tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58932604436137875432024-02-07T11:25:40.029+00:00Matthew's Occasional AdventuresUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-55512579799951997452016-03-10T11:28:00.002+00:002016-03-12T07:51:16.170+00:00Riding the Molesworth and Rainbow station roadsDuring the last couple of years in London I'd occasionally find my mind wandering back to the high country of the South Island, which I've always held in semi-mythical regard. And no part of the New Zealand is more evocative than the <a href="http://www.doc.govt.nz/molesworth">Molesworth Station</a>, a sheep and cattle run that's larger than a lot of Britain's counties. In many ways the old pioneer lifestyle remains unchanged – the 19th Century settlers didn't have the benefit of Toyota's HiLux, but the horse remains an important part of the annual muster, and the men working the land are as hard as their predecessors from decades past.<br />
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The Molesworth is also one of the remotest parts of the country accessible by 'road', a term I use loosely as the rough gravel seal would test the suspension of most family vehicles, and the corrugations made for some hair-raising moments when they popped up unexpectedly as I was blasting downhill. The rougher Rainbow Station track promised even more fun, with the route recommended for 'high clearance 4WD vehicles only'.<br />
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I had a week free, and decided to include the 200km loop past the Molesworth Homestead as part of a longer 450km tour round the top of the South Island – and no hassles about flying with my bike, with the inter-island ferry incredibly convenient.</div>
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It might not sound like a huge distance, but cycling up the Awatere River valley involved plenty of spirit-sapping grinding over ridge spurs, getting high enough to clear the steep drop-offs into the river bed. It was hard work with the weight of the bike, and became harder still as the hours wore on with the only shade coming from the wide brim of my sunhat.<br />
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The landscape was enormous. I'd had a taster in the late 1990s when I climbed Mount Tapuaenuku, the highest peak in the range at just under 3000 metres, but the heat of the sun adding to the intensity of the Kaikoura mountain ranges. <br />
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The head of the Awatere was a real surprise after hours of increasingly dry landscape. Thickets of trees covered the river valley floor, with the trees along the road offering respite from the sun beating down. The Kaikouras are notoriously dry, and the sudden burst of lush greenery was a welcome change from the browns and yellows.<br />
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Eventually I reached the fabled Molesworth station. There's a basic Department of Conservation campsite, with a long drop and drinking water tap, with wooden table and benches providing the luxury element after a long day in the saddle. I pitched my tent, knocked up a cup of tea and a mammoth bowl of pasta. <br />
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Just as the sun came down I was joined by Phil, another Wellingtonian, who was on a warm-up ride for the Great Southern Brevet, an 1100km dirt road extravaganza. He was carrying a fraction of the gear I had, but we decided to ride the road out through the Rainbow Station together. I set out ahead of Phil, but before long he'd caught up.<br />
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We tried swapping bikes for a stretch, but Phil's bike felt like a chunky tyre version of a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Graeme_Obree">Graeme Obree</a> machine – my set-up is very much at the armchair end of the bike geometry spectrum. I lasted a hundred meters on Phil's bike – how he managed eight days of riding on it a few weeks later beats me!<br />
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The land south of Molesworth Station is magnificent, with the morning spent a kilometre above sea-level. Isolated Flat and the Acheron River are part of the high country history – and Red Gate is synonymous with <a href="http://www.doc.govt.nz/Documents/parks-and-recreation/places-to-visit/nelson-marlborough/molesworth-tracks-interp-info.pdf">a tragic romance over 150 years ago</a>:<br />
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<i>Ivanhoe Augarde was a foreman working for the Clarence Run in the 1860s, based at a homestead at the junction of the Acheron and the Clarence Rivers. On horseback or foot were the only travelling options. Young Ivanhoe, 24 years of age, was in love with Kate Gee who lived many miles away in the Upper Wairau Valley. Kate communicated that she wished the relationship to end. Ivanhoe wrote her a heartfelt plea, begging her to change her mind. With no postal service to hand, and in a desperate state of mind, Ivanhoe asked a worker known as German Charlie who was travelling north, to deliver the letter. <br /><br />As he travelled, German Charlie shared the contents of the letter with other men. When news eventually reached Ivanhoe that he had been ridiculed in public, he planned revenge. He confronted Charlie at the Saxton homestead near Bowscale Tarn and a fight ensued. The fight was broken up and Ivanhoe was left unsatisfied. Some time later, after writing letters to his and Kate’s family, he borrowed a rifle and set out to find Charlie. On the 29th January 1868 Ivanhoe found Charlie at the Tarndale property and shot him. The murderer then set out to return to the Clarence Valley. At Red Gate he turned the gun on himself. Ivanhoe Augarde is buried between Red Gate Hut and the Severn River. A mound of river stones marks his grave. An inscribed headstone was placed on the grave by Augarde descendants in the 1970s, around the time Mt Augarde was named.</i><br />
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On a lighter note, I read somewhere that long ago the Molesworth staff used to have a month of leave during the depths of winter – one farmhand famously never made it past the first pub on the road in twenty five years of employment on the station!<br />
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The track from Red Gate through to the Sedgemere Sleepout was a departure from the fairly decent surface of the Molesworth Road. Still very ridable, but the river crossings began in earnest.<br />
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Finally the road began to drop. This was my first serious bike adventure away from tar-sealed roads, and all I can say is it's bloody good fun rocketing down dirt roads on chunky tyres. The last part of the road through Rainbow Station squeezes through Wairau Gorge, and the corner at Hells Gate is spectacular.<br />
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After 92km we realised we weren't going to make St. Arnaud by nightfall, and so we pulled off the road and pitched camp. I parted with Phil after pumping our tyres back up in readiness for the sealed road: he was heading back to Wellington via the road through Renwick, while I was off to Nelson to catch up with friends. Thanks for riding with me buddy, and see you soon for a beer!</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-77053358250689752112015-08-17T00:33:00.001+01:002015-08-18T00:40:58.335+01:00Nice write-up on WellingtonI've just moved back to Wellington, where my family are from. On my flight into New Zealand I saw this excellent write-up on the city in <i>KiaOra</i>, Air New Zealand's in-flight magazine. I couldn't find it online but the publishers sent me a PDF, which I thought I'd share here.<br />
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Wellington is a great city – a wonderful combination of being the country's capital, but with lots of green space and a CBD that you can walk the length of in half an hour. There's a huge array of cultural events, and as I write the sun is beaming down on the still harbour water in the middle of winter – anyone who says the weather isn't always this great is fibbing!<br />
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I've got a decent bike trip planned for this summer which I'll share via this blog.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-44858486431499337652014-08-23T00:52:00.002+01:002014-08-29T21:17:14.956+01:00'Summer' in the Scottish Highlands 2014I was introduced to hillwalking when I was at secondary school. I had two teachers who were knocking off the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Munro">Munros</a> (Scotland's hills over 3000' – 914.4m in modern currency) and our school 'expeditions' invariably took us to parts of Scotland that had hills they needed to climb, dressed up with names that excited the teenage imagination - the 'Trans-Highland Journey' seems to stand out for some reason. My first Munro was The Saddle in Glen Shiel, climbed on a sunny day in the early 1990s via the Forcan Ridge, which the Scottish Mountaineering Club guidebook describes as a 'superb rich ridge [that] involves some exposed scrambling'. I remember straddling a knife edged arête with several hundred metres of nothing beneath my feet. It was bloody good fun and I was hooked.<br>
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By the time I'd done my A-levels I'd climbed over 40 Munros – mainly in the Western Highlands, and including all the remote <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Knoydart">Knoydart</a> peaks and pretty much everything around Glencoe and the Ben Nevis area. The great thing about Scotland's hills – Munros or otherwise – is that you can have a long day of walking / scrambling / climbing and still be back in the pub by closing time.<br>
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The downside, of course, is that the weather can be decidedly iffy, something that I experienced at first hand last week when I was stepped off the train at Loch Awe with my bike, camping gear and a week's food supply. The rain was lashing down, and the week of halcyonic summer walking that I'd envisaged wasn't exactly on the cards. This was rammed home after I'd stashed my gear under a bush and walked up Ben Eunaich. I could feel the wind whipping past and throwing me off balance as I climbed up, and on reaching the summit I turned around to feel the full force of rain and hail slamming into my face. I pushed on up Beinn a' Chochuill and raced down the mountainside to escape the weather – and savouring the wonderful moment as I emerged from the clouds to see the route down the valley floor. I spent a wet night sleeping under the shelter on the Loch Awe railway station platform, and caught the first train of the morning to Tyndrum, where the campsite has hot showers and a drying room. Bliss.<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-W5Ug-e6ecX41HMPqy9HpMa9A0yPNuPY0MeAEawp27RJcWv5xmf9OB_ZoqL_ZMYjiXjvNnwYmo37xrquym1W1a_w-WZn_ql_D6XkvZ2-Il1iiasn-7HTizOWKqvc0W84wuv7QhEzunrQ/s1600/IMG_3204.jpg"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-W5Ug-e6ecX41HMPqy9HpMa9A0yPNuPY0MeAEawp27RJcWv5xmf9OB_ZoqL_ZMYjiXjvNnwYmo37xrquym1W1a_w-WZn_ql_D6XkvZ2-Il1iiasn-7HTizOWKqvc0W84wuv7QhEzunrQ/s1600/IMG_3204.jpg" width="640"></a><br>
