Joining the pilgrims in Santiago de Compostela, and onwards to Portugal…..
New country, new language, new time zone.......
The new time zone was good, as the Spanish one seems bonkers: when I got up at 0800 there was total silence in the campsite – hardly surprising as it was still dark, with the new moon and a smattering of stars still in the sky. With nearly 400 km to cover today, I wanted to get started. But first a visit to Santiago de Compostela was on the cards, to see the cathedral of pilgrimage fame. As one of only three remaining churches in the world reputedly built over the tomb of an apostle of Jesus, the relics of St James transformed Santiago – and its cathedral – into one of the most important pilgrimage destinations in the world: the Camino de Santiago. This extensive network of ancient pilgrim routes stretches across Europe, coming together at the tomb of St James, where in a crypt beneath the main alter the remains are kept in a silver urn.
Having failed to walk the Camino, as I’d long hoped to do, I did at least want to stand in this iconic spot and see the magnificent 11th century cathedral. So quelling the voice inside me saying, “ How will you negotiate the narrow streets, how will you find your way, however will you manage to park in this city? “ I set off. Satnav managed to direct me more or less OK, and the streets weren’t too complicated – but parking was as I feared. I somehow found myself entering the dreaded multi-storey carpark, and being told off by the parking attendant that I was taking up too much space. He then turned into my saviour by not just letting me park in a random space in the middle of the car park, and guiding me in – but then offering to help me reverse round so that I was headed in the right direction for leaving! OK so I need more lessons in parking, but meanwhile I was greatly relieved to be offered this help.
And just a walk from this modern car park I was blown away by the first sight of the magnificent Praza do Obradoiro and the awe-inspiring cathedral. Constructed between 1075 and 1211, the cathedral has undergone several reconstructions over the centuries, adding Gothic and Baroque styles to the Romanesque original. The main façade is such a symbol of the city of Santiago de Compostela that it features on the back of the Spanish euro coins of 1, 2 and 5 cents.
When I arrived, the square was filled with dozens of backpacked and booted pilgrims, revelling in having ended their long journey. One German couple I spoke to were clearly and quite-rightly filled with delight and pride at having covered 800 kms in about a month. It made my personal achievement of arriving there by campervan seem pretty puny.
Time to continue my long journey south to near Porto – but not before having a taste of another symbol of Santiago: its famous Galician delight of tarta de almendras, almond tart. Together with a cup of hot chocolate – long-remembered from previous visits to Spain, so thick you can stand a spoon up in it - they set me up for the drive ahead.
Passing through the forested rolling hills of Galicia, it seems the whole of northern Spain and indeed Portugal are coved with trees- mainly pine trees and eucalyptus, either plantations or endemic. Apparently the eucalyptus tree came to Galicia in the 19th century when a Galician monk brought some seeds from Australia, where he’d been a missionary. The species adapted so well to the local climate -Galicia is known for its mist and rain, hence its green lushness, though today was bright sunshine - that it spread rapidly, and is now grown mainly for pulp. My memories of Galicia from about four decades ago were of staying in host families in villages, in small stone houses when the animals lived on the ground floor. I doubt it’s like that today!
There was hardly a sign of having crossed the border into Portugal – except for my iphone noting we were back to UK time, an hour later than Spain. And also the tolls. I haven’t mentioned the tolls, which were a bit of a pain driving through Spain: having to hold everyone up while I got out of the van to take a ticket and pay manually. But here in Portugal I registered before I left for something called EasyTolls, where apparently my number plate will be recognised and my credit card will be charged. Whether that will actually have worked, or whether I’ll be prosecuted as warned when you go through “Via Verde para Adherentes” I will find out soon! Did Easy Tolls make me an adherente? The motorways throughout the trip have been brilliant, especially in Spain – well maintained and very free of traffic.
The scenery didn’t change much as we moved from Galicia to rural Minho, the northernmost province in Portgual: more green forested rolling hills, as well as vineyards and smallholdings. I spotted the turning to the mountainous national park of Peneda-Geres, again remembered from my children’s childhood, when we holidayed there in a charming small rural pension.
It was time to start looking for the turning off the motorway – which led abruptly from well-maintained tarmac to delightful Portuguese cobble stones, leading along a small road through forests full of tempting paths. We were headed for Vila Cha, originally a small fishing village, now expanded into an urbanisation. The campsite there was large, but quiet at this time of year, a few campervans and mobile homes on the move. A very friendly welcome, good facilities with piping hot showers and large cubicles, a small shop and a café on the premises promised everything I needed for the night.
But first both Toby and I needed a walk, so it was off to the beach, a five-minute walk through the village. A wooden board walk stretched the length of the sandy beach, but Toby needed a good run so we headed for the sand. Thirty minutes of stick throwing (no ball which had sadly ended up in the sea at the bottom of a steep incline, luckily not followed by Toby, at Punta Batuda) and then it was time to head for bed. But a small restaurant outside the campsite called my attention: not much left in my store cupboard, and why not have some fresh fish for dinner, in this fishing village? Especially as the Portuguese speciality, Arroz de Mariscos, was on the menu.
Toby enjoyed that too; and both replete and tired, contented with our day, we slept soundly, tucked up in the campervan with silence all around.