Cathleen brought up her freakout from the night before, and said that "things had suddenly gotten very real for her" the previous night, about the trip being almost over, and having go back home and face everything she had left, with an even more weakened husband than before, while she felt exhausted and sore. He had had a bout and had lost a lot of weight. He was eager for her to come home and take over. She said she needed a couple days to rest and process her journey, not jump back in at 100 miles per hour!
I was impressed that she could see the reasons behind her freakout the night before. She had actually done that the whole trip: when something came up, she would often spaz around avoiding the topic in that moment, blaming everyone and everything else, but a bit later she would come to see and accept the real problem.
She even mentioned how scary the dog and men were the day before, and for the first time added that she had seen a "private property" sign after they had yelled at her. I could definitely sympathize, as remembered how scared I was that time I took a wrong turn near Grandas and had to face a scary dog. There is no shame in fear!! It's telling us, "Hey! This is bigger/stronger/more powerful than you. You don't have the resources to deal with this! Get out and get help." (On the other hand, Anger tells us that we *do* have the resources to take action to fix the power imbalance.)
Not wanting a repeat of yesterday, she asked the host for advice on her route. He showed Cathleen several possible routes she could take to get back to the Frances, and even offered to drive her to it. This was a common service at this hotel, because it was located 6.5 km north of the Frances. Most pilgrims didn't want add 13 km to walk to the hotel and back. He also showed us a website/app for hiking called wikiloc.com, which seemed amazing for showing and mapping hikes and bike routes all over the world!
He sympathized with my urge to stay off the Frances, wrinkling his nose and stating, "it's a zoo." He perked up as we spoke of the country roads in the area, as he liked to bike them. He showed me where to go if I wanted to join the Camino Inglés, and assured me that I would find places to get stamps along the way. He also said that the Compostela people were not overly picky, so if I got two that were both near Formaris, it would be fine as well.
He told us to pick up the "El Correo Gallego" newspaper and look to the section called "Agenda." That would list all the activities in town. There would be many, as we were in the lead up to St James Day on Jul 25, as well as the weekend.
http://caminoways.com/st-james-festival-in-santiago-de-compostela
http://santiagodecompostela.gal/hoxe/axenda.php?lg=cas&anc=0&mnc=0&id=2016-7-21#dia21
After consulting with our host, Cathleen finally decided on her route: 7 km down the highway to rejoin the Frances, and try to make it all the way to Santiago that day-- which, incidentally was none of the choices she had come up with the night before. She didn't think she had another day of walking in her, and just wanted to push through the 20 km to the finish. I told her she could always stop where Sophie was stopping, in Lavacolla (9 km short of Santiago), and either spring for a cab to our hotel, or spend the night with Sophie in a 5€ albergue. She said she would decide on the road. I suspected she would push through, as was her way, and arrive at Santiago totally burnt. Maybe it was also partly a bit of subconscious feistiness over always arriving "behind me"? I thought of the German pilgrim Betty, and how she said "the last shall be first." ;)
I planned out a 16.5 km walk, through the farmlands above the Frances, running almost directly West to Formaris. There would be little altitude change. I also had the opportunity to add on two 1 km detours to local churches. I would end up skipping the first and doing the second.
We set out together, since we were both heading down the highway for a stretch. The weather was overcast, which made us both happy.
The two hotel dogs ran after us down the driveway, as if to say goodbye. It totally set me off and I cried as I walked. I didn't want to leave! The thought almost made me throw up.
My walk was perfect: like my very earliest Camino dreams. Empty roads through fields and tiny villages, accompanied by bird song. I waved "hola" to farmers working in their fields.
I found Bar Toxo, right across from the church Santa Maria de Budino, but the owner told me "they were too small for a stamp." I decided I would hand-write Bar Toxo, and "demasiado pequeño para un sello" on a square in my Camino passport. ;) I thought it funny that they were big enough for draft beer on tap. There was also a little store inside.
We chatted a little in Spanish. She asked if I was doing the Rural Tourism walking routes. I told her I didn't like the excessive pilgrims on the Frances. She commented I was thirsty, I replied that even though it was not too hot out, walking made me thirsty. It was like a real conversion! Lol.
