The Lighthouse Way pt 1

 

19th~30th September

Three years ago Nick booked a holiday in Spain: he intended to run the Lighthouse Way, 115miles on coastal trails along the Galician Atlantic coast. I thought it sounded incredible so asked if I could go too. He said yes and it was the best holiday I'd ever been on. (Blog here.) I felt I should really return with Mary at some point. Suddenly this year, with little planning, Mary suggested we do it. Her running has been rubbish since the end of last year (injuries and the like) but we have been doing lots of walking.

Then we paid off our mortgage and there were a couple of events worth celebrating (my impending 60th birthday being one, and an all clear from a biopsy being another,) and we thought let's do it. We got in touch with On Foot Holidays, who organised the hotels and local info, paid the bill and crossed our fingers. 

Just a handful of days before kick off, Mary rolled her ankle (on flat ground!?) and there was notice of a Spanish Airport strike. Were we doomed? Mary re-checked available flights and there was a direct flight to Santiago leaving a day early. It was really cheap, and our feeling was if it was cancelled we'd rather be 'stranded' in Edinburgh than Stansted (our original flight changed at Stansted) and if we got to Spain we could manage from there. Mary's ankle had about 4 days to settle before we started walking on the rough off-road trails, an average daily distance of around 13 miles. 

Bosque de Galicia from near our hotel in Santiago

We arrived in Santiago and got a taxi to the extra overnight hotel in the city centre. We arrived about 7pm and caught the last of the setting sun. After dropping off luggage (a friendly and charming welcome!) we went for a wander round the city centre and cathedral looking for a place to eat. We were still out enjoying the really warm evening at 11pm, drinking a last wine before heading back to the hotel. 

I find religion a really vexing question. Who but a charlatan would ask for a lifetime of service and commitment in return for an invoice settled after you are dead? Who but a simpleton would accept those terms? However I appreciate the art and skill of sculptures and churches and find I can divorce my hatred of religion from the enjoyment of the associated artworks and buildings. Maybe I am just getting old. Although I am still a country mile away from uttering a prayer in anything like sincerity, and will be till the day I die. But because I have a mind capable of holding 2 contrary ideas at the same time, I am free to enjoy the trappings of religion, without swallowing any of the snake-oil and indoctrination. I regard nuns and popes as comical figures of fun. There is much Catholicism in Spain (proportionally the inverse of veganism, sadly) and a certain amount of it along the Lighthouse Way. Not as much as on the more famous camino of Santiago, that is all about the Pilgrimage. It sort of makes sense as you could easily confuse the demanding nature of a long walk for a spiritual experience. Happily we only had stonechats as our constant companions.

nuns and pope: having a laugh

a weary pilgrim?

glug glug, it's 11pm and we're still outside!

Day Zero. Santiago to Malpica

This is just transport to the start line. Nearest airport (Santiago) to start of walk (Malpica) and Ivan (associate of On Foot Holidays) drove us there in his taxi - about 50miles? The earlier-than-planned start meant we got to Malpica in time to spend the afternoon checking out the first mile of the Way and check into our beautiful hotel a bit earlier. It was properly swish too. Last time I did this trip I was bowled over by the hotels and accommodation, as they were modern and upmarket. Normally Mary and I do dirt cheap package trips where hotel swankiness is low on the agenda. Because we are not there for hotel room bliss, but outdoors fun. All the accommodation of this trip was really interesting at the very least; some fabulous, some quirky, but all noteworthy and all much nicer than we are used to.

Last trip with Nick we ran the route in 5 days. This time we were walking and taking 9 days meaning 4 'new' hotels. I was aware a lot of the chat I'd be doing to poor Mary was going to be "last time with Nick we did blah-blah-blah" and tried to minimise it. But yes there was plenty of that. On the upside it was handy if we came across similar difficulties which we'd overcome last trip.

arriving at the start line

The hotel in Malpica was lovely. I think Nick had chosen a less salubrious version last time since we were only going to be in it from 10pm till 10am and mostly sleeping. There's an interior photo a bit below. Meanwhile we went out for food and a walk around. Mary was confused by there being a beach running the length of the West side of town and a harbour on the East. Only when we went down the trail a ways could we see that the pretty town is perched on a spit of land, surrounded on 3 sides by the Atlantic. 

self timer (flash didn't go off)

geranium bronze

small white

The first couple of days in Spain were toasty - I think temps were in the high 20s and lots of butterflies were out. We went up the first half mile of the Lighthouse Way, just for a wander, and saw lots of good things. Stonechats, one of my favourite birds (because they perch for photos on high spots) were flying about, as were goldfinches and sparrows. We decided not to stay too long and risk getting sunburnt. I was sorry to turn around but delighted then to see a Clouded Yellow (known subsequently as Lemon Yellows, Lemon Jellies, Cloudy Yellers etc) flitting between flowers. We chased it until it settled, got some pics, it flew off, another appeared, same again. Then a swallowtail! They are notable for being large and flighty and although not a huge fan, they are so spectacular I always try and photograph them. I prefer the Clouded Yellows. Last trip (there I go again) I only got one close up over the 5 days, so had them as a very high tariff species. This first day I got several quite acceptable close ups of both them and the swallowtail,and returning to the hotel very chuffed. 

