, and by that time the refuge at Santa Irene was teeming with pilgrims. There was no room at the inn, and we were turned away. The weather had turned hot and inhospitable, and the sun bore down on us unmercifully, as the rays were not attenuated by any cloud. There was no store or café nearby, and we were in serious need of rest. Our options were very limited. What choice did we have but to go on?
On the Way: From Santa Irene to O Pino
With heavy hearts and sore and swollen feet we made slow progress downhill to the valley of the arroyo Burgo, through the villages of Rua and Burgo. From Burgo we went to Arca, which is also called O Pedrouzo or O Pino. A pilgrim’s refuge was there, but, it too, was completo or full. By then my feet were in full rebellion, and only with extreme effort and at a very slow pace could I walk onward. We debated whether we could walk to the next refugio—and whether it would be worth the walk for it was likely to be full. We stopped at a grocery store and bought some food, for it was not wise to think on an empty stomach.
It was at O Pino that we found that it is also not wise to think with pained feet and unclear head. Pain and exhaustion tied to a lack of trust in Providence expose the pilgrim to the schemes of the unscrupulous.
The grocery store by the pilgrim’s refuge advertised rooms for pilgrims, so we inquired at the register. The checkout clerk, a fat middle-aged woman with a white face and dark eyes, spoke about the rooms that were available with great animation. She told us how delightful the rooms were, how they were in a great setting across from the parish church of the town, were clean and well kept, were close by the Camino, etc., etc. It was with these silvery words that she coaxed a great deal of pesetas from us, with the rooms yet unseen, for they were more than half a mile away. It was a cash transaction that—with right mind and right feet—one never would have entertained. But as this lady knew, it is easy (albeit a great sin) to part a pilgrim desperate for rest unjustly of his cash. She gave us the very plausible explanation that caretakers did not take money, so we had to pay her at the register.
The rooms were a distance away. We had trouble finding them. We were met by an elderly woman—presumably a neighbor for she carried slop with her in a bucket and no one carries slop in a bucket far away from their home—and she showed us to our rooms. An old rock home had been converted into an inn for foolish or desperate pilgrims. The wrought iron gate had “Do Re Mi” on it. But at the gate the music ended. The rooms were dismal and dirty. They smelled sour with manure and with the pungent, acrid sickening smell of fermented fodder. There were great mounds of both all about the place. So persistent was the smell that it ruined my palate, for I swear that the wine I had that evening smelled and tasted like the fodder. I had no faith in the hygiene of the common bathroom, and so I did not shower. Rather, after dinner, I went straight to bed and settled down for a most uncomfortable and overpriced sleep.
It would be my last night as a pilgrim, for the following day we planned to walk to Santiago.
D Waxing crescent moon
k
[i] John Burroughs, The Exhilarations of the Road, The Art of Seeing Things: Essays by John Burroughs. Ed. By Charlotte Zoë Walker, p. 44 (Syracuse University Press, N.Y., 2001)
[ii] King, III.453“Afoot and on the open road one has a fair start in life at last. There is no hindrance now. Let him put his best foot forward. He is on the broadest human plane. This is the level of all great laws and heroic deeds.”
____ John Burroughs, The Exhilarations of the Road[i]
Losing our way, we had to take the carretera to Melide
We lost our way out of Leboreiro in the early morning. In the dark we missed the turnoff from the main road to the Camino to Melide. Rather than try to retrace our steps, however, we decided to continue on the carretera (the N-547) to the town of Melide several miles away. At Melide we thought we could rejoin the Camino, for by then it would be light and we could ask directions from any inhabitant of the town.
The walk that morning was bitter cold; unprotected, my hands ached from the cold and my feet were senseless. The carretera was lined with occasional homes and small businesses, and as we walked by them in the dark, dogs barked furiously. In the dark the bark of dogs can be unsettling, for one does not know whether these aggressors are chained, fenced, or running loose and present a real danger.
The way into Melide was dark. It was a new moon, yet there was light. Above us the cold, clear and jet-black sky was a backdrop to the soft almost pulsating glow of the Milky Way. “If it is murk, murk night, if the Way is all dark, there are lights that show which way to go. There are innumerable lights.”[ii] These innumerable lights are astral; they are the stars of the Milky Way. In the popular imagination of the medieval pilgrim, the Camino ran parallel to the Milky Way, the Road of the Stars. The Historia Turpini relates how St. James approached Charlemagne in a dream and enjoined him to follow the Road of the Stars. The Road of Stars, St. James told Charlemagne, would lead the emperor surely to the Apostle’s grave. Like the pilgrims of an age long past, we saw and followed the Milky Way into Melide. If we see the Milky Way, said Léon Bloy, it is because the Milky Way exists in our souls. If we walk the Camino on pilgrimage, it is, I suppose, because the Camino lives in some way in our souls.