[On the train ride north from Glasgow]<br>
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[Halfway up Ben Eunaich]<br>
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[Feeder gates for the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cruachan_Power_Station">Cruachan hydroelectric power station</a>]<br>
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[On the summit ridge of <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Beinn a' Chochuill</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">]</span></div>
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[Coming out of the clouds on the side of Beinn a' Chochuill]<br>
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Scotland had been enjoying a glorious summer, and I'd planned to do a big off road tour down Glen Lyon, but the weather for the coming week wasn't great, with a particularly foul weekend forecast, so the comfort of the <a href="http://www.tyndrumbytheway.com/">By The Way</a> campsite massively outweighed any thoughts of wild camping – I even had WiFi in my tent. I decided to have a couple more days of climbing the few Munros I had left in the Crianlarich area – starting with Ben More, which had a couple of rock steps I had to climb over on my way up. Great fun with the wind buffeting me around! Ben Dorain was another hill on my list – again, the weather didn't allow for much of a view from the summit, which was a pity as it has a commanding position over the A82 and railway line to Fort William. I've passed it on my way north countless times, and so it is great to be able to look at it having been on the summit.</div>
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[Bike tucked away in the trees...]<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxrEtHKWAptS5u4yvzsNU7Uf5FkGJeHSZuXBnxxvTSpKGWh7_Y1pgMOO4g9ycOgHGdXwbveIs9V-OveUEMPL5r77eg6Clgr3m0iaVqkvmoMhj2NzqDX9kOEGi6jFY56M-pIQtaXMo65dM/s1600/IMG_3220.jpg"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxrEtHKWAptS5u4yvzsNU7Uf5FkGJeHSZuXBnxxvTSpKGWh7_Y1pgMOO4g9ycOgHGdXwbveIs9V-OveUEMPL5r77eg6Clgr3m0iaVqkvmoMhj2NzqDX9kOEGi6jFY56M-pIQtaXMo65dM/s1600/IMG_3220.jpg" width="640"></a><br>
[Climbing Ben More]<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpQ-okzxk8QzrMUKQgo9wtQ6Z5Aq7HedqkucYmTzQo-dWw_9vZMfI2YwXh-uIdpIjv9ICy73HoQ10EgkjiusQW5FmydpqonWMQBjCLWvC4u1Cf40CmxaxqMr0JmqdKPvcQZjqvEwvYRg/s1600/IMG_3223.jpg"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpQ-okzxk8QzrMUKQgo9wtQ6Z5Aq7HedqkucYmTzQo-dWw_9vZMfI2YwXh-uIdpIjv9ICy73HoQ10EgkjiusQW5FmydpqonWMQBjCLWvC4u1Cf40CmxaxqMr0JmqdKPvcQZjqvEwvYRg/s1600/IMG_3223.jpg" width="640"></a><br>
[Summit of Ben More – 1174m]<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw2UrfMnih2bDGkBvc_D9S43FuWuWnVCx3_VZ8H1Nre9oI3XdPkrdNgQ9PNZCKsDgUvw22HiL3vRM3aeaR0DKZ62QSWCkPFw9JAn2o3n-2bAMIxcYdq9Ws1Yuk5GU3Ezr1fKT_UMydr14/s1600/IMG_3257.jpg"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw2UrfMnih2bDGkBvc_D9S43FuWuWnVCx3_VZ8H1Nre9oI3XdPkrdNgQ9PNZCKsDgUvw22HiL3vRM3aeaR0DKZ62QSWCkPFw9JAn2o3n-2bAMIxcYdq9Ws1Yuk5GU3Ezr1fKT_UMydr14/s1600/IMG_3257.jpg" width="640"></a><br>
[Sheep near the summit of Ben Dorain]<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpe_HJjvdywrIy2Sh2IIM41A0x5eHu5QJqlyc6RhTKSDUMyBwe93FxXe1EXGv0KzlpZdoDL2bXMjbNBlJxCHo1U0nitl_MNi-Jw5_n1iLeFKIDgfXLK0kanJj8JV37zuQsbwHXFqjFR-c/s1600/IMG_3265.jpg"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpe_HJjvdywrIy2Sh2IIM41A0x5eHu5QJqlyc6RhTKSDUMyBwe93FxXe1EXGv0KzlpZdoDL2bXMjbNBlJxCHo1U0nitl_MNi-Jw5_n1iLeFKIDgfXLK0kanJj8JV37zuQsbwHXFqjFR-c/s1600/IMG_3265.jpg" width="640"></a><br>
[Looking down on the A82 and West Highland Way from the summit of Ben Dorain]<br>
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By this point I'd run out of enthusiasm for getting soaked and eaten by midges, and decided to make the most of the last day of good weather and ride down to see my relatives Ken and Shena in Stirling, with a lot of the 80km-or-so on the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Callander_and_Oban_Railway">old Callander to Oban railway line</a> which is now <a href="http://www.sustrans.org.uk/ncn/map/route/callander-to-killin">a fantastic mountain bike route</a>. It was great fun – mostly coasting gently downhill, but with some steeper single track sections to liven up the ride.<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4DIOTyq-NFFoUGKhoFLfjPl9OijodTf5-os9GPPUB0mWWE-ZGF6N6If9ScwsFyY5N73enShmVHV7SpjYxoOSz4g8o0Pkz5OjPTsw_H7Ia2wjkqYcCgl1Ba11yxPW24zvGBXqX_d0YnyE/s1600/IMG_3303.jpg"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4DIOTyq-NFFoUGKhoFLfjPl9OijodTf5-os9GPPUB0mWWE-ZGF6N6If9ScwsFyY5N73enShmVHV7SpjYxoOSz4g8o0Pkz5OjPTsw_H7Ia2wjkqYcCgl1Ba11yxPW24zvGBXqX_d0YnyE/s1600/IMG_3303.jpg" width="640"></a><br>
[The old Callander – Oban railway track]<br>
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[Overlooking the Falls of Leny]<br>
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I spent a few days with Ken, Shena, Carrick and Jodie. We climbed Ben Vorlich and Stùc a' Chroin on the last day before I headed back to London. These can be seen from their kitchen window, so Jodie and Taiga (the family labrador) joined me for the day. Jodie is a ferociously good tennis player and pretty much raced me up both summits. It was the perfect day for her first Munros – the weather held out and we could just about work out where her house was to the south-east, and the traverse between the two summits was steep enough to get a sense of how big the hills really are. I didn't want to spoil things by pointing out that on the basis of the past week this was a bit of an anomaly!</div>
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[Taiga spoiled the party by not wearing a headband]<br>
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[On the steep eastern side of Stùc a' Chroin]<br>
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[Taiga and Jodie on the summit of Stùc a' Chroin]</div>
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-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-64953519560103867102014-06-10T22:28:00.005+01:002014-06-22T18:44:23.867+01:00Bluebell Railway with RichThis is a slight interlude to the normal run of my adventures, but I want to write up some of the days out I've had with my cousin Richard, who has muscular dystrophy and uses a wheelchair. We had a lovely day out on the <a href="http://www.bluebell-railway.com/" target="_blank">Bluebell Railway</a> today, which has fantastic facilities for disabled visitors – not bad, considering it was built in the middle of the 19th Century! Rich tends to do a bit of research about accessibility when he travels, and hopefully this page will be of use to other wheelchair users visiting the railway.<br />
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The drive from Balham took about an hour and a quarter. We arrived at East Grinstead, where there is free all-day parking for disabled visitors: lots of space around the van to make sure people don't impede Rich's ramps. Just make sure you have the parking coupon (issued by the ticket office when you buy your tickets) visible on your dashboard.<br />
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The trains run by the Bluebell have amazing disabled access. Back in the day Rich used to travel in the cold, unheated parcel cage when he went between London and Tunbridge Wells – a pretty miserable experience. The disabled access carriage is light years away from that, as you can see. Great for the three of us travelling together, and it matched the other period carriages perfectly.<br />
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The line runs through the heart of Sussex for 11 miles, and takes about 45 minutes from end to end. The countryside is beautiful – I grew up in the High Weald and find the landscape stonkingly pretty, regardless of the time of year. The staff were incredibly helpful (and friendly) and were happy for us to get on and off along the line. We stopped off at Horsted Keynes where the station has a bar: a couple of hours of drinking <a href="http://www.harveys.org.uk/" target="_blank">Harvey's</a> in the sun seemed like a very good idea.<br />
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The stations are rather beautiful with lots to look at – and they are all fully accessible for wheelchair users. Sheffield Park has the best disabled lavatory facilities – at East Grinstead we popped into the Sainsbury's opposite the station. Apparently there are plans to build a disabled-access lavatory at East Grinstead station this winter once the summer tourist traffic has quietened down – this is the railway's newest station (it opened in Spring 2013) and improvements are ongoing.</div>
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The workshops and sheds at Horsted Keynes and Sheffield Park are also accessible, and the fitters and restorers were happy to talk to us and explain their work, which is pretty impressive when you realise that some of the locomotives are over a century old! We were also allowed to have a look at a shed at the back of the yard where volunteers are building <a href="http://www.bluebell-railway.co.uk/bluebell/locos/atlantic/" target="_blank">a brand new steam locomotive</a>. Their enthusiasm and love for their work really came across.<br />
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Well done to the Bluebell Railway – for something run substantially by volunteers they've made the experience incredibly wheelchair-friendly.<br />
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<a href="http://www.bluebell-railway.com/timetable-and-fares/disabled-access/" target="_blank">Click here for the Bluebell Railway's accessibility statement</a>.<br />
<br />