It seems to have been a great year for Clouded Yellows. They have been photographed in England a lot more than previous years and one even got up to the borders where my pal Iain photographed it - his second CY in 20 years of observations. He was understandably thrilled, as it was late in the season and totally unexpected. Most days on this holiday we would see at least one and I ended up with loads of close ups and even a few blurry open wing shots. (They do not settle with open wings, and so you have to catch them in flight or leaving their perch to see the upper wing markings.) I haven't tallied up the incidents properly but I reckon by Iain's UK experience we probably got at least a hundred year's worth packed into our trip. It puts the Scottish butterfly scene into perspective.

stonechat

ocillated lizard

I didn't know at the time but this large lizard was the only one we got close to all holiday. Being the first day I didn't think that much about it! Possibly, like the swallowtail, the warmer weather brought it out. I think even the locals were exclaiming the weather was more like July or August than September.

clouded yellow

swallowtail

blurry open wings shot

swanky!

Day 1: Malpica to Niñons beach
Mary was careful  - no sudden jumps down onto her foot. Although it seemed to have recovered well, so far. It is always tiring travelling. Airports, specifically that bit where you go through perfume and cigarette hell, are probably my all time least favourite venues and the whole experience and bustle of flying leaves me frazzled. But we set off feeling very up-beat and the sunny weather and trails were fantastic - almost right from the first mile.

In the restaurant in Santiago, we had bumped into an Irish (and Catholic) woman who seemed to be doing caminos as a sport or occupation. Or maybe penance. She sat at the table next door to us and after getting her gin glass filled right up asked where we were from, and we got talking. She was about our age, although possibly quite a bit older. Her husband had "left her" though it wasn't clear if that was a euphemism for having died, or just walked out. Neither option was out of the question. Anyway it was probably her that got us talking about using a camino to answer the bigger questions in life. The idea being you have a question in front of you and the process of endeavour brings forth an answer. Mary jumped on this idea and we rode it about for a while, although we couldn't think of suitable questions. Maybe once we had the answer, the question would make itself known. I proposed the big question in my life was what sort of lens should I get (for a full frame, mirrorless camera won by Mary, and as yet unused,) now my monthly mortgage payments were no longer required. But maybe I should consider a new keyboard? It is all so confusing.

Talking of cameras, we were both carrying Lumix bridge cameras. Last trip I managed with a compact, so I was hoping to exceed those photos with this much bigger job. (I got really nervous just days before the trip, worried I'd trip and drop it and have to use the compact, which I took as back up in case of any disasters! ) And we'd be walking and therefore seeing much more. Would this be more productive? I was pleased with the way things panned out (pun intended) but also disappointed I didn't see every one of the treats I caught last time, plus all the new stuff we did come across this time. You just can't predict conditions, wildlife and luck. It was great to be finally here and setting off, water and packed lunch in back pack, camera in hand, sun shining. March on!

first lighthouse on an island just off the coast

the scenery was very Scottish, the weather, very Spanish

grayling

another clouded yellow

ooh! lucky take-off shot!

Lang's short-tailed blue

(small tails on back of hind wing)

speckled woods were fairly constant all trip
like Scottish SWs but more orangey

arty house

pair of small whites

We stopped and ate our packed lunch at picnic tables near a beach. The On Foot people had given us a comprehensive schedule of how we would eat. Sometimes there would be a town nearby at lunchtime; more often, the premises we were in would provide a picnic lunch, which they invariably pronounced peekneek, which was super-charming. Occasionally the lunches were a little short on carbo-loading for hungry pilgrims, although ALWAYS packed with love and a piece of fruit (and a funny biscuit.) It defo lightened the burden of being in a foreign country where you didn't know where the nearest supermercado was. A couple of times we made our own peekneeks by sawing a fat baguette in half and filling it with tonnes of ham/salami and cheese and salad.

Ivan the taxi (pronounced eVan, aptly) had already been singing the praises of his local bread. We were slightly mystified until several days later when we came in contact with the crusty Galician loaves he spoke of. VERY crispy crusts with a nice soft fluffy dough centre. I believe the Italians are proud of the way their bread becomes nearly inedible within a day of baking. I think similar things go on here. Possibly a high olive oil content and baking heat or something like that produces a crunch crust that solidifies into a carbon-fibre mouth feel very soon after release into the world. This is all very well if you have young teeth like Ivan's. I had had a filling fixed last minute before leaving Edinburgh and wasn't confident about wrestling with these extreme crusts. Sometimes the answer was to make sandwiches with tomatoes the night before and bag them in polythene, so that the tomatoey moisture would penetrate the iron grip of the crust and transform it into a toothsome soft roll suitable for senior gnashers.

