Smeegle, Santiago and the modern day pilgrim.

No waves yesterday, and on a monday not a lot happens around here. The jackhammers were going like the clappers so I decided a stroll into the hills was in order. I love a good walk, especially up hills. As a boy, some of the toughest hills in Hobart were my training grounds. Mellifont, Elphinstone, Browne, Arthur, some nasty ascents right there. And why, while I am at it, did my parents always buy houses on the summits of thigh-burning hillsides? Enjoy the view did they? Well, nice if you own a car. Mongrels.

Things got rural very quickly. There is a road heading west along the coast, about 800m above sea level. I powered up the slope and soon enough the cars became less frequent, and all I could hear was the wind through the trees, and the lonely yelp of a farm dog echoing down the shadowy valley. Bliss.

I came upon this corn cart, and I had that distinct feeling that sooner or later I was going to come across something tasty to eat. I stopped to take in the vista and I saw a woman coming the other way. I squinted, because the air is kinda cloudy in a strange way, it does things to your eyes, and I saw she was a peasant with a whicker basket on her back (presumably with more corn). I fumbled for my camera and turned back to see that actually she wasn't a peasant at all, and there was no basket - it was just the fur collar of her hood poking up. Like I said, funny things to your eyes - for a moment I thought I was back in the mountains of central Mexico, I had the feeling I was, and I noticed I had absentmindedly taken a few measures, out of habit, as if I was. In my mouth was some grass seed - this prolongs the onset of dehydration, and in my right hand was a smooth rock - a throwing stone - I must have picked it up on the beach. What for? stray dogs of course! A can of mace is better, but a well aimed shot together with a piercing yell can buy you enough time to find a tree to climb. Dogs are no joke.
So down the road I powered, with no destination in mind, but determined to reach one.

I came across this helpful sign that told me everything. Unfortunately I couldn't read it. Vasco. There was a little Spanish that told me I was the star in the middle, and I had come from the right side of the map - long way - and there was some place called Orio about the same distance away. Orio it is.

Passed lots of animals along the way. Was enjoying the serenity of it all, and I didn't see another person except for some dusty farmers repairing a fence. Coming over the top of this hill, I saw a river winding down through the valley below, and I thought I must be getting close, then I came across this sign post








What? 767 ks to Santiago? I like to follow chance on a random trek, but that is ridiculous! I only have.........two Euros and a length of string! Then I thought.....hang on......walking track......Santiago......twelve apostles....shit, I'm on the Pilgrim trail! I'm a pilgrim! Ha! Santiago, or St James, was buried near the coast of Northern Spain, and around 900 A.D pilgrims started journeying to his gravesite to pray. Soon enough a cathedral was built over the site and around it the town of Santiago De Compostela.

Further down the track, this graffiti confirmed my suspicions.
Happily following the path of millions, some centuries before me, with more or less the same goal - peace of mind and serenity, I descended upon Orio - a tranquil medieval Spanish town. 

This building, built late 16th, early 17th century, features a facade typical of a middle class estate, with crowned voussoirs in a semicircular arch above the door, the keystone which features an IHS monogram with a leaf garland. Also interesting to note is the continuous floorboard balcony with balustrade parapets and projected carved corbels, all made of wood (walk on it at your own peril). Voila!


I descended into this historical time warp, intent on two things: food and a wash. I came to the river side and there was this guy with a charcoal grill made out of a 44 gallon drum and on it was a whole fish roasting, and a massive steak - thick as a man's fist and as big as a dinner plate. Ye Gods!
Cautiously I approached the man and addressed him politely although not once did my eyes move off the roasting fish - the charcoaled skin had shrunk back revealing juicy tender white flesh, and I was so hungry - I always walk on an empty stomach. 
And that was the way it stayed - he was closed for business "But i'm a pilgrim" I pleaded. Nup, just doesn't carry weight these days.
I went to the river and washed my feet. I found a bar and had a beer, then realising the enormity of the return journey, hastened back up the hill and home.
Needless to say, I know what I am doing next monday, lookout steak! Amen.
This morning I saw Elena and Igor, they have just got back from Melbourne, had a good time by all accounts. Funny thing: I saw Igor hurrying along this morning and I was instantly suspicious - he was smuggling something under his arm. He reminded me of Smeegle from Lord Of The Rings - my preciousssssss........
As he flew past I caught a glimpse of some very familiar packaging. Ha ha.... our friend Igor has discovered the almighty chocolate biscuit - the Tim Tam. Sucker, he's gone. I can picture him sitting in the dark, quietly nibbling away, listening for approaching footsteps. 
Seeya
J