Finally – I'll tag future posts on accessibility as <a href="http://matthewsoccasionaladventures.blogspot.co.uk/search/label/Wheelchair%20adventures" target="_blank"><i>wheelchair adventures</i></a>.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-39223677338240257442013-10-19T00:02:00.001+01:002013-12-22T18:38:02.810+00:00£3400 - thank you!I've just wrapped up the fundraising for this summer, and I'm incredibly grateful to everyone for getting behind <a href="http://www.motability.co.uk/" target="_blank">Motability</a> and <a href="http://www.cpre.org.uk/" target="_blank">CPRE</a>, who do fantastic work that is so close to my heart. I originally thought £3000 was a crazy target, but £3030 (£3401.25 including gift aid) means each charity will receive £1700 in the next few days.<br />
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I am humbled by your generosity. Thank you.<br />
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(and if you're still keen to donate, you can do so directly to either <a href="http://www.cpre.org.uk/how-you-can-help/join-or-donate" target="_blank">CPRE</a> or <a href="http://www.motability.co.uk/whats-on-and-get-involved/fundraise-and-support-us/donate-now/" target="_blank">Motability</a>...)</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-80656720091070260462013-10-04T02:02:00.001+01:002017-10-14T02:26:54.094+01:00Dutch Catholic TV interviewing me in FinistereI mentioned that RKK (Dutch Catholic TV) interviewed me underneath the lighthouse at Cape Finisterre when I'd just burnt my shoes at sundown. They've now released the documentary, and it's rather lovely having the end of my Camino (and immolation of my footwear) recorded for posterity. You can see it by <a href="https://npo.nl/RKK_1639805" target="_blank">clicking here</a> – I show up 21m00s into the programme.<br />
<br /><a href="https://npo.nl/RKK_1639805">https://npo.nl/RKK_1639805</a><div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-15659976624080555722013-09-10T22:09:00.001+01:002013-12-22T18:37:35.650+00:00Google MapsMy cousin Richard has created a <a href="https://www.google.co.uk/maps/ms?msid=213918007365619124703.0004debf8347fffd67176&msa=0&ll=42.441701%2C-2.25769&spn=2.578155%2C5.984802" target="_blank">Google Maps layer</a> that shows where I stayed each night - it also shows Rupert's progress from when he did the first two-thirds in late April through to early May. I'm the red marker and Rupert is blue. The places where we both stayed in before meeting up in Leon are marked in purple - and the places we both stayed in when we walked together after he joined me in Leon are purple with a dot.<br />
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<a href="https://www.google.co.uk/maps/ms?msid=213918007365619124703.0004debf8347fffd67176&msa=0&ll=42.441701%2C-2.25769&spn=2.578155%2C5.984802" target="_blank">Click here</a> to visit the map.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOMhkW_nqLV1NYYlvU8VEKpQtqqs6pTyiira2b7Ho8IFbfvPxDmv-Ydq2fNmJRtYWOhGRhEqCwUqu3rBRL8mKqGfEnMXweYYJDIr-7MNppEp1orXeZgBi3H1WqcB0I8ouvmlDHjepkkL8/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-09-20+at+00.10.37.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOMhkW_nqLV1NYYlvU8VEKpQtqqs6pTyiira2b7Ho8IFbfvPxDmv-Ydq2fNmJRtYWOhGRhEqCwUqu3rBRL8mKqGfEnMXweYYJDIr-7MNppEp1orXeZgBi3H1WqcB0I8ouvmlDHjepkkL8/s640/Screen+Shot+2013-09-20+at+00.10.37.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Also - I'm finishing up my fundraising efforts at the end of September, so if you haven't donated yet then I'd love your support!<br />
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<a href="http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/mwyp">http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/mwyp</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-8796261721532544622013-09-02T16:03:00.003+01:002015-07-03T23:18:09.763+01:00ThoughtsI finished the Camino just under two months ago, so have had some time to process the whole experience. I don't want to turn this into some sort of lengthy introspective ramble, but here are a few thoughts on the whole business.<br />
<br />
<br />
HIGHLIGHTS<br />
<br />
- meeting a wonderful array of people. Fr. Pierre in Arundy, Chris the maths teacher (and his wife, who's name escapes me), Ron and Kibben the Canadians, Ray the Irishman - we never swapped contact details alas, Jaume the Spanish guy who I spoke to in French for an whole day, David and Haia, and Brenda and Laurel from Texas. And then there were the guys who I ended up walking into Santiago with for the last few hundred kilometres with. The German speaking contingent: Emma and Helga, Nikolaus and Werner; Nicole, Sami and Tommy; and last but not least Team Somerholter - Kurt and Kim, Jonas and Connor. Alas only Werner of the above is close enough for a regular catchup - we've already met up at the Roastery on Wandsworth Road.<br />
<br />
- walking over the Meseta. It wasn't as blisteringly hot as I'd feared, and was wonderfully remote. It was about a fortnight into the walk for me so I'd dealt with most of the niggling things like muscle pains and the one blister I had.<br />
<br />
- being healthy. 27km a day and eating reasonably decent food was a nice detox from the destruction of exams and essay writing, which are inevitably fuelled by chocolate...<br />
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- La Faba - one of the most beautiful parts of the Camino. If you're planning on walking or biking to Santiago make sure you stay there. The Galician mountain stages were stonkingly beautiful.<br />
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- knowing I've walked an awfully long way (647 miles or 1042km). It was also really satisfying starting in a place that felt relatively 'home'-like, and every time I go to Lourdes I'll know that in 2013 I walked from there to Santiago.<br />
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- being with Rupert on a grand adventure. I always tease him in an overly affectionate way that he is my favourite cousin, and it was pretty amazing being able to do the walk together.<br />
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- the first week walking across the Pyrenean foothills. It poured with rain and my only interactions were in French, but the solitude was magnificent.<br />
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- equipment-wise, two things stood out: <a href="http://rohan.co.uk/Category/Detail/MensShirts" target="_blank">the 'Worldview' shirt I bought from Rohan</a>, almost as an afterthought, but which I ended up wearing (and washing!) every day. Long sleeves were perfect for keeping the sun off my arms, and left undone at the cuffs they actually kept me rather cool. And my Sigg drinking bottle. Very simple - every time I stopped at a tap I drank it empty and then filled it up. Much less mucking around than a camelback.<br />
<br />
- and finally the support from everyone who sponsored me. This really did make a difference when the chips were down. Nothing helped me more when my feet were sodden and muscles aching, with unrelenting rain than knowing people back home had given money to charities so close to my heart. Thank you.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQJoRGelwg0l2cM_uXWiyrzf5H2y05waFxhJh4OrINbhMhOA51OOpM4Nghcd_1kfiFgjpqrkUQBxoICdKBoj9oOTyoHxbbmM5V4S_Zz4VH-VcwHvJnBjxt0QP3rcyLLNIez40lJW8XcHY/s640/blogger-image--1346221671.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQJoRGelwg0l2cM_uXWiyrzf5H2y05waFxhJh4OrINbhMhOA51OOpM4Nghcd_1kfiFgjpqrkUQBxoICdKBoj9oOTyoHxbbmM5V4S_Zz4VH-VcwHvJnBjxt0QP3rcyLLNIez40lJW8XcHY/s640/blogger-image--1346221671.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption">Rupert boarding the flight back to England</td></tr>
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<br />
LOWLIGHTS<br />
<br />
- mountain bikers zooming past at top speed leaving centimetres to spare. Really inconsiderate - just ringing their bell would help enormously.<br />
<br />
- taking too much gear. I didn't need a thermarest or sleeping bag, and could have pared things down a bit more. In the end my iPad really wasn't that useful. Mind you, Rupert wins the Beast of Burden Prize - he had his GPS (total waste of time), digital camera, iPod Touch, iPad, Blackberry and Kindle - and all the cords and plugs to charge them. Crazy. (And I don't even want to start talking about why he bought a winter weight insulated jacket with him for a walk in Spain in the summer...!)<br />
<br />
- not having a full length Goretex jacket. Not a disaster, but it would have made life much more comfortable during the wet days if my jacket was a fraction longer.<br />
<br />
- Terradillos de Los Templarios, which was a a complete dump.<br />
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- my feet and knees feeling sore for the first couple of weeks.<br />
<br />
- saying goodbye to the Somerholters.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdCSAWWmE_TsKp_I55e3xvHbrTb4e53xYbJ06n8Ta25NX6c22ibe0wNc5KmuIyXjKB5J3und-zKGV_ZXBJ9MqLxB2JgqvcWXnsqWflC3W3jhPhzHWd3F5bZIdhbTubyAR0tBPZcn49JGQ/s640/blogger-image-1805701558.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdCSAWWmE_TsKp_I55e3xvHbrTb4e53xYbJ06n8Ta25NX6c22ibe0wNc5KmuIyXjKB5J3und-zKGV_ZXBJ9MqLxB2JgqvcWXnsqWflC3W3jhPhzHWd3F5bZIdhbTubyAR0tBPZcn49JGQ/s640/blogger-image-1805701558.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption">Rupert with the 1989 Camino map Kurt managed<br />
to find online - his next framing challenge!</td></tr>
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<br />
FINALLY<br />
<br />
Would I do it again? If you'd asked me that when I got back to Stansted on July 10th I'd have laughed and given a straight refusal. But two months on, I probably would be up for it - maybe on mountain bike from London, or something like that: the memories of walking day after day need to recede a little more before I sign up to doing it all on foot again!<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-50862332801639721842013-09-02T15:21:00.000+01:002016-05-09T12:38:20.361+01:00Day 40: Cee - FinistereWe had a latish start today, as our final day of walking was a mere 12km - a doodle! Chris the tall German army mechanic had been talking enthusiastically about starting out at three in the morning to watch the sun rise, but as we got up we could see his feet poking out over the end of the bed: he'd seen the sense in our starting out later. We'd only have three hours of walking and there was no need to hurry - the plan was to get to Finistere and then walk up to the lighthouse at the end of the peninsular to watch the sun go down.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">First breakfast</td></tr>