these trail flowers dispensed with stems,
leaves and everything bar the flower

lots of great looking coastal varieties of succulents and cactii

as well as more familiar bracken, gorse and heather

The route was a delightful mixture of dirt trails, rockhopping, a tiny bit of asphalt and quite a lot of contouring on singletrack, up and down as the paths wove their ways round the coast. The variety of trails kept us happy. If there were too many miles of contouring we became tired and bored. Lots of variety kept us going, as you wonder what is round the next corner. I was surprised at how many stretches I didn't remember from last time. I haven't toted up the miles yet but it was about 115 miles worth of gpx files I put into my Suunto watch. Added as 9 daily routes. (We did maybe 5miles extra, not always going wrong, so much as choosing a different line or returning to a spot.)

The travel company sent us comprehensive gpx files to download, but like last time they did not readily upload into my watch, or Mary's Garmin. My antidote was to upload the info to google-my-maps and then, scrutinising every kilometer, every twist and turn, transfer the route (by hand) into my Suunto route-making page on their app/website, and then into my watch. I took pains to do this as accurately as possible, since this would stand us in good stead when we needed the info most. Mary's antidote was to buy a Garmin eTrex. This worked really well and uploaded the gpx file and would have been great if only she had had the time to become really familiar with how to work the new toy. One trip up Arthur's Seat wasn't quite enough. So occasionally (very seldom, the route is VERY well marked,) we came to a point, a junction where there wasn't one of the famous green arrows or a green dot. Which way do we go?

I'd have my watch on sat-nav mode and a primitive arrow points the way on a single line. If I go wrong the line leaves the arrow. Mary would switch on the eTrex. It took a while to warm up and I found the screen too small to see much of use in the bright sunlight, but sometimes it would confirm or deny the right route. I'm sure if we got used to it properly, (and took reading glasses) or god forbid read the instructions it would have been way more helpful. I can remember one afternoon we came to an unmarked junction and my Suunto declared loudly we should go right. No green dots (they were so prevalent it felt like sacrilege to turn without them saying so!) meant switching the Garmin backup on. (To preserve battery life we kept it off - battery life being undetermined, but finite.) We wait. There is another junction ahead also right. I offer to run ahead and check junction for green arrows. Garmin says maybe down the hill; we get halfway down the hill and Mary says back up hill. We go up hill and Mary says maybe down. I start shouting. It is easy, in the heat, to reach your wits ends rapidly. After about 15minutes of uncertainty we go the way I suggested 15minutes ago and eventually meet the green markers again.

 

Also, while I'm having a bit of a rant, my attention to detail when programming the Suunto, meant if we followed the exact route, it finished outside that night's hotel/hostel, to the metre. Not like a few houses away but actually on the front doorstep. However because it was on my wrist and not Mary's I think she was unaware of this, so that as we approached the town or village we were staying in that night, she'd look around for someone to ask directions or a street sign to the place. And take my input as being just patriarchal mansplaining. I'm proud to say I can't remember many times when the suunto was wildly off route. Occasionally it didn't absolutely follow the green markers but usually that just meant a parallel path was being used. I noticed the route was changed at least once to move pilgrims further inland avoiding a steep drop-off, or a place where the path was dangerously near a cliff edge. And once my suunto pointed us up a steep route off a beach. Since the marked way rarely did anything as dynamic (slightly risky but not more than a grade 1 scramble, which I hurriedly did to show it was do-able and to look for the green marker) we hunted for 20 mins to find the 'proper' way which joined the other route after the tricky bit. In summary, the route was really well marked for 99% of the journey, but obviously a gps device (or old fashioned map) is essential for back-up and peace of mind. The travel company supplied really nicely printed maps and route descriptions that probably mentioned the odd bits that weren't as well marked. But we neither carried the maps (latterly we did though I don't think ever used them) nor read through the huge and lavish folder of info, because we love to live dangerously. And what's a holiday without a bit of a shouty in the street?

We also had a third man, (technically a second man!), Aznar. He was our man on the coast, a local who coordinated our taxi requirements (if we wished to be rescued and not finish the day's distance), hotels and sometimes mysteriously seemed to know when we'd arrived at our home for the night. He'd text recommendations for restaurants and answer questions. He texted a bit of info about the route above Barda Beach; the trail went 200 metres higher up the road before rejoining the route. I think we found that to be the case, but have not yet found Barda Beach! He did all this for Nick and myself 3 years ago and we never met him on that occasion. I hoped we might meet on this occasion but the closest we got was his voice on a mobile message. It was very reassuring to have him as backup if there was something we couldn't manage, but we largely worked stuff out ourselves. (Sometimes without even shouting!)

green arrow

alternative green markers

big lighthouse, wee Mary

BIG lighthouse.

