Day 5. October 4, 2016. Comillas to Unquera. 26.4 kms

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? 

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,— 

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, 

And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue

 

Again the albergue was closed, this time from bedbugs, so once more we were forced to find a pension, less comfortable this time, and more expensive. Rumour has it that a number of albergue are closed for that reason. Bedbugs are doing ther own Camino! I wonder if they have their own saint.

In the morning, I walked out of town along an avenue of plane trees, the leaves already turning yellow, falling, and crunching underfoot. I caught a glimpse of the Gaudi museum on my left, and stately ecclesiastical buildings on both sides: a massive church, and a monastery catching the rosy hue of the early morning sun. This is a wonderful time of the year to be on the Camino.

As I left the town a range of mountains appeared far in the distance. These I would have to cross. Green fields stretched out on my right. An agitation of cowbells reminded me of old Mr. Jecks vigorously ringing the school bell to bring us in from morning play. How musical was the sound of the handbell compared with the jarring blast of the buzzer which separates classes today! 

I walked across the bridge over  the Ria Rabia. A huddle of boats lay on one bank, and an otter swam towards me. Or was it a mink? 

A path led me off the highway and I looked across an inlet, over a headland to the open sea. A little further on, seagulls perched on the stumps of drowned trees.

 

I met a lady who was admiring the same view and taking pictures. We had a conversation in which I listened and picked up only one word (casa) while understanding exactly what she was saying, so animated was her manner. She told me that she lived in a house on the hill, she came here everyday, and she was indeed fortunate to live in such a wonderful spot. I agreed.

I crossed the Rio Prabia, thinking that this stretch between the two rivers was one of the most beautiful parts of the Camino, but when I reached the other side, there were no arrows to be seen. I wasn't on the Camino at all! Somehow I had missed a turning, but what a happy mistake!

I continued along the highway into San Vincent de Barquera, pausing by a couple of incongruous gum trees, hoping to hear a kookaburra and a chorus of magpies. But no birds sang. 

Preben had texted me from San Vincente to say that he was waiting in a cafe on the right after the bridge, but no, he was in a cafe on the left. This happened yesterday as well. I think he has trouble telling left from right. He was enjoying a beer.

Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk. This is my right hand and this is my left.

From there it was up and up, a steady 600 foot climb, up, over and down, towards Serdio, our next stop. Just before I reached the village, I visited the Torre de Estrada. All that remained was the tower, under repairs, and a 12th century chapel, where the guide explained that this was the one corner of Spanish Christendom to have escaped Islamic occupation.

It was in Serdio that I met another Camino acquaintance, Christine from Belfast, who had been a hospitalier at one of the last stops before Santiago last year.

Then it was up and down again, and then along a track beside the railway line into Umquera. And another pension, comfortable and cheap.