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Breakfast was decidedly leisurely, and when we passed a small cove on the way into Finistere Rupert decided that he wanted to go for a swim in the sea. I hate swimming in the sea, particularly when there isn't a shower to help get the salt and sand off before putting my walking shoes back on, so I pottered around on the beach looking at the beautiful scallop shells.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Ursula Andress eat your heart out</td></tr>
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As we walked the final kilometres into Finistere we passed a Hungarian woman who was walking with her three little girls (aged 15, 12 and 9). They were all lean with wild blonde hair, and the woman had previously walked the Camino from Budapest, a six month venture with over 3600km of walking. This time she was only doing the 160km circular route from Santiago to Finistere, Muxia and then back to Santiago. Rupert said she reminded him of his family's beagle who used to lead her puppies into the wood and train them in following scents and keeping the local fox population on its toes.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spanish large format speed cameras: very retro</td></tr>
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The town of Finistere is a few kilometres short of the end of the peninsula, so we decided that we'd have a lazy lunch and head up to the lighthouse in time to see the sun go down. Finistere was very laid back - a few camper vans and tourists, and a lovely contrast to the madness of Santiago. I walked the final four kilometres to the end of the world in my flip-flops, holding my heavily duct-taped shoes in my hands and enjoying the novel sensation of air on my tired feet. It was a beautiful evening - no wind, not sweltering hot, and the sea was magnificently calm.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">0km to go. Shoes in hand ready for the inferno<br /></td></tr>
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Eventually someone lit a fire in the fire-pit, and a small number of people lined up to burn things that were significant in various ways. Rupert burnt the hideous baseball cap he'd bought on the Camino earlier in the year when he realised he'd need a sun hat, and I placed my old shoes in the midst of the flames. They'd first started indicating that this would be their last adventure just after Pamplona, and by now they were at the point of needing fresh duct tape every two days. As I walked away from the fire I was interviewed by Dutch Faith TV (I wasn't previously familiar with their work…), although perhaps I wasn't the best person for them to ask about the whole significance of the Camino, with the questioning as follows:<br />
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"So do you believe in God?"<br />
"No"<br />
"Ahh, but you'd describe yourself as a spiritual man?"<br />
"Err, not really, sorry"<br />
"Oh! So why exactly have you just walked 1000km from Lourdes in France?"<br />
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Rupert and I slowly walked back down for our last evening as Camino pilgrims, and had a relatively early night, as the bus back to Santiago leaves early tomorrow morning.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-42183068476380531652013-07-11T20:02:00.000+01:002013-12-22T18:37:02.154+00:00Day 39: Santa Mariña - Cee<div>
Our 5.30am start would previously have made us relative early birds, but the heat last night meant that by the time we were in the road at 6.15am only James and Cahir were yet to set off. It was still dark when we started, but we knew that we'd have to cover about 25km and we wanted to be in the shade by the early afternoon. </div>
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Breakfast was at Olveiroa, which at 12km after we started meant we were rather hungry by the time we arrived! The nice thing about the 3-4 days of walking to Finisterre is that having just lost a whole load of my friends at Santiago there is just enough time to build some new friendships. And so we're now walking with Chris the German army mechanic, who has been repairing Leopard tanks in northern Afghanistan, Ruth and Dagmar, the sisters from Germany, Mireille from France, who I seem to remember bumping into back at the start of the Spanish Camino a month ago, and of course James and Cahir. We all seem to stop at the same cafés, and despite leaving at staggered times we've ended up at the same albergues, where we gently unwind from the madness and intensity of the main Camino to Santiago. </div>
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After the small village at Hospital the route becomes rather more barren, and the shade and cafés of the first half of the day give way to kilometre after kilometre of exposed graft under the sun. We passed the German sisters snoozing in a clump of trees next to one of the old churches in the middle of nowhere, and promptly took the wrong road for a kilometre - having to retrace our steps in the hot weather was very frustrating. I decided that I'd have a short break in the trees with our friends (who were surprised to see us again so soon!) but Rupert said he wanted to press on - I walk faster than he does and knew I'd catch up with him. The shade was lovely, and I set out feeling much better for having had some time out of the sun with my feet up. </div>
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[Dagmar, Chris, Ruth and Jenny]</div>
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I caught up with Rupert at a small water and trinket stall a couple of kilometres further on. He was downing a bottle of water with gusto, and we continued, but after half an hour he said 'I don't think I can make it' in a tired voice. Rupert's Camino walking shirt was a black number, which wasn't very smart, so told him he had to swap it for the white policeman's shirt he'd been wearing in the evenings. I gave him my sun hat, and he struggled on until we could find some shade, whereupon he collapsed into the grass in a rather worryingly manner. He was having trouble performing basic tasks like finding his Camelback drinking nozzle, and seemed completely lost. He drained my water bottle (with the last fragments from the spring in the Lourdes grotto), and it was pretty clear that he wouldn't make to Cee. I don't think he actually said 'I'm going to die here' but it wasn't looking good. Jenny, a Canadian girl who we'd been passing every so often since Sarria, told Rupert to slow his breathing as he was beginning to hyperventilate, and then left her pack with us while she went to find the church that was marked on the map less than half a kilometre down the route. Meanwhile none of the people passing us had any spare water, but they were all rather concerned. I rang up a local taxi firm and persuaded them to meet us at the next church on the route - mainly by repeating the words 'San Pedro Mártir', 'Taxi' 'Camino Finisterre' and 'peligrino' - and then told Rupert he had to get up and do the next 400 metres, walking along side him with his and Jenny's packs under each arm. As we approached the church we bumped into Jenny walking back - she'd missed it as it was a rather unassuming building. But when we got there there was a water fountain and concrete bench under a large tree that gave excellent shade - and a taxi waiting for Rupert. Later I found out that Rupert had to persuade the driver not to take him to hospital - a €5 tip did the trick!</div>
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After an hour I made it to the albergue in Cee that Rupert had gone to. We had an ice-cream and watched the Wimbledon final, and after the (very basic) supper wandered down to the beach, where white marine fireworks were being let off at regular intervals - apparently to celebrate 'the father of cheeses', which tied in with the procession we'd bumped into where a life-sized statue of 'Cheeses' was being marched through town to a slow drum beat.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-58219698405171545822013-07-10T01:00:00.001+01:002015-07-03T23:28:40.870+01:00Day 38: Negreira - Santa Mariña<div>
After yesterday we did make an effort to get away early, and we were on the road by 6.45am. The heat really has picked up, and while the first hour of walking was rather balmy, I could feel the temperature shifting from 'lovely' to 'not so lovely' before we'd stopped for our first breakfast break. Now that it is just the two of us our first meal of the day tends to be a bit faster - we just have coffee, orange juice and a croissant - but even so the difference in temperature by the time we're walking again is noticeable. </div>
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More like 40°C or more in the early afternoon</div>
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The Camino after Santiago has far fewer accommodation options, as apparently only about 10% of people carry on walking to Finisterre. This meant that we were facing either a long 32km or a shorter 21km day, and by the time we arrived at Santa Mariña we realised that it'd be much more sensible to stop early and spend the rest of the day sitting in the shade and drinking cold beer. It does leave us more to do tomorrow, but we'll be closer to the coast so hopefully there will be a bit of a breeze to cool us.<br />
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The Casa Pepe albergue was lovely: a really remote location (Rupert thought I was lost but I assured him we were going in the right direction!) and very modern. The dormitory even passed the crucial test of whether the owner has bothered to install a decent number of electricity sockets. </div>
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It did feel a bit unusual to have a full afternoon in hand, as by the time we'd showered and washed our clothes it was still only 2pm or so. Much earlier than our normal routine. The roasting sun meant our thick socks were dry in an hour, so our only concern was the amount of ice cream we could decently put away before supper. Last night we bumped into James and Cahir, a couple of guys from Ireland, and we ended up talking to them for most of the evening. They had a wicked (and typically Irish) sense of humour. James was quite reasonably riled by the number of people who had pulled out their cameras and phones to photograph the botafumerio in action, and we had to guiltily confess that not only had we done just that, but we'd also given each other a stealthy thumbs-up when we realised the whole thing was going to happen. Oops!</div>