We were happy to get to the lighthouse. It meant that we could phone Ivan and he'd pick us up at Niñons beach an hour later. But we then forgot to hurry and spent another 10mins emptying shoes at the lighthouse, eating a banana and taking photos. So had something of a hurried 50mins to get a full hour's worth along the singletrack contouring trails to the beach. Just as Ivan came into sight 2 Clouded Yellows appeared and fluttered slowly around the field we were next to. We couldn't keep Ivan waiting longer so had to reluctantly leave the yellow beauties and hurry to the waiting taxi. There must be too many miles between hotels on this section, so a taxi is required to take us a few miles back to our overnight room (which Mary noticed as we walked past). Then the following morning we are delivered by another taxi to the drop off point back at Niñons to continue. (No the CYs hadn't waited for me. Yes, we did look!)

Niñons is particularly pretty.

Getting dropped back at the guesthouse there was a moth on the wall.
It looked like it might be a fab colour in its pyjamas but refused to show and tell.

nasty piggies!
Filthy after a long day stomping dirt.

wonderful view out our window

We were quite tired after all the travelling (on aeroplanes) and then walking 13miles in 6hrs. It was a long day. (I say this in mitigation of what followed!) When we arrived we got a lovely welcome from a woman who showed us to our room and told us dinner would be served in the adjoining restaurant. We showered and got sorted then a different host showed us the menu. I nearly threw a hissy fit as we were miles from anywhere - from any alternatives - and the prices were exorbitant. 29 euros for a lasagna. 40 euros for something else. I couldn't see the rest of the increasing prices for a red mist descending! We were starving after a long day and it appeared we were being taken hostage for a decent meal by a factor of about 2. (Some places the evening meal was included in the holiday price (minus any drinks), other places we would choose between local restaurants. Mary and I tended to go for cafés, in preference to high-end restaurants.)

It turned out to be exactly that; a whisper went round the small room - 2 other couples and a single traveller - that the prices were all for 2 people sharing. 15 to 20 euros per dish was far more bearable if a little pricey, and I stopped turning into the hulk, much to Mary's relief. She knew I'd go hungry before shelling out 40 euros for a plate of food. One of the problems was the language barrier. There was only the slightest hint the menu was priced for pairs, and the dude serving us spoke no English. Fair enough, I spoke no Spanish. We managed to get a great salad, bread and croquets and probably escaped, pretty well fed, with beers, for less than 40 euros.

I was a little disappointed with the experience as mostly the food and drink is very reasonable along the whole route (compared with prices in more popular areas like the Med.) The people were friendly at the place and the food WAS really good. The squid ink croquet was a surprise! But it was the only time I felt slightly unhappy with the provisions in place - and that was mainly due to the correct prices being lost in translation. Had we wanted to eat more on a budget the only option would have been to get a taxi, (maybe 5 miles to the nearest place) which would not have been very easy and might have ended up just as costly. It was shame as the place was really lovely and the people seemed genuine and warm. If I wasn't such a tightwad it would have been smoother altogether. But I am, and it wasn't. 

glorious sun down

Day 2: Niñons to Corme.

Next day and we were treated to a great breakfast and packed lunch peekneek from the place at Barizo. We packed up and headed out to meet the taxi which took us back to Niñons beach where we checked for butterflies. But it was far too cool and shaded. The butterflies would occasionally appear before 10am but mostly wait until the sun was properly blasting mid to late morning. The first few days it was always HOT by 2pm and we put on loads of sun screen. Last trip I made the mistake of not wearing sunscreen first day and was cooked by 17 miles and nearly fainted. Also I hadn't enough food and drink. This time I was much more careful and the only injury I collected was a burned lower lip - too much pouting?

The start of the walk was very beautiful and atmospheric. We were the only people out on the trail which skirted some exquisite beaches and then crept through some woodlands. We walked quietly hoping to see the woodpeckers we could hear, but never managed. It was just superb and we passed several bays with world class beaches, not a soul for miles. Just pods of gulls basking on long white spits of sand.

grizzled skipper

We spotted this very modest skipper, a little aged but still flying well and I stopped to take photos. It was a lifetime first for me - only finding out later it was a Grizzled Skipper (or the Spanish equivalent.) 

I remembered these cabins from last trip and their cheerful colours.

wall

We crossed this unusual landscape. We had heard there had been fires in Galicia this Summer and wondered if we would see any evidence. Not sure this was recent fire damage as lots of grass had grown back. I had little to no recollection of this stretch from last trip. Of course it would have been a long way into the first 25mile day and I was beginning to fall apart round about now. My memory is that about 17 miles I had to sit down and take stuff to eat and drink. I walked for a bit, then we came across the miraculous tap.

we had lunch on these rocks, watching a fishing boat below

the robins would show up regularly
but weren't too keen to be photo-ed

grayling again 

faded female wall

looking back to the last lighthouse

Since the whole trip is going round coastal bays and inlets we frequently looked back to see places and landmarks we went by ages ago. In the photo above is not only the huge tall lighthouse (at full zoom), but also the small one perched on the island, from day one.

the miraculous tap!

