Silleda

Less than 50kms. from here to Santiago! I should be there on Monday therefore, and am very glad not to have given in to the temptation to catch that train last Saturday.

I was staying next to another station last night. What a difference a week of good weather makes! My raincoat has remained unused apart from when every item of clothing was needed in the unheated albergue of the Monastery of Oseira the other day. What an amazing place that is, the Escorial of the North! It makes Ampleforth Abbey´s plant look puny. Five of us visitors were shown round by a diminutive Cistercian artist, Fray Luis. One of a community of only 14 - several of whom are elderly or infirm - he is in the process of illustrating the Bible, book by book. (I must look up the weblinks when I get back.)

Oseira was a detour from the direct Camino, but worth every extra km., not only for Vespers in the Abbey, but also for the wild and remote feel of its neighbourhood. The name comes from the bears (ursa) which the early monks, or their predecessors more likely, frightened off when the valley was first settled.

Today, the route has boxed and coxed with the dual carriageway, but on the whole, there has been little tarmac to tire the feet: more often, there is a sandy (or muddy) track in the woods above or below, and away from, the main road, which you don´t even hear. A track that was in existence long before the 21st Century! A few kms. before here, it led me across a 10th Century bridge, slung high over the Rio Deza, with its original paving stones, an extraordinarily tranquil place.

Ourense

Caroline and I stayed a night here five years ago, when we were Interrailing - a great city, with boiling water spilling out from hot springs and a long Roman bridge, which I shall walk over tomorrow. Rather different from our hotel room in 2008, I am sleeping tonight in one of the 18-bed dormitories converted out of part of the old St Francis Convent, high above the Cathedral. And it´s a lot fuller than previous albergues, as quite a number of people start their Camino here: you can qualify for a Compostela (certificate) in Santiago so long as you walk at least 100 kms., and there´s just over that to walk from Ourense.

I remember many phrases often repeated by my late headmaster Fr. William Price when he taught us European history, one being that the climate in North Spain was nine months Winter and three months Hell. We seem to have just crossed the threshold here in Galicia: last Friday was so wet and cold that I was thinking seriously of giving it all up - a thought encouraged by the fact that the albergue in A Gudiña (where I spent that night) was right next to the railway station. But since then the weather has changed completely, the landscape is transformed (you can take in your stride even those bits where you still need to paddle), and today as I walked through the outskirts of the City, I would have done anything for an ice cream.

Requejo de Sanabria

This is one of those place names we find it impossible to pronounce, as the receptionist at the Parador made clear to me this morning. I had an eerily comfortable night there, a complete contrast to "normal" life on the Camino. The breakfast buffet would have been sufficient to feed every pilgrim walking the Via de la Plata from Seville to Santiago at the present time, I´d guess.

As I prepared to launch forth with my rucksack, the rain, which had looked intermittent from my balcony, started to pour down with a vengeance, and there seemed to be no wind to blow the cloud along as in previous days. So, heeding the various health experts I´d consulted about my leg - I always enjoy that phrase you read, "He´s been advised by his doctors..." - I decided to give myself a further rest day, and caught a taxi the 11kms. here this morning. En route, I saw, battling through the rain, the Australian with whom I´ve walked from time to time since Zamora, so we stopped and gave her a lift too. (She thought she was about to be abducted.)

The economy of Requejo must have benefitted considerably from the work on the new Madrid-Vigo AVE line: you can see the enormous tunnel entrance in course of construction over to the left of the village. For lunch, alongside a dozen railway workers in their yellow jackets, I had Caldo Gallego for the first time, a rather delicious soup, followed by trout cooked with bits of ham - as tasty as anything provided yesterday by the Parador, at less than a fifth of the price.

Tomorrow, it´s a total of 19kms. to Lubian, with a climb of 320m over the 10kms. to the (1360m) pass at the Portillo de Padornelo. Because of the AVE works and the rain, we are advised to walk on the road - comparatively boring, but then the scenery is magnificent and there is next to no traffic.