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The heat really has been oppressive. I don't actually mind walking in it so much, but it is the inability to escape from it in the evening that makes it so hard to deal with. I took a quick shower before I went to bed (my third of the day) and was sticky and sweaty before I'd climbed onto the top bunk. Fortunately things tend to cool down during the night - assuming someone hasn't unilaterally closed the windows to recreate the Black Hole of Calcutta, which I've experienced a couple of times since leaving France. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-41368445326312887012013-07-06T21:35:00.001+01:002015-07-03T23:29:45.101+01:00Day 37: Santiago - Negreira<div>
The awful day when I had to part ways with the Somerholters has finally arrived. I'm sure this sounds rather trite to those if you reading this back at home, but the Camino is a journey that really does forge some unusual yet strong friendships. We waved off our Finnish friend Sami the day we arrive in Santiago, and he was in tears at being separated from Tae-Hyum who he'd walked with, as well as the rest of us. So after 450km of walking together - and spending almost every hour in each other's company - Kurt, Kim, Jonas and Connor practically feel like family. We've covered almost every topic of conversation, know everyone's life stories, and teased each other mercilessly in that time. </div>
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We got up at about 9am, having only made it into bed at about 2am. Breakfast was in an old chocolate factory that had been converted into a cafe, so churros and chocolate seemed appropriate. Saying goodbye afterwards felt odd - I imagine that we'll be getting together at some point soon, and we're already discussing biking the route next year. As well as trips to London, Austin, etc.</div>
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After breakfast we all hugged (even Rupert - most unlike him!) and set out - only to bump into each other again five minutes later in front of the main cathedral entrance, where we repeated the process. Kim had decided that she'd walk the first 10km with us, which made the process easier, and after a long cold drink at a small cafe in Figueiras she turned back to Santiago. A horrible feeling of missing friends that not even walking with one of my favourite cousins could quite remedy. </div>
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On we walked. The late start (11am) meant that we were facing the brunt of the afternoon sun, and I could actually taste the dry heat as we worked our way up a 300 metre hillside. Lunch was at Casa Pancho, a quiet cafe that did excellent ham and cheese bocadillos - up there with the best on the Camino so far. Two rounds of cold drinks, and the owner had cleverly kept a stash of glasses in his freezer. The temperature inside his cafe was 32°C: outside it was over 40°C.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Scorchio!</td></tr>
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Rupert really wasn't enjoying the conditions, but we made it to a modern albergue at Negreira by 6.30pm, where <span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Ruups drank two litres of water as I checked us in for the night. </span>The excellent pilgrims' menu was served by a woman who threw her hands up in despair during the TV weather forecast. Galicia is hot even by local standards. </div>
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Random things I will miss about the Somerholters...</div>
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Kurt's love of Texas and musical interludes. And his disdain for Prius drivers. And his beard - tragically shorn off when we arrived in Santiago.<br />
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Jonas's ability to impersonate chickens - we've already walked past a few and it feels weird not having him here. And his pre-breakfast mewling, which did actually take my mind off the act of walking at early o'clock.<br />
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Connor's personal grooming product ideas - sadly almost completely unmarketable.<br />
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Kim's ability to shoot me looks that covertly conveyed her exact thoughts about the people we bumped into - this became known as the 'red button' commentary, which probably means nothing to those of you in America, but in the UK it's the remote button you press for the alternative digital television commentary during sports events. And her US Special Forces baseball cap, with flowers she'd pick as we walked along decorating the back, which seemed to sum her up rather neatly.<br />
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And generally their sense of humour. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-48950989608881269642013-07-06T16:54:00.001+01:002015-07-03T23:31:06.720+01:00Day 36: Santiago<div>
For the first time in 950km I actually had a proper rest day - no walking, aside from padding around the city centre in my jandals. </div>
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First things first, the unlimited breakfast. This was pretty epic, and our four person table hosted all of us (as well as Tae-Hyum) over the three hour period. Seven people eating like there is no tomorrow creates quite a mess - as you can see below. </div>
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The problem with having a rest day is that none of us felt like doing anything cultural. We knew that the Pilgrims' Mass at noon would be well attended, so we arrived at the cathedral at 11am, and had the pick of the seats - the Somerholters sat in the nave, while Rupert and I sat in one of the transepts, on the off chance that the botafumerio would be in action [http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Botafumeiro]. This is a huge incense holder that is swung the length of the church, as historically the pilgrims smelt so terrible it was something of a necessity. But we'd heard it wasn't always brought out for the noon Mass, and didn't want to get our hopes up. </div>
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The service kicked off with a man reading all the places the pilgrims arriving in the last 24 hours had come from, along with each of the pilgrims' nationalities at every starting location. This was done in Spanish at machine-gun speed, so I wasn't certain that I heard Lourdes being called out. Some of the places were a very long way away - Manu, who we'd met at the top of the cathedral's main steps, had walked from his home in Zurich, and had destroyed some expensive hiking gear that clearly wasn't designed to do the 2000km he'd covered. Otherwise it was a standard Mass, with no botafumerio. Never mind. I had a couple of minutes in thought about the journey, and when I looked up again I saw eight men in deep red robes preparing the ropes and incense. It is a bit silly, but I was ridiculously excited, as was Rupert. Emma - sitting next to me - seemed rather amused at our reaction. Eventually the botafumerio was hoisted up, and with increasingly large arcs it was swung across the church - passing about a couple of metres from me, and reaching 20 metres up into the heights of the roof. Take that Lourdes - Santiago has you game, set and match when it comes to smells and bells!</div>
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After Mass we sat down in one I the street bars and slowly whiled away the afternoon drinking sangria and saying hello to the random people we'd met on the Camino who'd ended up in Santiago the same time. Nicole the Aussie had stayed in town to celebrate her 19th birthday, and one of her friends had bought her a hunting knife, which she tested out when harvesting Connor's hair for her Camino souvenir. On reflection, hunting knives and drinking probably don't mix too well...</div>
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I forgot to mention that last night we saw Brenda and Laurel from Austin - they'd stayed on in Santiago fora few extra days so getting to have a couple of glasses of wine with them was an unexpected treat. Likewise Nick, the recently retired lawyer. And Werner joined us for supper, so along with Helga and Emma it was a rather Teutonic affair, particularly given that Kurt loves tapping into his German ancestry - Helga told him off at one point and gave him a very stern, grandmotherly 'Kurt!' (but pronounced 'Court') that had us laughing. As did Rupert's pronouncement on his favourite food - we were discussing what meal we were most looking forward when we got home, after weeks of suffering the random quality of the €10 pilgrims' menu - sometimes dire, usually passable, and occasionally fantastic. Rather than identifying any specific favourite cuisine, Rupert simply announced with a mischievous grin that 'I like left overs' - which is true, as no half-eaten sandwich is safe around him. The drinking continued late into the night - far later than is wise given that Rupert and I needed to carry on with our walk to Finisterre in the morning. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Is that cream-filled baking product, Private?</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-20034427029219666622013-07-06T13:55:00.001+01:002013-12-22T18:36:25.107+00:00Day 35: Santa Irene - Santiago<div>
We woke up at 5.45am, which for us was almost indecently early, but we'd heard that the Santiago accommodation could be a bit of a bun fight, and besides, apparently the magnificent looking former Benedictine monastery offered a small number of rooms to pilgrims for €23 - including an unlimited breakfast. This sounded like the sort of place worth getting up early for, although I had to resort to dragging Connor out of his top bunk feet first in his sleeping bag to get any sign of life from him. Jonas is definitely the morning man of the two boys. </div>
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[On the road early with only 20km to go]</div>
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So yes - early start, and we whistled by the distance markers, stopping for breakfast after an hour. But the last ten or so kilometres took an eternity - which wasn't helped by stopping for a decent spell in San Marcos to drink our final Kaz (limón) before reaching the city's centre. Rupert suddenly realised that San Marcos is the place that had the large Camino statues he'd seen photos of, and we made a ten minute detour to see them - they're not on the route but rather beautiful. And you get a lovely view of Santiago that the main path into town doesn't have. </div>
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[Kurt and Connor]</div>