I was sorry not to recognise the point I sat down while climbing the hill at 17 miles on day one, last trip. We must have walked right past the gravestone saying Buchanan died here - not enough breakfast and no sunscreen. Schoolboy Error, what a prat! After eating something - possibly Nick's dextrose tablets - I made a bit of a come back and remembered climbing the steep hill to top out at the miraculous tap. I recognised the hill this time. 2 dudes we'd been swapping places with, caught up with us at that point and Mary suggested we let them pass. I was feeling punchy and instead raced up the long drag and was filling my reservoir by the time they appeared. Mary appeared shortly after. I should probably try to contain my competitive nature, or maybe just enter a few races and save it for that. Anyway, that tap seemed to appear last trip when needed most - I'd not long run out of water and still had a long way to go, and I was in shit shape. The tap is now decorated with what we thought was a smurf but turns out to be the trail mascot. (A Spanish Smurfoid? So repellent I haven't yet looked at it closely. ) The sign says water for hikers. And can be a life saver! 

long slice of gato

We were both quite pleased to see this lighthouse which means just a couple of miles back into Corme. Wonderful wind-shaped rocks and a couple of miles of tarmac. More wildlife than expected too. Just as we approached the town some roadside flowers had brought out a few butterflies including a swallowtail and at least 2 Clouded Yellows. 

wheatear possibly

swallowtail and clouded yellow in same frame!

Having already got a few close-ups of CYs I was now becoming more ambitious and trying for in-flight shots or taking-off shots which would show the upper wings of this excellent butterfly. Just as I was settling in to this task, Mary was asking which direction did we take and was preparing to move on. We were still a mile away from our hotel and really in need of a shower and stuff to eat and drink. I risked the wrath of she-who-must-be-obeyed and promptly lost myself sneaking up on those yellow devils, aware Mary was probably warming up her eTrex, and her temper. Just 5 minutes more I probably bargained, though I would have happily taken an hour longer given the chance. It became a joke that we'd always get clouded yellows turning up in the last mile to round off the day. Several days this seemed to be the case.

Mary was generous up to a point and then made some more noise and was in a pretty bad mood for the rest of the walk into town. She wasn't impressed I remembered exactly where the apartment was (nicknamed the Playboy Mansions last trip) and kept asking if I knew where I was going. I was pretty sure the Suunto would take me there but remembered the complex from last visit because it was such a great place. Not Playboy as in Hugh Hefner, but as in high-end big-budget can this really be OUR hotel apartment?

Mary's mood improved lots over the evening and I did our laundry - FREE washing machines and powder (well, those pouches of liquid) in the basement - and we went for one of the biggest meals we have ever had. Bernaldo's. Highly recommended! Nah, says the waitress, you'll only need one salad between 2 and same with the chips. (She was right though! See photo below.) Chorizo sausages in wine were as good as I remembered them. We rolled back to the apartment long after the sun had gone down, absolutely stuffed and happy on beer (and possibly wine). I think I nearly got away with the butterflies as well. M knows I am easily hypnotised and distracted by them. And to be fair she is fast becoming an enthusiast as well, although not as mad keen as myself, will still examine anything that flutters by and sometimes recognises a species before I do.

boom!

best close up

Corme

we managed all this - chorizo sausage in red wine, SUPERB!

the camera has been drinking

Often in the evenings I'd leave behind the large camera and take the back-up compact camera as it was more discreet for restaurant photos and selfies. However it travelled in the luggage taxi daily which meant in the North Face black bag, under extremes of pressure. Some button may have been pressed then or later but the camera had strangely changed to manual focus, which after the beer and wine (was there wine?) I was unable to recognise or change back to auto-focus. Instead I woozily just took photos of the stuff that was in focus, which wasn't much. It may have been a day or 2 before I got on top of this and still couldn't tell you how to change it to manual focus, a thing I have little or no use for.

BTW, a small confession about the free laundry. Nick and I had enjoyed this last trip and I felt it might go some way to repairing Mary's mood. I headed to the basement with a large bag of manky socks, shorts and t-shirts. All I could remember from last visit 3 years ago was delicado so I chucked the laundry into a machine pushed delicado and was about to depart when I noticed there wasn't as much water sloshing around as expected. With growing concern I waited for more water to fill up the machine. It did not. It just continued to turn like a tumble drier. Very much like a tumble drier. I pushed the stop button retrieved the dirty but very warm and dry washing and transferred it into a washing machine. Luckily, very luckily, the pouch of washing liquid hadn't burst and I transferred that as well. Disaster averted!

Day 3: Corme to Laxe
This was the longest day mileage wise. And time on feet. On paper about 16 miles but we managed to rack up around 19 miles. We did a bit of extra in Ponteceso, a supermarket sweep for lunch and then ate lunch off route. Just under 8hrs of moving time (according to Mary's Garmin watch) but taking 9.5hrs. Which is a long day out in the sunshine. I'm happy to say it never occured to either of us to call Aznar and have a rescue  taxi sent to collect us. Although we never discussed it we were both fairly determined to do the whole camino with no cheating or short option days.