Puebla de Sanabria

As I am nearing the halfway stage of my walk, and have endured a fair amount of excruciating discomfort during the cold nights along the way - no heating at all the night before last for instance - I have lashed out and taken a room in the Parador here. It´s a particularly welcome break from the routine of albergues as I seem to have picked up an injury to the tendon in my right leg, probably through having had to walk more than 30 kms. yesterday to find somewhere to sleep.

So I haven´t done a lot of sightseeing in this interesting-sounding town, and am not sure how I shall be feeling like walking on tomorrow. The good thing is that there´s a bus if necessary, the Camino running parallel with the main road into Galicia: we are now getting near to it.

Setting off today from Asturianos, the track was the muddiest yet, more like a river in fact. I skirted parts of it by climbing into the field, brushing my way under the trees. After about a km., the rain started, so I went to put the cover on my rucksack - but where was it? I tuck it in as a matter of course behind my shell. Had I been careless enough to leave a bit hanging out, so it had caught on one of those trees? Faced with carrying a wet rucksack for another 10 or more days, there was no alternative but to go back and look for it. No sign though; and my leg was hurting, and the rain looked set in. Time for some hitch-hiking, I thought to myself, but still I had to struggle on to the next village before anyone would stop.

Arriving here eventually, I started to unpack everything from the damp rucksack - and there was the rain cover, safely stowed away into a pocket I didn´t know existed, behind my shell.

At Casa Anita´s

It´s a grey old Sunday here in Spain, but there hasn´t been more than a sprinkling of rain - just enough to justify stopping and putting on my mac. Last night´s stay in Tabara was one of the best so far: a very pretty large village, with lots of people about - unusually.

I traipsed up to the municipal albergue, which is a km. from the centre of the village; but it was filthy, so I took instead one of the rooms at the restaurant by the main square, a wise decision (and an extremely good €18 worth).

Though there was a Mass at Granje de Moreuela the previous evening, Tabara had none save at 1pm today, by which time I was well on my way here to Santa Croya de Tera; but what it lacked in Mass it had in football - available on every screen possible.

The walking has been easy today, 22kms, quite a bit shorter than yesterday. Only the last few hundred metres have been along the road: the rest on sandy tracks, now well dried out after the great rains. There are wild flowers beginning to come through, but the cistus bushes are nowhere near in flower. All around are encenas, but no animals of any sort to be seen amongst them. (I did hear a donkey braying in Tabara last night though.)

Just over the river from here is a village with a wonderful Romanesque church, its particular interest being the 11th Century statue of St James as a pilgrim, the earliest known one. Others and I were given a tour of both the church and its lovingly-created museum - all, a local effort - by a villager (named Celestina, but decidedly unelephantine).

Casa Anita is a private albergue, and a different kettle of fish altogether to the previous one of that sort I stayed in last week. I have just been shown where the beer glasses are kept - in their own cold fridge! What luxury! The eponymous Anita started up 13 years ago, and now one of her three beautiful daughters runs it - a tight ship. Generously, we were all invited to join in their family birthday celebrations.

En route here, there were attractive signs recommending Casa Anita to us, one of them by a delightful shelter with table and stools inside, beside the track a couple of kms. back under a large oak tree - the work of Anita´s husband. This is the sort of thing that makes being on the Camino worthwhile: a spirit of hospitality is so often evident, even if not universally forthcoming: there are some po faces as well as the smiley ones.

Amongst my fellow walkers today have been a French couple, an Austrian-American couple, a Spaniard and an Australian. All very friendly, but nobody so pressing that you want to get away from them.

On the Via de la Plata

70 kms. walked so far - more than 400 to go to Santiago still. I´m in Zamora´s amazing public library at the end of a rest day - no progress along the Camino. But I seem to have walked as far as on previous days, getting happily lost in this old city. It has 23 Romanesque churches, including the Cathedral, and several worthwhile museums: the one I liked least was the Semana Santa Museum, full of all the tableaux which were being carried round the city last week - seeing them in a Museum is altogether less moving than seeing them move slowly through the crowds with that plangent music and the smell of incense. Salamanca isn´t as celebrated for its processions as Seville, but you can´t miss them, nor should you try to.

I´m now nicely baffled about what I have and haven´t seen, and about to retire to the Albergue for supper and I hope an early night. (I hoped that last night, but - as one does in Spain - got caught up in the football.)

