Bluebell Railway with Rich

This 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 Bluebell Railway 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.

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.

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.

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 Harvey's in the sun seemed like a very good idea.

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.

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 brand new steam locomotive. Their enthusiasm and love for their work really came across.

Well done to the Bluebell Railway – for something run substantially by volunteers they've made the experience incredibly wheelchair-friendly.

Click here for the Bluebell Railway's accessibility statement.

Finally –  I'll tag future posts on accessibility as wheelchair adventures.

£3400 - thank you!

I've just wrapped up the fundraising for this summer, and I'm incredibly grateful to everyone for getting behind Motability and CPRE, 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.

I am humbled by your generosity. Thank you.

(and if you're still keen to donate, you can do so directly to either CPRE or Motability...)

Dutch Catholic TV interviewing me in Finistere

I 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 clicking here – I show up 21m00s into the programme.

https://npo.nl/RKK_1639805

Google Maps

My cousin Richard has created a Google Maps layer 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.

Click here to visit the map.

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!

http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/mwyp

Thoughts

I 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.


HIGHLIGHTS

- 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.

- 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.

- 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...

- 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.

- 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.

- 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.

- the first week walking across the Pyrenean foothills. It poured with rain and my only interactions were in French, but the solitude was magnificent.

- equipment-wise, two things stood out: the 'Worldview' shirt I bought from Rohan, 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.

- 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.

Rupert boarding the flight back to England

LOWLIGHTS

- mountain bikers zooming past at top speed leaving centimetres to spare. Really inconsiderate - just ringing their bell would help enormously.

- 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...!)

- 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.

- Terradillos de Los Templarios, which was a a complete dump.

- my feet and knees feeling sore for the first couple of weeks.

- saying goodbye to the Somerholters.

Rupert with the 1989 Camino map Kurt managed
to find online - his next framing challenge!

FINALLY

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!

Day 40: Cee - Finistere

We 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.

First breakfast

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.

Ursula Andress eat your heart out

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.

Spanish large format speed cameras: very retro

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.

0km to go. Shoes in hand ready for the inferno

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:

"So do you believe in God?"
"No"
"Ahh, but you'd describe yourself as a spiritual man?"
"Err, not really, sorry"
"Oh! So why exactly have you just walked 1000km from Lourdes in France?"

And so on.

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.

Day 39: Santa Mariña - Cee

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. 

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. 

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. 

[Dagmar, Chris, Ruth and Jenny]

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!

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.

Day 38: Negreira - Santa Mariña

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.  

More like  40°C or more in the early afternoon

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.

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. 

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!

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.  

Day 37: Santiago - Negreira

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. 

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.

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. 

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.

Scorchio!

Rupert really wasn't enjoying the conditions, but we made it to a modern albergue at Negreira by 6.30pm, where Ruups drank two litres of water as I checked us in for the night. 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. 

Random things I will miss about the Somerholters...

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.

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.

Connor's personal grooming product ideas - sadly almost completely unmarketable.

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.

And generally their sense of humour. 

Day 36: Santiago

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. 

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. 

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. 

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!

Manu from Zurich

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...

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. 

Is that cream-filled baking product, Private?