The route begins nicely leaving Corme on pleasant shore-side paths and beach-side wooded areas. After a small climb or 2 we entered a desert like area of sandy dunes. We then passed a bird spotting area and at the far end crossed a causeway that led into the small town where Nick and I had morning coffee. By this time it was lunchtime and the cafe didn't sell sandwiches so we went to the supermercado and bought bread and fillings and fluids and sat on a bench nearby making and eating sandwiches.

Early on, crossing a beach my Suunto mysteriously led us off piste and round a track parallel to the correct route. Mary double checked with her eTrex and we realised the slight adjustment required. However we would never have come across this Beautiful Demoiselle still a bit sleepy, in the long grasses. We both reckoned we were sent there by butterfly jesus who knew we'd like this. The BDs are available in parts of Scotland (out West) but fairly rare. Last trip Nick and I spotted some near a boardwalk-ed stream. Sadly this trip the sun wasn't out during that section and there were no flying things - last time it was full of butterflies and dragonflies. 

Mary's photo

still not impressed with this fugly sculpture

this beauty had bright blue wings when it flew

painted ladies - very few about all holiday

classical art near the bird hide

causeway across to Ponteceso
Kingfisher, crabs, mouse and various birds and fish seen here.

mouse escaping!

I love seeing orange and lemon trees abroad. 

We don't get them in Scotland and it is just so Spanish and exotic.

speckled

Asian hornet - not good news for honey bees and other pollinators

loads of these the whole way

No idea what this is.

nice Lang's short-tailed blue

I only stopped for a photo of that blue because a woman who had been walking along beside us was telling me what to photograph. She had seen me taking pics of hornets and said some long tirade, which I didn't understand. No hablo Espanol, I took pleasure in saying. Later she pointed out mallards and told me to photograph them. Being polite I took one unenthusiastic photo. In order to let her walk ahead (and out of my life) I tarried to take this photo and it was probably the freshest blue all holiday. I saw one maybe common blue (or Adonis or similar) but it didn't hang about. Most of the others were long tailed or Lang's and at the scraggy end of their lives.

I just met a boat called Maria

if someone wants to id this then let me know
I'm guessing sandpiper or similar?

another Beautiful Demoiselle

So there is a very picturesque stream with old ruined mills travelling inland from As Grelas. I half remembered navigation issues from last time. Unfortunately I only remembered after falling behind to take photos of this demoiselle. I ran upstream chasing Mary who had continued beyond the unmarked turn off but she was nowhere to be seen. I shouted her name a couple of times and a muffled reply came from the trees. She came out pulling up her trousers saying I had "ruined her pee". She had found a quiet unobserved place to discreetly relieve herself and then had to shout a reply to the loudmouthed idiot coming up the trail. In order to placate her I allowed her to carry on up the stream following her eTrex until it became clear we should have turned off at the bit I said which we back-tracked nearly a mile to. Prob not a whole mile. But one of the reasons we did 19 miles not 16. Anyway it was very pleasant surroundings and somehow (difficult to believe now) I managed not to say told you so.

massive bug coming up!

This was one of the highlights of the trip for me. A creature we had never seen before and something of a fabulous but scary find. After a long search through my memory files I had the idea it was a Bush Cricket. Probably from seeing mounted specimens in museums and gasping at their massive size. But to find one just sauntering across the path we were walking on was brilliant. I saw something; then as I got down close to see what it was I realised it was special. Maybe a little too special to touch. It was imperative to get something close to it, for scale. I put my hand close by and got Mary to take the following photo. I knew it would look better on my hand but really didn't know if it could bite or sting or fly into your face and put a long probe into your stomach or what. Anything looked possible. 

photo Mary

bush cricket!

Instead, in the lifelong tradition of little boys and big insects I got a stick and poked it. Well, encouraged it onto the stick for photos. It moved slowly which was a relief, but it also made a scimitar like thing appear from its back end. This is probably an ovipositer (for planting eggs in hard earth) but it might have been a stinger or defensive weapon which it might run through an unprotected hand. I am disappointed I wimped out of letting it walk across my hand as it would have made a better photo. However I am also pleased I didn't have to get a taxi to the nearest hospital because I messed with a creature I knew nothing about. Mary was much more circumspect, called it a scorpion and said don't go near it! Wise-ish words, though a bit of googling later and I see yes, it is a Bush Cricket (there are dozens of species), they are mostly harmless but can bite strongly enough to draw blood. If you search the internet you can find the marvellous George McGavin getting a good hard bite on the thumb from a swimming version about this size in a cave somewhere remote. 

