Overlooking some of the beach that extends west from the village of Finisterre.
Santiago de Compostela to Porto (160 km – felt like being in a sci-fi movie and life is playing out in reverse. Not recommended!)
There are so many ways to return to Porto at the end of your Camino walk. You can fly, take a train, take a bus, car pool (there’s an app for that) …
My advice is, whichever way you choose, put a bag over your head.
Sensory deprivation will be your friend.
Here’s why. Continue reading
This is Ponte Sampaio over the River Verdugo. This is yet another spot where Galacian fighters kicked the ass of Napoleon’s soldiers. This isn’t the first site we’ve encountered marked by the defeat of Napoleon’s army.
Redondela to Pontevedra (23 kilometers, felt just right)
Sometimes the best part of your day on the Camino isn’t the glorious autumn weather, or the cathedral-like walk through an ancient forest, or the breathtaking vistas that greet you at the crest of a difficult climb, or the journey back in time as you pass through a Medieval village along narrow cobblestone paths.
No, sometimes it is a simple story told by another pilgrim.
This happened on our walk between the mellifluously named cities of Redondela and Pontevedra. Continue reading
All it takes is to miss a turn and you end up on a quiet country road like this one, which leads to the long-ago abandoned hacienda Las Trancas, about midway into the first section of the trail and a fabulous spot from which to engage the river.
We did it! We found the off-road, Rio Laja trail from San Miguel de Allende to Antotonilco. Several weeks ago, when we walked to Antotonilco along the old highway it was pleasant enough but the road is narrow and pretty busy.
Here and there we’d catch glimpses of the chalky gray Rio Laja which flows south into the sprawling reservoir called La Pressa Allende. And here and there was evidence of a trail!
We’re still new at this hiking/walking thing and lacked the confidence to jump off the road and into the brush along a river we hardly knew. Who knew where we might end up? Continue reading
See those people clustered around the blue Volkswagon microbus? None of them is me. The reason being that, given the choice of going to Woodstock or spending the weekend in a remote Pennsylvania forest, I chose the latter.
I was 19 the summer of the Woodstock music festival and lived less than 275 miles from the Bethel, N.Y. site of the concert that shaped my generation.
So, it is important to note, as the 50th anniversary begins today, that I did not attend Woodstock.
No freaking way. Continue reading
Clouds are best after the nightly rain.
The rain arrived promptly at 6:45 p.m., courtesy of just one gray-black chunk of water-engorged atmosphere.
It was beautiful. Even if Moppit and I were caught out in the open.
It poured for all of 10 minutes, quickly turning the cobblestone roads into rivers and turning Moppit and me into a couple of drowned rats. (She is very hairy at the moment and looks much more like a drowned rat than me.)
Did I mention that repairs were started today on the roof to stop up a few leaks? Did I mention there are now way more than a few?
Getting drenched. Mopping up the floors. No problem.
Do you know why?
Clouds.
You can’t stay down when the clouds are this beautiful.
It is my favorite time, after the evening rain, because the sun hasn’t yet set and Old Sol, being the artist that he is, uses the clouds as the perfect canvases for the light and shadow show.
Appearing nightly on a mountainside near you, beautiful clouds of all sorts and dimensions. And making a special guest appearance for a few nights only — the moon.
I love San Miguel de Allende.
(Click on individual images to see full size.)
Musings, Magic, San Miguel and More 