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As we covered the final kilometres we passed a guy called Rick from Arkansas, who must have been around 60 years old. He had a very pronounced limp and walked agonisingly slowly, and he told us he'd started from St. Jean Pied-de-Port on May 16th. What an incredibly tenacious man to cover the 790km with such a disability, and a timely reminder that walking the Camino is actually relatively easy for someone like me - 35 years old, in good health and fairly fit - but for others it will be one of the most challenging things they've accomplished in their life. </div>
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We arrived in time to bag the last rooms at the Seminario Mayor - the magnificent old Benedictine monastery, had a quick shower and then walked the final 100 metres into the plaza in front of the cathedral's main facade. </div>
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I hadn't actually worked out how I'd feel coming face to face with the building that all the various Caminos across Europe converge on. But when the moment came I felt slightly light headed, in all honesty. I sat down cross-legged on the ground about 50 metres away from it, and just took in the building - elaborately decorate architecture, with the plants growing out its crevices lending the building a wonderfully decayed aesthetic. I also looked at my credential (the pilgrims' passport I've had stamped every night since starting from Lourdes) and thought about all the people who have helped me on my way, carefully looking at each stamp and reflecting on my journey. </div>
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We then headed down to the pilgrim administration office to collect our Compostelas. The lovely old German woman processing my credential shook my hand and said 'well done', which slightly threw me! She then spent about ten minutes of looking increasingly confused, as apparently Lourdes wasn't on their computer system as a registered starting point - much to my surprise given its status as a major Catholic shrine. Someone came out from the back office and rescued the situation, and I received my Compostela, which I'm weirdly rather proud of, along with my credential - full of stamps from the last five weeks. </div>
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The rest of the day went thus: late lunch, slow drinking until the late evening, then bed - a huge sleep knowing that the only reason to wake up early was to make a head start on the unlimited breakfast put on by the Seminario Mayor. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-82743539223757391082013-07-05T19:53:00.001+01:002014-05-29T16:36:06.695+01:00Day 34: Melide - Santa Irene<div>
We had another fairly long day of walking today as we wanted to make sure the final kilometres into Santiago weren't too onerous. For the second day running (I think) we were on the road by 7am, and stopped for breakfast at around the five kilometre mark. When you're walking a 30+ kilometre day this means that the walk after breakfast isn't so daunting: conversely it is hard to enjoy coffee and orange juice when you know you've got a long day ahead of you, and so the hour of walking helps settle the mind, as much as anything else. </div>
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[Breakfast with cake. Highly recommended!]</div>
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The Potomac College group were much friendlier today, saying hello as they passed, and when we stopped for our second coffee break of the day they were already there, sat on a lovely outside space overlooking a field full of dairy cows. I told Kurt we'd have a whip-round if he'd jump over the fence and milk one of the cows. Cue lots of encouragement from the Potomac lot, with one of their teachers egging Kurt on by observing that 'if her head's down, she's ready'. Of course we couldn't let that one pass - the poor teacher's students were told that under no circumstances were they to take his advice in any context other than milking random cattle. </div>
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Rupert has been responding really well to drugs, to the point that we've been referring to him as Lance, partly in honour of our Texan contingent. This afternoon we stopped, and I asked him if he'd had his pill fix, to which he replied 'yup, I've had one, and a pint of beer, and I feel just great!' He did look a little spaced out...</div>
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The distance to Santiago markers are being ticked off rather rapidly. It only seems like yesterday that we were at the 160km (100 mile) mark. Most are decorated with a small pile of stones on top, but inevitably the 69km marker had been heavily decorated with chalk and paint, much to the boys' delight. I've never got the 69 thing, and explained to Jonas and Connor that its about as satisfying as going into a department store and being served by a really helpful assistant, but also trying to help her at exactly the same time. It just doesn't work - well for me, at least. And certainly not milepost worthy! </div>
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[Rupert at 50km]</div>
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Our albergue in Santa Irene is great. There's a mezzanine level with four beds (sheets and towels too!) which we decided would be for the grown-ups, although I'm sure Kim will rue that decision once she has snoring coming from three directions, although she has been known to snore herself - she sounds a bit like a vintage pneumatic Heidelberg printing press - a gentle snuffling sound that I am rather fond of. </div>
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Santiago tomorrow! </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-3597344262588674162013-07-02T18:18:00.001+01:002015-08-23T10:53:33.807+01:00Day 33: Gonzar - Melide<div>
We did indeed manage to get going earlier today - we were up at 6am, and on the road by 7am. There was a minor diplomatic incident when at 6.20am we decided that as everyone in the room bar a solitary Australian girl was up and packing, it was reasonable enough to switch the lights on. Indeed many of the albergues switch the lights on at 6am. Anyway the Aussie kicked off, and told us how inconsiderate we all were - apparently everyone in the room should have packed up in the dark so she could sleep in peace. Clearly she is one of the walkers starting at the 100km mark!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">A misty start to the day</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">'Tractor Galicia' - high octane breakfast reading</td></tr>
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The good news about hitting the road at 7am was that we had the Camino to ourselves. By reaching Gonzar yesterday we've managed to get ourselves 'out of sync' with the itineraries of the major guide books. 100km is the minimum distance required to earn a Compostela, hence the floods of people turning up to do the bare minimum in their walk to Santiago. I'd have a lot more respect for them if they'd chosen to walk one of the more interesting mountain stages.</div>
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<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Poor Rupert has been struggling with the common Camino complaint of sore shins after a week of walking fairly fast with us hardened peligrinos, so this morning </span>Kim gave him some of her ibuprofen stash. Given that Spanish pharmacies sell the 600 milligram pills (three times the strength of the pills in the US) Ruups was out of the blocks like a champion greyhound, tail wagging and full of beans. It was great to see him on such good form. As we raced down the path alongside the hilly road we were occasionally passed by taxis, which we assumed were ferrying tired and broken peligrinos. The local taxi firm has cleverly opted for tinted passenger windows, allowing the passengers to hide in shame.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Rupert at speed</td></tr>
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After a couple of hours Kim and Kurt emailed me, asking if they should wait, as they assumed we were behind them, when actually we were in Brea, 40 minutes ahead of them. We'd been walking with a lovely guy from Vienna called Werner, who lives in London in Battersea, just down the road from where the Plummer clan is based. Werner decided to stay at one of the villages along the way, but we later doubled our German quota when Helga and Emma joined us.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Connor, Emma and Jonas</td></tr>
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I was walking along with the boys and Emma when suddenly we saw a small horse with an enormous erection. Cue much shouting and excitement on our behalf, and some awkward looks from our five-legged friend. Rupert and Helga were a little behind us, but Helga quickly realised why we were so animated, and explained to Rupert that 'the horse is in a sexy way'. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">"Yes, I am in a sexy way"</td></tr>
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We stayed at a brand new albergue in Melida - they'd opened in mid-May. We were all laid out on our beds when the Aussie girl from this morning was shown into our dormitory. She took one look at us and did a swift about turn, much to the manageress's confusion!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-44100434972771773622013-07-01T20:10:00.001+01:002015-08-23T10:55:24.658+01:00Day 32: Barbadelo - Gonzar<div>
The albergue we stayed at last night was lovely - very modern, and the owner really made an effort to make it a bit of a haven for the peligrinos. Great supper and a nice terraced area. The door to our room overlooked the Camino, and this morning we immediately realised that the masses of walkers starting from Sarria (the first big town before the 100km mark) meant the final distance to Santiago would be rather busy.</div>
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Up until now we've had people passing us every so often, but it has been pretty easy to have some peace and quiet to walk along in relative solitude. Now we found that there would be a group of four to six people every 20-30 metres. I realised that it felt just like turning up at St. Jean Pied-de-Port at the start of the month (685km back), where I walked through the St. Jacques Gate after a week of walking on my own and was confronted by lots of people in brand new walking shoes, packs, etc. with everyone saying they were also doing the Camino too. Pah! What was weirder was the large groups of people wearing matching tops, clearly doing the last five days of the Camino as some sort of ghastly group activity. Connor dubbed the matching tops the 'Green Shirts of Sloth'. They were even having their bags carried by Jacotrans - double pah and extra lashings of humbug. </div>