As with most days since I started from Salamanca on Saturday, it´s been showery, and none too warm. The rain in Spain seems to fall mainly on the Camino, which is waterlogged - to a far greater extent than in April 2010, when we walked from Seville to Salamanca. I gather I´m lucky not having had to take my boots off yet, and wade across an overflowing stream or two. The Duero here in Zamora has spilled right over its banks, right up to the road, a brown spate rushing between the arches of the Roman bridge.

Perhaps it´s the weather, or maybe the state of the world, but there are fewer pilgrims than three years ago, but I´ve shared accomodation with some interesting people already including a Japanese jazz drummer and a song writer from Berlin - not on the same night. We all agree it´s very hard to see how Spain is ever going to recover from its economic crisis: in spite of massive public expenditure (no doubt authorised from Brussels) on infrastructure such as this library, nothing much seems to be happening anywhere, and there´s nobody around in the villages or countryside.

Walking is a great way to see a country, even if like me you struggle with the language. The birds don´t require translation, nor the flowers which are beginning to peep through. And it´s majestic scenery for the most part as I wend my way North.

Brrrrrr!

We woke up this morning and opened the curtains to blizzard conditions. Thank goodness I managed to plant the early potatoes this week! This time next week, I shall be setting off again upon the Via de la Plata from Salamanca, in what I hope will be milder weather. Must get back to the packing: when you have to carry what you need for three or more weeks on your back, everything you are taking with you involves a severe examination of conscience.

"A Year of Food & Faith"

Fr. Tom Cullinan is paying us - Cheltenham Christian Ecology Link - a return visit at the beginning of May: I have been circulating this poster for his talk.

Floss at 4

It's hard to keep the dog confined to the boot of our car at the best of times, but worse when Thomas is travelling with us: we picked him up from Newbury station this afternoon, over for a long weekend from Lisbon. Ah well, it was Floss's birthday, so I suppose this once...

Frankly Green

Great to hear the Pope's inaugural Mass sermon today, delivered under the shadow of this great dome! (I photographed it when we were last in Rome, in May 2001.) Here's an extract:

"Let us protect Christ in our lives, so that we can protect others, so that we can protect creation! The vocation of being a “protector”, however, is not just something involving us Christians alone; it also has a prior dimension which is simply human, involving everyone. It means protecting all creation, the beauty of the created world, as the Book of Genesis tells us and as Saint Francis of Assisi showed us. It means respecting each of God’s creatures and respecting the environment in which we live. ...

Be protectors of God’s gifts! Whenever human beings fail to live up to this responsibility, whenever we fail to care for creation and for our brothers and sisters, the way is opened to destruction and hearts are hardened. Tragically, in every period of history there are “Herods” who plot death, wreak havoc, and mar the countenance of men and women. Please, I would like to ask all those who have positions of responsibility in economic, political and social life, and all men and women of goodwill: let us be “protectors” of creation, protectors of God’s plan inscribed in nature, protectors of one another and of the environment. Let us not allow omens of destruction and death to accompany the advance of this world! …

Saint Paul speaks of Abraham, who, “hoping against hope, believed” (Rom 4:18). Hoping against hope! Today too, amid so much darkness, we need to see the light of hope and to be men and women who bring hope to others. To protect creation, to protect every man and every woman, to look upon them with tenderness and love, is to open up a horizon of hope; it is to let a shaft of light break through the heavy clouds; it is to bring the warmth of hope! …

To protect the whole of creation, to protect each person, especially the poorest, to protect ourselves: this is a service that the Bishop of Rome is called to carry out, yet one to which all of us are called, so that the star of hope will shine brightly. Let us protect with love all that God has given us!"

Three valley walk

Stepping from the bus this morning, I set off down Lower Washwell Lane, towards the Painswick Stream and Lovedays Mill. Ascending to Cockshoot, there were great views back to the self-styled (?) Queen of the Cotswolds, and then a good view also of Sheepscombe from Blackstable Wood.

After a few yards along the Slad road, my path soon led down vertiginously into the next valley East, Dillay Brook, tiny lambs scurrying away from me. I took this photograph on the climb back out, before the less scenic trudge up through Nottingham Scrubs.

