Maybe it was let down from the excitement of reaching the 100km mark, perhaps a restless sleep because of the gurgling plumbing last night, but this morning I couldn’t get my legs working. Despite D2 saying “Just tell them you’re in charge mamá”, they took no notice. After a brisk downhill walk we crossed back over the river and were soon climbing a reasonably steep hill which had me puffing and thighs burning. Even on the flat track I couldn’t get into a good stride.

I mustn’t have looked great, because a couple of people asked me if I was ok as they passed me.
After a few kilometres I sat on a bench by the side of the road catching my breathe and feeling decidedly ragged. A woman wearing her coordinated “I’m walking the Camino outfit”, beautifully made up with immaculate hair and a backpack that would have barely held her make-up and hair dryer, came and sat next to me. She patted me on the knee and said “Never mind dear, it gets better after the first couple of days”
You know those times when you think of something to say afterwards? This wasn’t one of those times. “I know, but that was 5 weeks ago and I’ve walked 700kms since then.” She patted me on the knee again. “Well done dear, well done” in the tone of voice TV presenters use for grannies who’ve celebrated their 90th birthday by jumping out of a plane. I smiled tightly and she trotted off.
I set off again only to hear that sound from yesterday, the sound that makes all your fillings ache, the sound of walking sticks being dragged along cobble stones. I sat down on the side of the road and waited until the sound disappeared into the distance.
The devil on my shoulder chortled gleefully as I set off again. After I had finished seething about Ms “I’m going to win the Best Dressed on the Camino award at the Santiago Cathedral” I thought about what I could say to Mr “I can’t be bothered picking up my sticks” I couldn’t think of anything other than an obvious crude remark so my thoughts went to my next pet hate – people who carry their sticks longways across their shoulders and then don’t think to move across when they pass you, narrowly avoiding nasty skewering incidents.
But you have to love the Camino, just as I was heading down a stony steep path and really set to hate the world I heard a booming voice behind me “Hey Ossie, you’re still with us! Slow steps, use those poles”. It was an American guy who we’d kept pace with for a while and then lost touch with. I don’t think I ever spoke to him but the Camino community is small. He made me smile as he strode past giving me a wink.

A meeting and hug with Asian lady and I was feeling better. I sat in a crowded bar with Jim and David from Ireland, two young men who bought me coffee and chocolate biscuits, listened to how long I’d been walking and soothed my wounded ego with their genuine interest.
It was a warm afternoon walking through some beautiful flowers

I enjoyed a tasty tuna and tomato bocadillas for lunch and felt much better.

An increasingly painful toe
slowed me down considerably and D2 walked into town to find accommodation, then walked back to find me. It was lovely to have her walk with me and I was very relieved to reach Palas de Rei. She had found a double room in the Albergue San Marcos, isn’t it wonderful! It doesn’t take us long to make the room our own!

Hamburgers for tea, delicious!!

This morning we were grateful that this, viewed from our lodgings, turned out to be fog and not rain

D2 was grateful that these stairs were at the beginning of the day, and not the end, otherwise I may have stamped my foot, and thrown a tantrum and refused to go any further! Thank goodness we couldn’t see into the future!

We were grateful for the clean, fresh, sweet smelling air as we walked through the fields.

I wonder if anyone has noticed that while I have waxed lyrically about flowers, fields, mountains, valleys and tree-lined paths, I have not mentioned the fresh clean country air. That’s because most of the Camino has been accompanied by the rather sour and sometimes fetid smell of animals

I’m not sure whether it was the fog blanketing the smell, but it was most pleasant walking without it this morning.
Talking of fog, how many photos of fog do you need? Quite a few it seems!

The fog lifted, the sun shone and the Camino was alive with the chatter and laughter of groups of pilgrims who joined the Way in Sarria. It’s been quite a long time since we’ve seen large groups of pilgrims, they have either spread out to walk at their own pace, or have left the Camino for one reason or another. I have become used to the quiet solitude of the recent Camino, the crunch of boots on the path, the click clack of walking sticks, the birds, the murmur of pilgrims walking past, then fading into the distance.
“Who are these people?” said the devil on my shoulder? “They’re not really pilgrims, look at their tiny little backpacks, and clean boots. They don’t have dirt splattered up the legs of their pants. No-one’s limping or hobbling, they are not real pilgrims.”

“Everyone does their own Camino” the Angel reminded me. “No matter how long or short, everyone’s Camino is unique.”
I amused myself for a while deciding how you could tell who was a ‘real’ pilgrim and who was ‘pretend’
A real pilgrim tramped right on through the mud, whilst pretend ones picked their way delicately around the edges

A real pilgrim had a big backpack with things hanging off it, a pretend pilgrim carried their lunch in a plastic bag

I could continue on but the Angel is reminding me that a true pilgrim does not judge anyone else’s Camino. Except I will say that the guy who dragged his walking sticks along the road when he wasn’t using them was exceedingly annoying and I wanted to punch him on the nose.
Since Sarria we had been counting down the kilometres to the magic 100. D2 decided it was more fun to celebrate 101 km

While I was more traditional and opted for the 100km photo.