scorpion (like)
photo and id, Mary

We had not long passed the Swiss couple when we found the cricket and were still messing about when they caught us up. (They got out their phones as they hadn't seen one before either.) They seemed to be on a similar holiday to ours but doing a slightly different schedule including sightseeing and taxis, whereas we were doing the whole route and no venues that weren't on the Way. We had stayed at the same place in Barizo and we had passed each other a couple of times: Malpica and again here. Each time there was a larger hello although we hadn't swapped names yet. Thomas (we later swapped names) spoke very good English and had an accent not unlike the clipped pronunciation of Werner Herzog, which is what we called him till we knew better. There were a few fellow travellers we nicknamed like this - skort couple and bag share couple and single girl with curly hair. Bag share couple, you'll be surprised to hear, had just the one (quite large and heavy looking) backpack between them. I presumed because the guy was going to carry it, but no, his female partner wore it to go up a long ascent and was still doing the heavy lifting a mile later across the huge beach. Very liberated!

the Swiss couple

Looking back towards the Playboy Mansions, Corme
LHS: last trip apartment. RHS: this trip with Mary.

the end of day butterfly today was a red admiral
we saw quite a few along the way but most were v flighty

Laxe, pronounced lashy. We were very glad to arrive after a long long day out. It wasn't hard going, there was just a lot of it. (9hrs) Plus extra detours for fun. It was so long my Suunto ran out of juice and died. From the depths of my memory banks I directed us halfway up the beach then headed robot-like towards where I remembered the Hotel Playa de Laxe to be. Surprisingly we found it almost without effort which was great as the troops were properly weary and not interested playing hunt-the-hotel. A very fluent and welcoming hostess was supremely helpful and in no time we were showering and recovering. It was big hotel which I had described to Mary as being more akin to a Premier Inn: clean, modern but perhaps a little soulless. The staff however, well that one woman, single-handedly lifted the place from soulless to fabulous, but more later. First, scrape off the dirt and salt and get some refreshments.

After a welcome shower I ran along to the nearest supermercado and resisted buying every snack and drink in it. I returned with a carton of Gazpacho and other stuff. Nick had discovered the joys of a fridge cold gazpacho soup last trip. It gives you a meal in cold drink form when you've gone beyond that point of having an appetite for normal food. It got the thumbs up from Mary too. Slowly we recovered enough to go hunt for a meal, but couldn't be bothered going further than a local bar Nick and I had had a few beers in last trip. We had a modest meal of croquets and chips. It filled the hunger gap but was culturally and qualitatively low brow. And a couple of beers. There was the first light shower of rain on the way back to the hotel.

top scenery along the way!

We headed into the hotel bar where the very fluent front desk lady reappeared and talked us through the best local wines. It turned out we should be drinking white wines not red as the local vineyards produced better quality whites. That was their thing. One of these had been bottled and labelled with 8 of the lighthouses we passed along the way. Each bottle had the same wine but a different label. She could see we were interested so got out 6 of the various labels and we put them in order geographically. (I think it was 2 euros a glass of wine, generally the going rate!) She was a fantastic and knowledgeable host and raised the warmth of the place considerably. This was very much the story of all the accommodation we found ourselves in. We invariably rated it by the warmth and fun of the host, rather than the physical surroundings or facilities. Although wifi (pronounced weefee) was a deal breaker too. 

Day 4: Laxe to Arou

the North Face bag being escorted to the taxi

You'll have ascertained by now that we weren't carrying ALL our belongings on our backs. Some pilgrims were, and they must have regarded us as frauds as we skipped and frolicked past them lugging their huge rucksacks and camping rolls. On Foot Holidays arranged for the bulk of our luggage to be taxi-ed from each hotel to our next destination. Every day bar one it arrived ahead of us. That one day it was only 10mins behind. It was what made the whole trip a complete pleasure.

But circumstances made our luggage a bit odd. When booking one of those cheap flights with Easyjet and Ryanair the small print said carry on luggage had to be handkerchief sized. I think this was an Easyjet stipulation as Ryanair might well be normal carry-on size. We had checked the size of our intended carry-on bags and they were twice as big as allowed. Clearly a scam as everyone uses the same planes which have the same size overhead lockers. The best workaround seemed to be to take one piece of hold luggage between us, and our trekking packs as carry-ons. I think it was about £98 for the hold luggage bag which seems like (IS) daylight robbery, but even when added to the running total made for a cheapish flight. There were about a dozen other additional optional charges to squeeze as much as possible out of the bargain ticket hunter, but we manfully avoided paying them. Tick this box if you'd like to breath air during your flight. If you think you can hold your breath for 2.5hrs you don't need to pay the surcharge. We ended up doing both flights sitting at opposite ends of the plane, saving £36 each way. I'm not sure how much is a reasonable price to sit next to Mary for two and a half hours but I was glad she agreed there were better things to spend £36 on. (ie 2 portions of lasagna at Barizo!)

boing!