Back at 250 metres, I crossed the Calf Way, before my third descent, to the Holy Brook at beautiful Honeycombe Farm, and the final climb leading me soon into Miserden and the warmth of the Carpenter's Arms. Not having seen a single soul since I left Painswick, "Are we following each other?" a voice asked. It was someone who had just come in from a walk in Miserden Park, and (like me) had also been walking round Dursley four weeks ago: he had seen me lunching in The Old Spot (where the food is better).

Cheering up Leeds

Meeting Dee on the steps of Oxford Place Methodist Centre as I was leaving Leeds yesterday made me realise what a drab bunch we were in Christian Ecology Link. I had spent the day with 70 or so fellow members and friends - the occasion of our annual conference.

Sheffield Millennium Gallery

"Barking up the right tree" is the title of this eye-catching creature, one of many striking exhibits I saw in Sheffield yesterday. First, I was directed to the Graves Gallery (it closes early): something of everything there in the way of 16th-21st Century pictures and sculpture, a really well-presented collection. Then, I discovered the much newer (as its name implies) Millennium Gallery, which leads off the rather spectacular Winter Garden.

Johnny White's sculpture is made up of pieces donated by the people of Sheffield: it becomes quite animated, depending which button you press, and serves to reflect the huge and varied collection of cutlery, metalwork and silverware permanently on display in one of the rooms.

Another (larger) at present houses "Forces of Nature", a temporary show on the theme of landscape: it stems from Ruskin's association with Sheffield, but apart from a host of wonderful Ruskin drawings, the exhibition includes sculpture, and paintings by Turner, Watts, the Pre-Raphaelites and many contemporary artists. There's a spell-binding video showing the progress of a large roundish block of wood from its initial deposit in a flooded stream out into the open sea over a couple of decades.

10 years on

For the second time this week, I found myself catching a train from Cheltenham Station to go in the opposite direction to the race crowds. (I left it a bit later today, so was all but swept aside by the incoming tide on Platform 2.) Arriving in a rainy Sheffield soon after Midday, I saw that I could catch a tram to the City Centre: all very clean and efficient, and they accept bus passes. Then, on the look out for the tourist information office I found myself passing St Marie's Cathedral, where a mass was just starting. What luck! Because it's exactly ten years today that my mother (Mary) died.

Bishop Frank

Your Holiness,

Congratulations on your election as Pope, and I hope your new job won't turn out to be a poisoned chalice - either self-administered, or slipped to you by some corrupt member of your household (the fate which was surmised to have befallen your predecessor but two).

Although I am addressing this to "Your Holiness" - in traditional mode - I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't prefer a less lofty title, judging by the way you introduced yourself from the balcony last evening. "Brothers and sisters, good evening." What a delightful beginning!

Sam Jones had a long piece in last Saturday's Guardian about cardinals who made up the electoral college. "Then there are those who find fame for other reasons," he wrote. "Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio, the Jesuit intellectual and Archbishop of Buenos Aires who travels round town by bus and told his compatriots not to waste their money on plane tickets to Rome to see him become a cardinal, but to give it instead to the poor..." My heart leapt to read this: someone who walked the talk!

And then what a great name to choose! I photographed a "St Francis" stained glass window when visiting St Alphege's Church in Solihull last month: here is a detail. You can see the saint's stigmata - reminding us of the cross Christians have to bear - and the wolf (the Curia?) alongside the rabbit (us in our pews) and the robin (Reliant? - the new Popemobile?).

I groaned when the news came of Joseph Ratzinger's election: last night, though, I was fighting back tears of joy. You are an answer to many prayers!

Macaroni

I photographed this lovely dip by the entrance to Macaroni Downs Farm today on our Wednesday walk, based on Eastleach. It was a beautiful day, the wind a little less cool even on the tops, with views as far as the clumps above Marlborough. But there was ice on our windscreen first thing, and ice too on the River Leach.

From the car park behind The Victoria, we walked South down the beautiful valley, keeping the river to our left until we crossed amongst the ducks at Coate Mill. Just before that, we had found ourselves on the wrong side of a fence. Attempting to cross it, the largest member of our party finished upside down, hanging by his trousers on the top wire: it was all three of us could do to detach him, and pull him to his feet - a nasty moment.

