Camino bore, Day 29. The heart beats faster.

Friday 28th May, Day 29, Arzua to Monte de Gozo.
The Caminella reports 'Fab night's sleep!' Must be something to do with the lovely white sheets, top and bottom. We haven't ever had this on the camino so far; normally it's just been a bottom sheet, and lately there have been a lot of disposable sheets. So the night at Arzua was a lovely 'tucked in' night.

One of the horsemen we'd seen a couple of days ago at the washing trough was at this albergue, a really handsome, swarthy, slim chap with high boots. Not that I take much notice such things. But it wasn't the last we saw of him.

Galician sunrise

The  Caminella reports the start of the journey as 'the usual lanes', which means the beautiful green Galician lanes that we have been walking in for a few days. I stopped at the place where this sunrise is photographed from, pointed my arm precisely and instructed D firmly: 'Here's your picture' and several other pilgrims obeyed too! It was a long day of walking, 35 km. The blue knee from yesterday's tumble didn't help, but the breakfast tortilla did, and it was one of the best.

A big event was turning the page of our map book so that we are on the page with Santiago, 25 km out.

We stopped at a proper hotel at Rua, a hundred yards from the camino for a snack, but it felt not quite right, as there was no-one else there, and being more pampered than usual didn't make up for the feeling of loneliness. That's what being a pilgrim does for you!

Eveyone probably has to have their photo taken at Lavacolla, 'Bollockwash'. Mediaeval pilgrims tended not to wash much, but they did wash when they got here, well, a bit.

Where has Santiago gone?

Preposterous monument at Monte de Gozo.

Our destination today is Monte de Gozo, 'Mount Joy', because pilgrims are supposed to get their first glimpse of Santiago from here, and mediaeval pilgrims would fall to the ground and kiss it, and weep and sing hymns; but now (Gitlutz & Davidson) 'a gigantic apartment and commercial complex has been allowed to block the view of the old city, the city which for mediaeval pilgrims, exhausted and exhilarated after months on the Road, used to rise above the rolling pastoral landscape of Galicia like a longed-for Jerusalem.' One despairs at the mentality of those responsible: Council of Europe - Help! Monte de Gozo is now covered with a huge Butlins-like complex, built in 1993 Holy Year, and it seems a bit of a sad and mostly empty place. It's just a short hour's walk into Santiago, and an ideal overnight stopping place so that we could enter the city next morning early.

We were weary when we got to Monte de Gozo; the last few miles were hot and endless, I had to change into sandals several miles out, and there were blisters that rivalled the fuentes that provided us with water on the way. But I knew it was the last day of real walking, and so I broke through the pain barrier and just plodded on regardless, and I think it was the slowest I ever got.

Back in 2011, I've just made 2 'Santiago tarts' for church tomorrow morning, for a celebration of the very day we arrived in Santiago. I'm a bit anxious about them, hoping that the plain flour specified will do OK. This is about all I've managed to do, as I was tired out from, well, staying up late blogging and doing little scribbly paintings! I had a bath and fell asleep in there, blessed relief, as my heart was beating so fast most of the day at the memory of last year.

The Caminella reports on food at Monte de Gozo (which didn't come cheap): 'Yak yak yak yeuachk!' There was some kind of stew that I couldn't face, and just had boiled spaghetti and grated cheese, but gave up after a couple of mouthfuls as it tased like wood. Even D gave up on the stew he'd tried to force me to eat after a couple of mouthfuls; the worst meal ever, and we retired to the bar and had a chocolate croissant, and to bed. They were 8 to a room, and very good and clean; but those metal bed frames are cold and hard and tended to wake me up repeatedly as my poorly feet and knee bumped into them. Throughout the camino, D had an unerring knack of landing on something of mine that was painful when coming down from top bunks too.  'Let's get the hell out of here', is the last word of the Caminella on this place.