Whatever the number, how amazing that we have come this far, we are still getting up each morning and heading off, admittedly with increasingly battered feet and tired legs. And in three or four days it will be over!
The rest of the afternoon was quite pleasant but tiring and I was looking forward to a rest. The road into Portomarin was very steep but I hoped that the D2 had found us somewhere on the Camino route that was easy to get to. She rang to say she had found somewhere and asked if I had reached the steps yet. Steps???? There was a pause when I asked if there were lots of steps, which she then ignored and said brightly she would meet me there.
But wait, there was more….before the steps which I could see in the distance, there was a long, high, narrow bridge over the river.

The steps were a killer

But of course I made it! 90kms to go!

To get a compostela, the certificate to say you have walked the Camino, you need to walk at least 100km, and have your pilgrim passport stamped every day in that 100km.
Sarria, at 111km from Santiago, is the town where most people wanting to do the 100km join the Camino.
For some unknown reason, as I was walking to Sarria I had a vision of a town with kebab, pizza and Chinese cafés, all lit up with neon lights. I can’t recall that I have even seen a neon light on this trip so I have no idea where this vision came from!!
As I said my first impression of Sarria was of a sad, dreary town. Thank goodness I managed to drag myself across the river to a bar for our afternoon beer, because it turned out to be a lively and social town.
After our beer we went for a stroll along the river. We laughed to see a kebab and a pizza cafe side by side, admittedly without a neon light, and not a Chinese to be seen

It was Saturday afternoon and families were out eating on long tables, with kids amusing themselves as they do all over the world.

As we looked for somewhere to eat we were overjoyed to see our Canadian friend who shared my medical experience in Astorga and had a meal with us in Ponteferrada.
Lots of squeals and hugs followed, and happy chatter as we caught up on what we had all been doing. Her leg had not healed as easily as my foot, and when we left her she had not known whether she would be able to continue. Amazingly she had, doing 10-15kms a day, and taking a bus when it got too bad. Now that she is in Sarria she can’t take public transport, and will try to do the 110kms one short day at a time. I have no doubt she will, she has the Camino spirit!
It was lovely to share another meal with her and couple of other ladies, one of whom was starting the next day. She listened to our tales, and when we talked about taking the bus, she made the comment “But isn’t that cheating?” The rest of us looked at each and smiled, gently. There is every possibility that she will do the 111kms without really realising that everyone’s Camino is their own, and we all do what we have to do, to get to Santiago.

Once again an early morning for me, with breakfast some baguette and vegemite and jam made the evening before. I really do love the early morning walks, listening to the crunch of boots on the track and the wakening birds. As dawn breaks there is the gorgeous sight of the sun rising over the mountains, and then an awareness of the track and the countryside, the flowers, the fields and woods.

The track was mostly downhill and stony, quite steep in parts. An Italian guy who we have seen quite a lot over the past few weeks raced down the track at break neck speed, and I spent the next few minutes going over in my mind what I would do if I found him in a crumpled heap somewhere.
Despite the downhill, feet and legs cooperated magnificently and in no time at all I made it to Tricastela, 9 km from Fonfría. I was quite relieved to see the Italian guy and shared a table with him for morning tea

He told me he always ran down hills because his knee was bad and it was the only way he could get down. (Of course, why didn’t I think of that, all that picking my way gingerly over rocks for nothing. Because I don’t have a death wish, that’s why. ) He was taking a taxi to Sarria, 18 kms away.
Our destination for the day was Calvor, only another 9 kms to go. As I walked out of town I met up with two French ladies who told me they were heading for Sarria that day. It seemed everyone was going to Sarria. I’d already done 9 kms, but why not do another 18 kms and get to Sarria as well. I was feeling good and I knew D2 would do it.
The next part of the track was 9km between villages, and some of it was uphill, but I was still enjoying the flowers and the gentle sunshine

About halfway along I came upon a Spanish lady who was just walking slowly along the track. I so wished I could speak Spanish well enough so that I could ask her where she was going and why. I hadn’t seen any houses so she must have been walking a long way. Anyway, she was happy to have her photo taken although she found it quite amusing and walked off laughing and shaking her head.

I was so excited to see a signpost showing 125.5 kms to Santiago. How far we have come since the 790km signpost just outside of Ronscevalles, and I’m not just talking about distance!!

D2 caught up with me and we had lunch at a bar, with 8 kms to go. The afternoon wasn’t too bad, and there was some shade.

Nevertheless the final few kms was hot and tiring, and as often happens a walk into a reasonably large town can be quite depressing through industrial or run down areas. By the time we found somewhere to stay I just wanted to crawl into bed and stay there until we could get out of town in the morning!