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A small ritual has developed in our group, with the boys regularly ordering too much food, much to Kurt's continued annoyance. But Rupert is a reliable hoover-upper of leftovers, and yesterday - after Kim had been having a go at Connor about being so wasteful - Rupert finished off the fairly large amount of leftover bocadillo with gusto, and once he'd downed the last part he guiltily asked Kim if he'd done the right thing in finishing off the boy's food. Today things had moved on, and Connor simply passed Rupert the remains of his sandwich. They're an efficient pair - well suited to walking the Camino together!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Kurt at the 100km to Santiago marker</td></tr>
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For the last week we've been leapfrogging a school group from Washington - Potomac College, or something. They are all 17 years old, with a couple of teachers to make sure they don't go off the rails, but the children seem fairly well behaved, so I really don't think supervision is all that necessary. To be honest they seem a little tame. I know that when we had our school expeditions the aim was usually to break rules and buy things we shouldn't have. This does not seem to be a problem with these guys though, and they seem to march along in a fairly tight unit with nothing wilder than a fizzy drink or two in their backpacks - we refer to them as Team America.<br />
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Anyway they are all fairly sociable when you engage them, but not the sort of kids who seem to have made any friends outside their group, or even really wave and say hello to other people who they've been bumping into for the last few hundred kilometres - us, for example. So today we passed them when they were having a coffee break, and we yelled out 'Good Morning', as is the Camino custom when you see people you recognise. Not a flinch from any of them, and likewise nothing when Kim became more animated. As we wandered on we decided that at our next break we'd give them a bit of a rev, and worked on a cheerleading chant to perk them into life. As we sank our cold drinks (too got for coffee, alas) we finessed our routine, and when each of their pairs passed by we launched into a rousing 'P-O, P-O-T, P-O-T-O-M-A-C, Go Potomac! Go Go Potomac!' One of the guys smiled at us, two of the girls raised their arms in victory salutes, and the reactions of the rest of them suggested that we could have been singing the Internationale for all they cared. Triple pah. </div>
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We covered 28km or so today, with the last part in the heat of the afternoon, albeit with a smattering of shade from the trees that lined the route, and some sections of forest. I think the day did take it out of Rupert a bit, and we're aiming to start a little earlier tomorrow. He went to bed early and is currently doing his 'I'm Being Chased By A Monster But If I Snore Really Loudly It'll Go Away' snore. I've had a very laid back evening in the albergue's courtyard talking to Nikolaus, a recently retired lawyer from Germany, who I met on the day between Roncesvalles and Arre - almost a month back! We had a very German table before supper as there was also Emma, and her grandmother Helga - both lovely people. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Rupert taking photos. Note the reversed baseball cap - very 1980s</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-27217808123079093492013-06-30T07:18:00.001+01:002013-12-22T18:35:52.110+00:00Random photos from friends on the Camino<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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[From Kurt]</div>
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[From Kim - who gets given random presents from the Spanish men, who clearly fancy her to bits - or at least to the extent of giving her rubber gloves]<br />
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[From Kurt - Rupert in the background]<br />
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[From Brenda and Laurel - I was showing them one of my finishing school tricks. Their blog is <a href="http://doschicasonaverylongwalk.tumblr.com/">http://doschicasonaverylongwalk.tumblr.com/</a>]<br />
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[From Kurt]<br />
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[from Jonas]</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-42081390091348522232013-06-29T21:26:00.001+01:002015-08-23T10:56:55.500+01:00Day 31: Tricastela - Barbadelo<div>
Not much to report today. Beautiful weather, a gentle climb over a low hill and a leisurely 24km to Barbadelo, which is just after Sarria, where the people walking the last 100km to Santiago start. I suspect this means we'll have more albergues and cafés to choose from. The flip side is at for the first time all trip I'm beginning to look forward to the prospect of being back in London - not having people rummaging around the dormitory for their 4am start, and letting my feet recover from the daily destruction. </div>
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Today's walking was mainly with Kim and Rupert, as Kurt had sped off full of beans with his leg finally feeling good. And the boys had spent the day talking to each other and giving us some peace and quiet! When we got to Sarria they decided that they'd stay to watch the street mountain bike competition that is being held tonight, which meant that we (Kurt, Kim, Rupert and I) had the last four kilometres to ourselves, and a quiet supper to boot. And of course tomorrow we will have a mewl-free start to the day. Walking conversation included refrigerator design differences between the US and Europe and prison reform, among other things. </div>
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Tonight we're staying at a lovely albergue just outside Barbadelo. The owner has cleverly put his albergue at the entrance to the town, so that the people staying here can tell the tired peligrinos how good the showers are, and that the place is worth the relatively steep €9 for the night - albergues usually start at around the €5 mark. The supper here was delicious too - home made flan for pudding, rather than the slightly forlorn effort that comes in a plastic pot, which I've specialised in downing in one go. A sort of flan shot, if you like. Tae-Hyum and Sammy, the Korean and Finnish guys we've been bumping into for the last fortnight, ate with us, and we had a lesson in the etiquette of Korean bowing - right hand on the stomach, left hand on the right, then a full 90 degree bow. We practised this, much to the amusement of the other pilgrims from South Korea on the dining terrace. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Everyone waving at my cousin Richard back in London</td></tr>
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Finally, someone asked me where I'd stayed last night. I've lost all sense of where I've been each night, and usually have to ask one of the others, or check my pilgrim credential. I slightly got lost with the name, and ended up saying we'd been at Villabocadillo de los Templarios de la Virgen, which translates as the Sandwich Town of the Knights Templar's Virgin - which in retrospect was a) the perfect composite name for most places on the Camino de Santiago, and b) utterly befuddling. But tonight also marked the first stamp on the reverse of my pilgrim passport - one stamp a night has seen me fill up a full side since I left Lourdes.<div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-48717250146720310712013-06-29T17:25:00.001+01:002015-08-23T11:00:00.651+01:00Day 30: La Faba - Tricastela<div>
Rupert and I set out a little after Team Somerholter, having agreed to meet at the summit of the morning's climb - but when I poked my head into the cafe at Laguna de Castilla (halfway up the hill from La Faba) I saw the four of them getting stuck into a rather large looking breakfast in the mistaken belief that they'd reached the summit. Rupert and I pushed on to O'Cebreiro at the top, which was a charming village, albeit a little pricey and geared up to selling Camino de Santiago trinkets rather than a really decent breakfast. We had breakfast with Jenny and Mark, and set off with Kurt, Kim and the boys when they caught up.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Walking above the clouds before breakfast</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jenny</td></tr>
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The day really was one of the most beautiful days of walking I've had on the Camino so far. Galicia – which we entered when we got to O'Cebreiro – is meant to be the prettiest part of the Camino, and we had beautiful sunny weather that gave us huge vistas as we walked along the 1200m <span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">high</span> ridge. Eventually the path descended into Triacastela, where we found a lovely hostel where we had a large room just for the six of us – Camino bliss. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Kim climbing up to the second summit of the day</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">View from the ridge</td></tr>
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Supper was pretty dire (undercooked chips and tough steak), although it could have been worse – I asked the waiter what one of the soup dishes was, and the waiter rubbed his stomach with enthusiasm. I thought he meant it was a delicious, tasty dish, but Kim stepped in at the last minute to warn me that it was actually tripe soup. As we had our first course a large Alsatian dog walked over to us, and Rupert gave it a friendly neck scratch. The dog repaid the favour by engaging in vigorous sex with another large Alsatian next to our table and then carried on with her new friend all the way down the street. I told Rupert that under no terms was he to give any of us neck rubs lest his magic rub off on us as well – we still have 130km to walk to Santiago together, and I want to be able to look everyone in the eye between now and then!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-73627683986520878152013-06-29T15:30:00.001+01:002015-08-23T11:01:27.494+01:00Day 29: Villafranca - La Faba<div>