So we got out the North Face bag and yes it held all our luggage. But only just. Every morning the same struggle to get everything into that flippin' bag. I began to think of that bizarre streetname in Haddington "Long Cram" every morning. You had to limber up, warm up sleepy arms then compact the clothes bags as much as possible putting the 2 pairs of dress shoes in, then the electronics bags. I'll stop there. You don't want to watch someone packing. But it became as much a part of the daily ritual (thank you, not-at-all-Easyjet,) as putting on sunscreen and trying to get a second coffee for Mary out of whatever establishment we were in. Mary doesn't green light until 2 coffees are had. (And without, finds it harder to brown light too.) 

a rare early morning sunbathing RA

on the outskirts of town we found a snuggle of kittens

first lighthouse of the day - kitchen tiles variety

I formed a theory that the cemeteries here bury their dead above ground because the bedrock is just below the turf and you cannot dig down 6'. I like this theory a lot and care not a jot whether it is true or bluff. There weren't many grave yards and a couple looked like this. 

bag share couple - him left her right (with bag)

Bob the dog

Now there was a contingent of young locals doing a stretch of the Way at the same time we were. I say young, possibly mid thirties to late forties. We were keen to press on and get out of earshot as they were all chatting. Haha, imagine that; polluting our pilgrimage with laughter and chat! Our fondness for them increased when they noticed I was heading off in a wrong direction and they drew our attention to the correct path. Thanks and totally red face. We passed back and forth though neither group caught up with bag share couple who were clearly setting the pace out front today. The Spanish team (maybe 5 women and 4 guys?) must have stopped for a break as we got ahead and were nearly finished crossing another endless beach when we looked back to see one of their number couldn't resist going skinny dipping. Given her reaction when the first large wave broke over her, I don't think it was any warmer than when Nick and I took a swim-break last trip. About the same as Gullane on a sunny day. Not warm. Mary and I carried swim stuff but never found the right time to employ it. 

the Herzog party

On another beach we utilised the boardwalk. It was much better going than slogging along soft sand. We stopped for lunch at this peekneek table and ate the lunch prepared by the Hotel. We also had some non alcoholic lager and lemon which was delish! The next section was particularly rocky and provision was made for an alternate route if one didn't fancy rock hopping. We opted for rocky and it was a good choice. The notes said something about a zig-zagging difficult-to-follow route taking unlikely lines across the large boulder-field. We really enjoyed the game of hunt the next green spot which was on a line that while not direct, took a manageable course and the most scenic route round the spectacular rocks. I think we went a slightly different route from that which Nick and I took although the same photo occurred on both trips.

Mary in the rocky playground

Nick at the same spot 3 years ago

Our Spanish friends went on a more direct route and were finished this section long before us. Further along we passed this house with a lot of black vegetation outside. We reckoned they were drying seaweed (it was near the sea) but didn't know for sure. It had a art gallery installation feel.

across the beach to Camelle

Mary must have been flagging somewhat by this point. Normally she'd play up to the camera but that performance above is just not doing it. Look at Nick below: we'd probably run 20 miles by then and yet he still manages a big smile and an arm around skinny jesus. It also has recently occurred to me who skinny jesus is. (No caption on the statue.) There was an outsider artist Manfred known (perhaps confusingly) as Man of Camelle. He was German and moved here and did art using the local stones which he cemented together in an organic fashion. You can google it. The Way goes past his house where he lived a very off grid lifestyle with no amenities and just wearing a loincloth. Perhaps not the full shilling but nobody has actually stated that anywhere, preferring the title 'artist' to the notion 'mental heath issues.' The 2 are often synonymous. We went on to his house, the "museum" and it was okay. Lots of organic looking things that might be this, might be that. Is my indifference showing?

woMan of Camelle helping fellow tourists with a photo

conversation piece

stonechat (can you see what I've done there?)

another sandpiper?

Now this one made me a little exasperated. We were told to find our next place of residence, MariCarmen, 3 houses in, once we got to Arou, the black and white place. We walked and caught up with curly haired single girl who we were on nodding acquaintance with. She carried all her kit and looked like a seasoned hiker. She arrived at a sign and stopped so we also stopped, as much to say hello as anything. Mary asked where were we and she pointed to the sign which said Welcome to Arou. 

It was slightly confusing since we had passed more than three houses and not one appeared to be black-ish. The curly haired one had stopped to await a taxi, which appeared while we shot the breeze and when he (the taxi driver) heard we were staying at MariCarmen he got on his mobile and phoned her. It was reassuring that a young and alert taxi dude chatted informally with our hostess (who may or may not be called Mari Carmen) as presumably that would make her perfectly normal. Despite that, when days later I referred to the Bates Motel, Mary knew which place I meant. 

Meanwhile the curly girl got in her taxi and we were directed by the driver along the road "3 minutes". I should have stuck to my Suunto directions - it took us right there to the front door, where MariCarmen stood, waiting to welcome us. You can see the building in the photo above. It is the one that is light blue grey and white, not black. And it is three buildings in from the other side of town. Third last, not third.

room with a view - from our window at MariCarmen

I'm going to take a break here. It's already far too long and we are only halfway! You'll have to wait for the next installment to find out if we survived the Bates Motel and what is Mari Carmen's sad/dark secret. (Spoiler alert: we never found out.) And what was the longest weefee password of the whole trip? Be sure to tune in next time....