I I I
Into Melide
k
S. Pedro
On the Way: Melide
It was dawn when we reached Melide, a small, but pleasant town. On our right we passed a church at the entry to the town from the east named after San Pedro. It was Romanesque, although the church had been renovated, and only the portal is part of the original structure.
D
Cruceiro do Melide
In the town of Melide was a cruceiro of ancient vintage; indeed it is reputed to be the oldest in Galicia. It was old. How old, and whether it is one of the oldest, you’ll have to trust another to tell you, for I had no means to know. What I do know is what I saw. I saw an old stone cross, sculpted of granite, and rustic. It was stained with age, and mottled with lichen. It bore a scultpure of Christ, seated on His Throne of Judgment.
O bone Iesu, secun-dum magnam miseri-cordiam tuam miserere mei
I saw His hands raised, palms facing towards me, in a gesture equivocal. I could not tell whether His hands were raised in welcome or in warning or in repudiation. I found that disconcerting, and I thought about it. What I did know is that this Christ knew me, and I knew this Christ, and this gesture—whatever it meant to say—was intended for me. Maybe the message was intended to be ambiguous, for if I knew it was in welcome, I might be tempted to be presumptuous of it. And if I knew it was in warning, I might be consumed in perpetual scruple. And if I knew it was in rejection, I would surely despair. I did understand this: that regardless of what the Lord’s posture was and how I was to take it, I had but one unambiguous response, and that was a prayer for mercy. So I prayed a prayer for mercy right there and then by that cruceiro, and if you happen upon it—or for that matter if you happen upon any cruceiro—I strongly urge you do the same.
I I I
Over the Stream of San Lazaro
On the Way: Melide to Arzúa
Following several warming cups of coffee, we departed Melide, passing the Church of St. Mary. Near the church of St. Mary was a stream, named after St. Lazarus, and we crossed it on our way to the town of Raído. Between the stream and Raído the land gently ascended. We passed Caraballal, a hamlet of three homes. This led us to Ponte de Penas, a one-house-town by the río Catasol. Through a forest of pine and eucalyptus trees we traveled and came upon a river not shown on any of my maps which I supposed to be called the Raído.
Ascend to Raído
To Boente
At Raído the Camino bore left from the carretera toward Parabispo (a single house), across a forest and the arroyo Valverde, through A Peroxa and into Boente. Though not large, Boente has been divided by the villagers into Boente de Riba, the upper part of the town, and Boente de Baixo, the lower. There was a fountain in Boente, and the junction of the Camino and the carretera.
Sanctus Iacobus de Boento
Castañeda
Over the bridge and the río Iso
From Boente we headed to the río Boente through a forest of chestnut, which I suppose gives the town of Castañeda its name, for castaño is Spanish for chestnut. The town lay just ahead of this forest on the other side of the Boente River and the other side of the hamlet of Pomariño. Here at Castañeda years ago were the limestone kilns, where the pilgrims would gladfully dispose of their burdens that they had been carrying since Triacastela. The kilns are gone now, as is the requirement—if ever there was—that the pilgrims carry their bit of limestone here.
Casta-niolla
From Castañeda we walked onwards through Pedrido and, by the arroyo Rebeiral, the town of Rio and a lovely grove of sweet-smelling eucalyptus, whose hanging leaves would tremble as if nervous at the slightest breeze. Once past the hill, we descended into the valley of the río Iso and the río Randal and crossed them at the ponte de Ribadiso into the town of Ribadiso de Baixo.
Into Santa María de Arzúa
From Ribadiso we took the Camino (which joined the carretera) past an old cemetery on our right, into the town of Arzúa. Arzúa is a town relatively large, which has a pilgrim church dedicated to the Magdalene. The town hall had a clock, but we were unconcerned with the time. Rather, we began to concern ourselves with a place to eat and a place to rest. We decided in Arzúa that we could walk to the town of Santa Irene and stay at the refuge there.
Villanova – Arzúa
Leave Arzúa
Over the río Brandeso into Cortobe
On the Way: Arzúa to Santa Irene
We left Arzúa at the banks of an arroyo. Immediately ahead in the midst of a wood of oak we came upon the town of Barrosas. In the town, at the edge of the Camino, was a chapel dedicated to San Lázaro. A little further on the road divided. We were instructed by our maps to bear right, so we did, trusting in their lights. We joined the carretera down into the valley of the río Brandeso. Then we departed from the carretera and passed the Brandeso River only to join the carretera again as we headed to the tiny hamlets of Raído and Toldos.
