5 may

Walked from Bandeira to Santiago, 40 kilometres, including going back and forth to the campground. Had first arranged with Julie to meet her in a village called Susana, but I arrived there much earlier and then decided to also walk the last 10 kilometres, which is the more honest thing to do of course.
I kind of dreaded walking into Santiago again. Last time (the first time!) it had been boring. But this southern approach is much nicer, although one can’t help to hear the sounds of cars on the motorways almost all the time. Within 5 kilometres of the centre there is a hill one has o climb and when that’s done there’s a nice old cobbled street with no cars – lots of grass between the cobbles – and a spectacular view of the cathedral. Now that’s arriving.
The walk before had been as lovely as in the days before. I love the smallness of the world in this part of Spain. One has a house, a little land, three cows, a few sheep, some cats and dogs. And that’s it. A man is cutting hay with a sizzle, his wife is putting the hay on the back of a carriage. The horse has been replaced by a tractor, about fifty years ago.
The faces of the woman are centuries old. The skin on their faces has become leather-like, including the gentle and friendly lines of having an easy laugh. The new cabbages have been planted. They are laying weakly on the ground, dying for some water. It won’t come in the form of rain these days, but in the evening the woman goes around with big bottles of water that has been heated in the sun (or in the shadow if it’s too hot) during the day.
I am still not sure what kind of cabbage it is, but the bottom leaves are cut while the plant grows, leaving a stalky plant towards the end of the winter. A little bit like Brussels sprouts, except for the fact that there are no sprouts and the Galicians eat the leaves. Not only Galicians by the way. In Silos the monks eat it too. It’s called ‘Monk killer’ because they have to each so much of it in the winter when there seem to be no other vegetables available. Who needs a supermarket when you have your own piece of land.
Arriving in Santiago was strange. I didn’t go to the cathedral square, because I want tomorrow, the 6th, Julie’s birthday, to be the real arrival date. I sat in the pub next to the cathedral where I sat with Francesco and Julie three weeks ago. I was hoping for some deep thoughts, but also had to look at the massive belly (and breasts) of an East European middle aged man opposite me, who thought this terrace, and the afternoon sun, demanded taking of his T-shirt.
There were no deep thoughts, not even relief, but the beer didn’t taste worse because of it
I walked over to the campground, saw Julie and Mary and we waited for Shelly and Wayne. Julie had helped them to find the campground with sending them the North and West coordinates of the campground. They directed them to a field about 40 kilometres South of Santiago.
Had a nice meal in the restaurant where Mary’s hotel porter – after we finally found Shell and Wayne’s hotel, it turned out there was no room anymore for Mary there – guided us to a place nearby. Julie and I had a bowl of ‘Monk Killer’ soup. Mary ate razor clams. Had a taste of them. There was more resistance in them than expected and these clams have the same tendency as oysters to gather some sand in them. Where oysters tend to make pearls out of it, with the razor clams it just remains sand. Good for the stomach, my mother used the say. Oh no, she said: it sands the stomach, which I suppose was meant like it was good for the stomach.