No, it’s not the Camino [5]

Mark Eveleigh’s 1200km walk across Spain: week 5

If you missed any previous updates on Mark’s walk, please click on the following for: week 1, week 2, week 3 & week 4

What happened next? Please see: the end

Dear friends

If you’re a fan of musicals and I were to ask what you know about Spain’s climate, you might declare – quite confidently – that the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain. You might then be tempted to throw in the fact that in Hertford, Hereford and Hampshire hurricanes hardly happen… which is comforting to know because I fly to the UK this weekend, but let’s keep our focus on Spain for the time being.

If I were to ask Mark right now about Spain’s climate he would tell you – quite confidently – that the rain does not fall mainly in the plain. After walking through a heat wave across the dry plateau of Spain’s interior, he’ll tell you that in Spain the rain falls mainly around the country’s Atlantic coastline – which is often referred to as España Verde (“Green Spain”), where there is hardly a plain in sight. That’s where Mark’s been walking these past few days, and it’s been raining, and raining, and raining… (And, it’s cold.)

On Friday Mark WhatsApped me his first view of the mountains. That photo framed gentle hills that rolled softly into a hazy background; the next one showed a road that swept around a shrubby valley and disappeared into a backdrop of steeper hills. Another showed a rocky mountain path fringed with tufts of grass and mountain peaks in the distance. He also sent images of pretty, clustered villages of staunch stone buildings with small windows, and lots of hills that seemed to get steeper with every photo sent. And, in every pic, there were grey skies looming. The further Mark walked into the Cantabrian Mountains – a fold range that runs for 500km across the north of Spain, parallel to the Atlantic coastline – the darker the skies became.

[If you missed previous updates on Mark’s walk, please click on the following for: week 1, week 2, week 3, week 4.]

On Sunday, for the first time on this 1200km journey, Mark pulled on his rain jacket – and he’s been wearing that (as well as his long-johns and puffer jacket) ever since… something that I guess should be expected in the mountains that form the rain-shadow between España Verde and the dry, coastal plains of the country’s interior.

The Cantabrians are wonderfully wild. Up here, where the wind is trapped in the mountains, the humidity and high summer rainfall fuel verdant vegetation and the dense forests of chestnut, beech and oak trees that are home to brown bears, red deer, Iberian wolves and European wildcats. In the short, steep rivers Atlantic salmon migrate upstream to their ancestral breeding grounds and in the skies, Griffin vultures soar.

While Mark hasn’t seen much wildlife, what has astounded him is the population density of another species: pilgrims. You see, for a few days this past week Mark’s route has coincided with the “French Way”, the Camino route that begins at Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port in France and runs east to west across the north of Spain, into Santiago de Compostela. During the 10-odd days he spent along the Via de la Plata Mark saw about 10 pilgrims in total. Up here in the Cantabrians, he’s seeing 40, 50 a day. At an albergue he stayed at (a combination of incessant rains, threatening storms and single-figure temperatures were good reason to abandon his hammock that night), Mark slept in a dorm of 100 beds. That albergue had two dorms – and according to the person who checked him in, it’s often full. A quick Google search reveals that 347,578 pilgrims walked this popular Camino route in 2019.

Despite being surrounded by pilgrims for a few days, Mark’s journey has still been quite solitary. “I walk past a café or into an albergue, and everyone is quiet, or sleeping. I think we’re all buggered…”

How has the rhythm of your days changed now that you’re in the mountains?

Mark: The fact that it’s freezing cold and there’s been heavy rain forecast for every afternoon and evening has meant that I am now overnighting in towns and staying in albergues, which is actually providing good material for my book since I’m seeing a whole other side of trekking in Spain. My trip has been very solitary, but now that my route coincides with Camino Frances (the French Way) I’m seeing a lot of pilgrims, and it’s a good experience to be staying in albergues (also, it’s a lot more comfortable than my hammock would be in these circumstances). The rhythm of my days has changed because I used to walk early mornings, rest through the heat of the day, and then walk into the evenings, but now I’m trying to cover the same distance in one stretch, before the rain sets in. It’s a lot more challenging walking this distance in one go.

One of the people you’ve met recently is quite well-known on the Camino routes, right?

Mark: When walking into Saria I saw someone I figured was a pilgrim. He was dawdling in front of me and I thought, “this guy is never going to get where he is going” – but it turned out he was just waiting for me. His name is Andoni Moreta Hernandez, and he’s an honest-to-god vagabond. He’s from Bilbao, he said when we chatted, and has walked 20,000km [mostly on the Camino routes] since 2008. He’d run out of cash, he told me, so I gave him enough money for a menu of the day or a bed for the night. He seems to be permanently on the road.

What five words would you use to describe this past week?

Mark: Exhausting; exhausting; intense; dramatic; scenic.

How is your body?

Mark: It was a rookie error, but one of the worst things I could have done was walk my longest distance – 45km – on day 1, because the blisters and callussed blister patches on the balls of both of my feet have remained with me for the entire trek. My feet are a bit sore and tired. My legs are feeling a little heavy and I could do with a massage – but basically I feel way stronger than I’d anticipated I would.

Now that the end really is in sight, how do you feel about wrapping up this adventure?

Mark: I have mixed feelings. It’s been intense, to say the least. It’s been exhausting. There have been days that have been the lowest I’ve ever experienced, and there have been crazy moments too… like the day I saw a beautiful dam just outside of Merida. I’d already walked 30km and it weas sweltering hot; I was walking downhill towards the dam and Jerusalema came up on my playlist – and I was literally jigging and doing pirouettes down the road on the way to the dam. I didn’t care who saw me or what they thought of me. There have been some super-high moments, and some super-low ones. I’m looking forward to arriving at the last point and to feel that I did it, but also I can imagine that this is also going to be a bit of a hole in my life once this is over.

As I send this update out, Mark is setting off on what will be his second-last day of this 1200km journey, and he’s hoping the weather clears because he’ll be sleeping in his hammock again tonight. There’s a small window of blue sky, he told me when we chatted this morning, and the route he’s chosen to reach the coast will take him along winding lanes that connect small villages. Only 74km left to go… and he’s got John Denver on repeat: Take Me Home, Country Roads.

With love,

Narina

PS I’ll drop you an update once Mark completes his journey. He will finish tomorrow as he started: alone. I’ll be with him in spirit of course, and already have John Denver on repeat (which is making me all teary). If you want to “join” Mark on this last stretch of his journey, why not take a listen to his Vagabond playlist – and if you do, please, turn the volume right up, and don’t be afraid to do a little jig when Jerusalema plays :)

PPS What happened next? Please see: the end