On a good day for plane spotters (Brize Norton is all too near), it was also - the second day in succession for me - one when I could stand and watch the less noisy, more graceful red kite: a thrilling sight.

Macaroni seems a rather appropriate place to illustrate what's going on at this moment: we are awaiting news of who has been elected Pope!

Thamesside

Undaunted - just - by the continuing bitter winds, I pedalled off this morning, to catch an early train to Cookham: it was worth it to escape the crowds coming in the other direction. There was a scattering of snow on the platform at Stroud as we passed through, but none by the time I reached Berkshire. Ten of us walked off together from Cookham station, passing Stanley Spencer's house before making for the wood that was partly the inspiration for Kenneth Grahame's Wind in the Willows. Despite an attractive few hundred yards of sunken lane and a few big, old beeches, it lacks much mystery today because of ill-management and the dual carriageway below.

Cutting short of Henley, we looped back through an attractive stretch of water meadows, still showing signs of flooding. Hardly any houses of note, I was surprised to observe, and all much more suburban than anything in the Cotswolds. It was a joy to catch a golden sunset from the direction of the Malverns as the train headed back to Cheltenham from Gloucester on the last leg of my homeward journey.

Under starter's orders

Ten days or so ago, as hinted at the time, I walked past Cheltenham Racecourse, where preparations were at an advanced stage for this week's invasion: the population of Cheltenham temporarily doubles. Tonight, at Mass, we were bidden to take home one of 115 slips of paper lying in a basket, each with the name of one of the Cardinals who will enter the Sistine Chapel on Cheltenham's opening day. However, "This isn't a sweepstake," our parish priest emphasised: "we should just pray especially for the Holy Spirit to guide the particular Cardinal whose name we pick out."

Mine was Cláudio Hummes, a 78-year-old Brazilian: quite a good egg, it seems from Wikipedia. Probably too old to be a strong candidate himself, he will surely back someone willing to lead the fight for social justice. I'm praying so anyway.

Half a million others have signed up on the Adopt-a-Cardinal website. Might all this prayer mean that the Catholic Church is not entirely a stranger to democracy?!

Worcester

Its been nearly five months since our book group convened last: then we met in Birmingham, for a look round buildings in the centre, amongst them the new library in course of construction. Today, it was Worcester's huge new library's turn for a visit: The Hive there only opened last Summer - it felt good and indeed (as it boasts) sustainable. We were impressed.

The exterior, which contrasts markedly with Birmingham, is finished in a dull bronze, reminding me of the Guggenheim in Bilbao - though I rather wonder whether it will last as well. Inside is full of of purpose, comfort and peace, and (besides its 800 study stations) quite a few books. Oh, and at least a couple of quite significant new art works: Robert Orchardson's aluminium mobile, "Kaleidoscope", which hangs in the foyer, making the best use of a light space and people's ability to see it from many angles; and Clare Woods' two-dimensional abstract "Rack Alley", dominating the atrium.

Earlier, our enjoyment of the Cathedral - rather a forbidding building from the outside, especially on a rainy day like today - was greatly enhanced by having Richard Lockett as our guide. His unobtrusive knowledgeability (and wry asides) made the nearly two hours we spent there fly past.

Impressed

This month Gloucestershire is hosting an international printmaking festival across no less than 26 venues. I have just been along to the Parabola Arts Centre, where "Impress '13" exhibits work under the title of "The Silk Road".

The show is dominated by the work of a Chinese artist from Yunnan province, He Kun who was there this evening. His huge, colourful "reduction" prints (immensely detailed) are made by cutting into a wooden block. Ink is then rolled across the surface: those areas not cut away retain the ink and mark the paper when run through the press. More of the surface is cut away as another layer is added - and so on, using the same block: a total of 20 different colours were used in the work on display! Every sheet of paper in the edition has to be printed stage-by-stage.

He Kun's work highlights the way the industrial, urban way of life is encroaching upon rural and culturally traditional China: his motivation is the protection of the government-designated "new rural areas" from careless development.