We had a fairly late start to the day, as we stopped for breakfast - bacon and eggs, coffee and orange juice, and all for just over €5. I generally hate eating before doing a few kilometres, but there was a long stretch over a fairly decent hill early on, and Connor and Jonas tend to mewl fairly loudly if they haven't been fed. </div>
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Anyway the walk over the hill was great. A long climb up to the ridge that gave a great view over the bush fire raging on the hillside ahead of us, and then a descent through some old tracks that weren't particularly well signed - we did get a little lost for about ten minutes. Fortunately Rupert had bought his old Nokia which had a basic GPS and some Spanish maps, and we were soon back on track. We avoided the fires, and second breakfast / lunch in Trabadelo consisted of a large beer, ham and cheese bocadillo (baguette) and my new Camino discovery, something that is half-Magnum, half ice-cream sandwich (and made by Nestlé - not my client Unilever - oops). </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Jonas and Kim</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Rupert, his old Nokia and an icecream</td></tr>
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The walk to La Faba took us up the first part of the last large hill of my 1000km walk. As we climbed the ancient flagstones that took us steeply upwards, we discussed what the accommodation at La Faba would be like. On the map it appeared to have a spectacular setting, and we knew it was run by the German Cofraternity who had recently renovated the place.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Blurry photo of Rupert climbing up to La Faba</td></tr>
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Our expectations were running high - and we weren't disappointed. <span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">The view over the valley was spectacular, and the albergue</span> was immaculate: the shower heads were attached to the wall (a Camino rarity) and functioning without one of the dreaded push button taps. And the water pressure was excellent! Christophe (one of the German volunteers) was very excited about my camera, a Leica M6 ('ahh, ze M6 was the best of ze film cameras!') and we drank wine in the late afternoon sun as our laundry dried on the neatly arranged washing lines. In finest Teutonic fashion Christophe had asked us for all our laundry, warning us not to touch the machines ourselves. We dared not ask him what the consequences would be, partly because I'd exhausted all my non-WW2 German in my earlier conversation with him, and was down to phrases like 'for you the war is over' and 'you will be shot'. Not exactly the multicultural Europhile traveller image I wanted to project. We had a delicious supper with Jenny and Mark from Colorado, a couple we've been bumping into for the last few days, who have enjoyed / tolerated our high spirits and general mischief.</div>
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Oh yes - I almost forgot to mention that La Faba is exactly 100 miles out from Santiago, although I'm doing the extra 120km (75 miles) to Muxía via Finisterre. Phew!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Evening sun at La Faba</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-59025338826124170402013-06-28T18:45:00.001+01:002015-08-23T11:02:50.998+01:00Day 28: Ponferrada - Villafranca<div>
Today was just a long drag in the sun. I'd love to try and say something interesting about the day, but really it was just lots of conversation and plodding along in some fairly hot weather, fuelled by another half kilo of cherries. </div>
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After supper Rupert and I decided that we'd have an extra icecream course. I liked the look of the Nestlé 'Tres Chocolate' Magnum-clone, but Rupert's Spanish didn't quite deliver the expected result, and the waitress ended up bringing me three chocolate trumpet cones. Clearly she thought I had a big appetite, but she did look a little relieved when I said I could only handle one of them. </div>
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Here are some photos...</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Connor and Kurt, the Somerholter boys</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Walking through the outskirts of Ponferrada</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Connor with his 'I Need Food' face on just before supper</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-28520965993556492472013-06-28T18:34:00.001+01:002015-08-23T11:03:16.554+01:00Day 27: Foncebadón - Ponferrada<div>
An 11km walk (or so we thought) until the next eating opportunity meant we had to have breakfast before leaving our albergue to finish the climb to the Spanish Camino's summit, which at 1504 metres is higher than the pass in the Pyrenees. The point is marked by a large mound with a cross on top - a period to reflect on the journey so far, and everyone passing climbed to the foot of the cross and spent a few moments in silence. </div>
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After that Rupert and I had a few glorious kilometres of walking along the high road, helped on our way by a cherry seller - as we progressed down the path we could see the stones spat out by her previous customers. We stopped for breakfast #2 at Acebo, where the cafe had immaculate lavatories - a bit of a treat really, given that many of the Albergues and cafés have facilities that are bearable at best. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Acebo cafe lavatory</td></tr>
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And so the long drag into Ponferrada. It was hot, hard graft, but the municipal albergue was modern with welcoming staff and a vending machine that sold 'Kaz', the lemon drink that seems to hit the spot when waiting in line to have my credential stamped. We staggered down to the cool dormitory, and unpacked, washed clothes, showered and put our feet up. </div>
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Dear reader, so far I've tried to shield you from some of the more basic elements of life on the Camino. But last night, as I lay in my bed in Foncebadón, I was in particularly flatulent form - something that we've all experienced so far. As soon as the lights were off I let a fairly decent one rip, to immediate howls of protest from the grumpy Italian women at the other end of the dormitory, and with sniggers coming from Kim, Kurt et al. 20 minutes later and I posted an encore (a double hit to ensure the bedbugs were kept at bay), and this prompted one of the women to storm out of bed and start manning the door in a ridiculously over-dramatic manner. </div>
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I mention this merely because as I was laid out in my bed in Ponferrada tonight, feeling the effects of half a kilo of cherries and a large bowl of lentil soup, who should walk in and claim the bunk next to me, but the same two Italian women. Clearly they didn't recognise me from last night, but something tells me that by tomorrow morning I'll be one of their vivid Camino memories!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-46830171449851327682013-06-25T22:08:00.001+01:002015-05-27T20:48:12.136+01:00Day 26: Astorga - Foncebadón<div>
My cousin Rupert's snoring has actually been pretty good - i.e. bearable, rather than useful for scaring away imaginary monsters. We spent most of today walking with Kurt, with Kim and the boys somewhat ahead of us. We've been walking to roughly the same schedule as a group of sixth firm students from Washington DC. Kurt and I have been doing our best to encourage poor Jonas and Connor to get stuck into them, but alas the three year age difference seems insurmountable when you're a teenager. Or maybe girls from Washington DC don't have quite the cachet when you're from Tampa or Austin. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Connor striding out</td></tr>
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Rupert has been doing really well to keep up with us, given that he's been away from Spain for a month. He's actually promised to return to walk with a guy he knows, who sounds like a total nightmare - this chap is insisting on walking in early September (very hot!) and doesn't seem to have the flexibility needed to be an enjoyable walking partner. He's been regaling us with stories from the training walks he's done with the guy, who's pack weighed in excess of 20kg - GPS manual (in five different languages) included. </div>
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Tonight we're at Foncebadón, which is just below the summit of the Camino - around 1450 metres high. As we finished the climb up to the village Rupert and I could feel our heads suffering from the height, with a gentle throbbing that only eased after a couple of beers and the excellent pilgrims' menu. Fears of bedbugs in the albergue seem mercifully ill-founded. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">The view from the bar in Foncebadón</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5893260443613787543.post-62000194351687653672013-06-25T10:17:00.001+01:002013-12-22T18:33:46.279+00:00Day 25: Villar de Mazarife - Astorga<div>
Having had a couple of easier days, today we did 32km under the roasting sun. It really was a rather long day, broken up by Kim finding a bakery that did breakfast pastries filled with sweet Spanish cream. The spring-shaped thing was particularly tasty!</div>
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Afterwards Kurt's (14yo) son Connor decided he was going to walk the slightly shorter alternative route that followed the back roads on his own, and we waved him off, hoping to see him again in a dozen or so kilometres. We took the slightly longer route through the back country - at one point we stopped to put in sunscreen and drink water under some trees, and we could hear a swarm of bees not too far away. </div>
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[Connor - the dot on the left - disappearing into the distance]</div>
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<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">I've had to patch up my right shoe, as the sole is coming away from the upper. Kurt's gaffer tape is holding things together, and I might be able to make it to Santiago without having to buy replacement shoes... </span></div>
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Astorga is a lovely little town, with a huge number of sweetshops that I managed to resist. We had a delicious supper (€10 pilgrims' menu) at a modern restaurant, and crashed to sleep in the albergue opposite the town's cathedral. </div>
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