Day 35. April 13, 2017. A Gudina to Campobecerros, 20 kms.

Hail to thee, blithe spirit

 

People say that the Camino is like life, and indeed, as in life, chance encounters on the Camino can make all the difference. A couple of days ago I was walking the wrong way along a road and I passed a man working in his garden.

I said,  "Buenos Dias." Now I might not have said Good Morning at all, because he wasn't looking at me and he was some distance away, but I spoke to him anyway. He came over to me. "Wrong way," he said. "Go back!" I did, and I found the arrows. He had saved me a kilometre or two.

This morning, at the edge of town, the way split. I was planning to take the right-hand path, and had worked out my steps for the next few days, accordingly. But at the fork, there was a notice directing me to the left because of the railway construction. A catastrophe! My guide provided information only for the right. Just then, a man came out of a house, saw me deliberating, and said, "No problem. Go to the right." I did, and there wasn't. I came upon the site at Campobecerros, where I am staying. As it happened, no one was working because it is Holy Week, but even if they were, the way would still be passable.

You can see on the construction site, the two tunnels coming out of the mountain. It's an ugly blot on the landscape, but I imagine that all will be put back the way it was, with only a railway cutting visible. In the photo above you can see in the valley the old line that runs from Santiago to Madrid. It spends more time under the hills than above ground, and must have cost a small fortune to build even when the railway navvies provided cheap labour. How much more the new line will cost! European funds are playing their part, of course.

 

I have left the mountains behind and I'm walking high up across the moors. Heather and gorse provide the contrasting purple and yellow, and I noticed one or two shrubs or heather almost as tall as small trees.

How I love this countryside! I grew up to experience the Australian bush, and I have hiked in the Canadian forests, but this is the countryside I love, the moors, of course, and the pastoral scenes with green fields and running brooks, and the oaks and beeches and chestnuts, and of course, the birds. 

Again this morning I heard the music of the lark, and I looked up and there he was, fluttering above me. The flight of the lark is quite unique. Some birds glide, others flutter and glide, but the lark doesn't glide at all. It flutters, as if struggling to stay aloft,  ant its trill seems to keep time with the fluttering wings. What a lot of energy it must expend!

I am splitting two long steps of more than 30 kilometres into three again, and tonight I'm staying at an albergue at Campobecerros, 20 kilometres on from A Gudina.