The bright yellow spotted lizard lay on the path, looking like a child's toy. But it was real, and unexpected. later I saw another one, its gold colour matching exactly the chestnut leaves which fell around me in the woods.
Each time I stopped for a rest there would be a blue butterfly, or the first autumn crocus, or a long tailed magpie to watch. Lovely surprises, and some not so lovely.
I did not like the spider as big as our old 50c piece, which looked at me out of the toilet bowl- I know the pilgrimage is a spiritual journey but it was hard to stay calm about this event. I mimed it to the bar keeper, and got the gallic shrug- very zen.
However, another bar owner served me a huge piece of apple cake with my cafe solo, no charge, which set me up for a peaceful walk thrugh damp pine woods , past water mills, over streams and into collections of farm builngs, all with dogs on duty who like to bark till I was out of sight.
As I neared Padron, the guide book promised me the the hamlets of Pedreira, Cadelo and Condide, and the unfortunately named Infesta. Often the villages have no names on the pilgrim path, only on proper roads, so I would come to some buildings and have to work out what they could be. Often I just kept going, with no real idea of my whereabouts. Around Padron, villages were named, which made up for the lack of the yellow arrows I had been relying on.
It is such a horrible feeling to stand where several roads meetand wonder where to go- usually I chose down hill and north. This was to bring me a bit of trouble soon enough , but today I arrived into a very french looking boulevard in Padron, with a double row of plane trees along a majestic river front, great place for fish, frites and a beer.
Padron is named after the Pedron, a treasured pilgrim symbol, a stone altar dedicated to Neptune. Tradition says that this is where the boat was moored which carried the body of St James (Santiago) and his two apostles from Jerusalem where they had been executed in 44AD.
A walk of 3 more kilometres took me through no less than 7 tiny hamlets in the Sar valley, before I could see the twin towers of a huge church at Escravitude. The Marian sanctuary of Escravitude was the site of a miracle in 1732, which saw such a generous flow of donations that there is this massive baroque fantasia of a church, 'playing with masses and volumes in a decorative frenzy', says the guide book. The bells were ringing in a frenzy too, wildly and unmelodically, but for once the church was open with a priest to welcome me, stamp my credencial, and give me a holy card. It is so good to sit in the cool and quiet, like so many thousands have done before me, all on a journey, whether it is in baroque times or in the 21st century, and be grateful for the largely unseen women who prepare the flowers, and keep the church open.
Down the flight of steps and over the main road there was a restaurant over the road where I enjoyed a sweet rice pudding and a glass of wine, with my two lovely friends. Only one day to go.
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