Cross the Ponte Ladrón and into Calzada
Past Toldos we crossed the río Marrabaldos and departed the N-547 carretera. The Camino then headed into Cortobe and Pereiriña. There was a bridge in Pereiriña called ponte Ladrón, of no great moment, but it served to let us pass over a stream without getting wet. Our maps did not indicate the name of the stream, but it is sure to have been the Pereiriña. We then ascended through a wood of oak, eucalyptus, and pine into the town of Tabernavella, a town (if it may so be called) of two houses, one on the right of us and one on the left.
To Calle
Cross the río Langüelo
From Tabernavella we continued in the pleasant company of oak, eucalyptus, and pine to the town of Calzada. From Calzada we walked, by road good and true, into Calle, a town on one bank of the arroyo Langüello and the town of Langüello, which is really a barrio or suburb of the contiguous town of Calle, on the other bank.
Ferreras
By Ferreiros and Salceda to Xen
(403 m.)
Brea
The Altode Santa Irene
From Calle we went into Boavista. From Boavista we headed to the town of Salceda, and traveled to it through a forest of pine and oak. At Salceda we began our climb from the basin of the arroyo Abelenda to the Alto de Xen. The village of Xen is atop the hill, and from this height we descended down a shallow valley and walked through the towns of Ras, Brea, and A Rabina. At A Rabina, the Camino followed the carretera and we traversed the modern village of Empalme.
There was a store at Empalme, at which we should have stopped and bought some provisions, but we foolishly expected the next town to have a store or tienda. We were in a hurry to get to a refugio, for the afternoon sun had made things hot and we had already walked a great distance. From Empalme we walked up to Alto de Santa Irene and from the height of the hill walked down hill to the town of Santa Irene which, in theory, promised refuge.
I I I
Through Rúa to Arca
O Amenal
I said in theory, for in practice there was no refuge in Santa Irene. It was late afternoon, and by that time the refuge at Santa Irene was teeming with pilgrims. There was no room at the inn, and we were turned away. The weather had turned hot and inhospitable, and the sun bore down on us unmercifully, as the rays were not attenuated by any cloud. There was no store or café nearby, and we were in serious need of rest. Our options were very limited. What choice did we have but to go on?
On the Way: From Santa Irene to O Pino
With heavy hearts and sore and swollen feet we made slow progress downhill to the valley of the arroyo Burgo, through the villages of Rua and Burgo. From Burgo we went to Arca, which is also called O Pedrouzo or O Pino. A pilgrim’s refuge was there, but, it too, was completo or full. By then my feet were in full rebellion, and only with extreme effort and at a very slow pace could I walk onward. We debated whether we could walk to the next refugio—and whether it would be worth the walk for it was likely to be full. We stopped at a grocery store and bought some food, for it was not wise to think on an empty stomach.
It was at O Pino that we found that it is also not wise to think with pained feet and unclear head. Pain and exhaustion tied to a lack of trust in Providence expose the pilgrim to the schemes of the unscrupulous.
The grocery store by the pilgrim’s refuge advertised rooms for pilgrims, so we inquired at the register. The checkout clerk, a fat middle-aged woman with a white face and dark eyes, spoke about the rooms that were available with great animation. She told us how delightful the rooms were, how they were in a great setting across from the parish church of the town, were clean and well kept, were close by the Camino, etc., etc. It was with these silvery words that she coaxed a great deal of pesetas from us, with the rooms yet unseen, for they were more than half a mile away. It was a cash transaction that—with right mind and right feet—one never would have entertained. But as this lady knew, it is easy (albeit a great sin) to part a pilgrim desperate for rest unjustly of his cash. She gave us the very plausible explanation that caretakers did not take money, so we had to pay her at the register.
The rooms were a distance away. We had trouble finding them. We were met by an elderly woman—presumably a neighbor for she carried slop with her in a bucket and no one carries slop in a bucket far away from their home—and she showed us to our rooms. An old rock home had been converted into an inn for foolish or desperate pilgrims. The wrought iron gate had “Do Re Mi” on it. But at the gate the music ended. The rooms were dismal and dirty. They smelled sour with manure and with the pungent, acrid sickening smell of fermented fodder. There were great mounds of both all about the place. So persistent was the smell that it ruined my palate, for I swear that the wine I had that evening smelled and tasted like the fodder. I had no faith in the hygiene of the common bathroom, and so I did not shower. Rather, after dinner, I went straight to bed and settled down for a most uncomfortable and overpriced sleep.
It would be my last night as a pilgrim, for the following day we planned to walk to Santiago.
D Waxing crescent moon
k
[i] John Burroughs, The Exhilarations of the Road, The Art of Seeing Things: Essays by John Burroughs. Ed. By Charlotte Zoë Walker, p. 44 (Syracuse University Press, N.Y., 2001)
[ii] King, III.453
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