Dividing line

The Severn and the Thames are divided by the Cotswold escarpment obviously, and the line of the  Stroudwater Navigation and Thames & Severn Canal attempted to bridge that divide. Trade began about the time of the French Revolution, but the canal proved viable for barely more than a century, thus mocking the millions of hours of labour expended on its construction and maintenance.

40 or so years ago to a trust was established with a view to restoring the dwindled asset, and indeed stretches near the Western end now look very much more like the real thing than this scene I photographed today, near South Cerney.

On a dull but rainfree morning, we walked from that village through the Cotswold Water Park and up the Southern bank of the canal almost to Siddington. That bank, made of soil excavated from the canal bed of course, divides it narrowly from the zigzaggy River Churn at times; and our quintet's pleasant walk was in turn separated from the stop-start of foursomes on the South Cerney Golf Course by the watery tangle now infesting the canal itself.

Packed up

Another child is on the move tomorrow: having helped Edmund pack up his cottage, we visited Leo and Mini's new flat on Sunday; and here he is in the old one, with most things packed ready for the removal van tomorrow.

Today has been warm - warm enough for me to think in terms of planting a few potatoes very soon. I've been turning a bit of soil this morning in preparation. A robin has been my companion, and the fountain has been playing to indicate sunshine - and that its mini solar panel has survived the Winter. Gloom descended this evening though, with Manchester United's exit from the Champions League. ("Always keep a-hold of Nani for fear of..." ending up with 10 men.)

Back from Cirencester

I caught the bus to Stratton Post Office, just North of Cirencester this morning, with the aim of walking back home from there. In the end, I cheated somehat, by descending from Crickley Hill Country Park to Little Shurdington, and catching the bus back from there. But it was still a reasonable workout in preparation for Spain - 14 miles/22.5 kms. Even though I carried very little, I'm exhausted this evening! Am I mad, planning to walk this distance every day for three weeks? Probably.

It couldn't have been a better day for a long walk - sunshine and practically no wind. The first half was much the more beautiful: I visited five wonderful Cotswold churches as I walked up the Duntisbourne valley - dedicated to St Peter, Holy Rood, St Michael, St Peter again and St Bartholomew. Though there's no church in Middle Duntisbourne, this picture of the hamlet with its lake seems to me to capture the spirit of today's walk.

Until I reached the doggy domain of the Country Park, I saw not a single other walker. And spoke to just two men - almost the only people I saw in the Duntisbourne valley: one was a 74-year-old, working on his allotment, the other, 78, scooted up on his electric power-assisted bike whilst I was eating my sandwiches, to clear out the area round a spring, till 1954 (he told me) that village's water supply.

"Free Bird"

Edmund's "new" boat is in the water at last, initial repairs having been completed and the harbour master satisfied. We went down to Bristol to see it this morning, and very large it is too! Two bedrooms, two bathrooms (one with a bath), and the largest steering wheel you've ever seen.

JRI + GM

The John Ray Initiative Environment Conference today held my attention for only half its length, I'm afraid to say. "Progress or Problem? Responding to Genetically Modified Food and Crops" was the title.  "Some question whether this is even a debatable subject," its introducer warned. The first speaker, scientist Joe Perry of the EFSA, made out a good case for us to be there: a Christian and a risk assessor, he holds the firm view that GM is not productive of consequences of necessity outside God's will. And there is plenty to object in modern agriculture apart from GM. Organic farming is rarely enough. However, there was a sharp intake of breath around me when he asked, "Why shouldn't GM be integrated into organic agriculture?"

I hadn't really grasped the reason why GM product approval was so much quicker to obtain in North America than Europe: across the Atlantic there simply isn't the pattern of hedgerows and copses, the intermingling of villages with farmsteads. So what noisy local opposition is there likely to be to blanket spraying?

The JRI's Chair, John Weaver, spoke next, concentrating more on ethical and theological considerations. For a Baptist minister, he gave a surprising amount of credence to Catholic Social Teaching, especially its emphasis on nature as gift: it's not a reality to be left alone, but humanity is entrusted to evaluate and use it for the common good. The Catholic Church's overemphasis on the anthropocentric was let pass.

The supersize butterfly model in my photograph indicates perhaps which side some of the students of our hosts Redcliffe College, Gloucester were on in this GM debate.