After Pousada, pavement turned to gravel. The road was lined with gigantic quartz boulders, and smaller quartz pieces were embedded in the road. No wonder I felt so great in this area! I've always loved the frequency of quartz.
A mountain biker passed me in the opposite direction. Later, as the gravel yielded to sand, I could see his tire tracks, and where he dismounted for some reason. I decided against the 1 km detour to Ermita da Madalena. In this rural area, it was undoubtedly closed.
HERE maps showed a direct path between the towns of Lamas do Carballal and Frades, but it turned out to be THIS:
So, I took a longer route on the cement. By doing that, it ended up being faster to just bypass Frades altogether, and go straight to the A Igrexa San Cristovo church. It was a lovely church, though closed, as expected.
I could not locate the Ermida de Nosa Señora de Agualada, but I easily found the Bar A Fontina and stopped for a beer. Just as I was thinking about how we had not really gotten tapas in Spain, the barkeep came out with a little platter for me!! :D The garlic spread was really tasty.
I watched another customer trying to squeeze himself through the hole in their smashed front door, as if demonstrating something, and realized they must have gotten broken into very recently.
Then, I spent some time trying to figure out where the Camino Inglés went through this area. It was more difficult than I expected, but it turned out that I was already on it! However, it looked like after A Torre, it went far out of my way, so I wouldn't follow it the last 3 km to my hotel.
When I walked out of the bar in the direction of Santiago, I laughed to see a huge Camino sign on the side of the highway. I had not seen it when walking in to the bar, as it was facing the other direction. So I would be walking on Inglés for a while after all! I was happy to see a small paved road running beside the highway, so I didn't have to walk on the shoulder of the busy highway. I mused it might have been a much older highway.
The nearby store I had pinned was closed, and soon after, the Inglés turned under the highway. Well, I had gotten 500 m on it! ;)
I continued on the little road parallel to the big highway. At one point, I was walking only a few feet below the highway level, and was shocked at the difference in the noise!!!
Approaching the hotel, I could see the Santiago airport tower, and I snapped a photo of some sheep--possibly my last pastoral scene as I headed into the city.
I felt good, like I was ready for the trip to come to its conclusion. At 3 pm on the dot, I walked into the hotel.
The hotel itself really surprised me. Based on the internet photos, I expected a cheap motel, but this was a full amenity conference style hotel. A brochure at the front desk had a great aerial view of the tiny restaurant on the highway (what I originally thought was the hotel) and the big hotel complex hiding behind it.
I blogged a little, ate my last power ball, as I'd be damned if I was going to carry that thing all the way to Santiago, took a nap, and then Cathleen arrived. She was all aglow, having finished the Camino and gotten her Compostela. She told me the stories of her day, including an American woman asking her if she was ok, and why didn't she rest, and who left her friends to walk her into a more populated area. Cathleen told her that if she rested, she wouldn't finish. She cried seeing the Cathedral in the distance, then cried again when she arrived.
She kept telling the story about how her "small feet" were causing her all her troubles, and repeated yet again the story of how they were the reason she had to leave the army. I finally took the challenge, "They don't look that small to me," I said, putting mine beside hers. They were identical. Same toes, same arch, same size. Just as we are identical heights, to the cm. "We're totally twins!" I said, a comment normally reserved for my friend Nina. She had pause at that, and made the connection that my feet handled all this walking well. Myth busted.
In an amazing twist, right after that, I checked my email, and saw that Nina had left me a message on my blog, after months of being incommunicado!!!
We walked down to the highway to have a beer and tapas. Eventually, Cathleen ordered some zorza for dinner. I went next door to the fruit and veggie store to buy some carrots, which I had been craving, but by the time I had a beer and tapas, I was full (I blame the power ball!) and it was nearly bedtime, so I just put them aside for the morning.
I did a little laundry, and laughed at the state of my socks, which were pretty much totally destroyed.
Cathleen tried to wash some of the stench out of her pack, with only moderate success. We went to sleep.
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