Good graffiti in amongst the pines

I'm not too keen on walking for fun. I especially dislike those uphill sections as they make me wheeze and cough. I have no problem at all with walking as a means of transport but I don't think of it as a pastime. Pop me down in a strange town and I'll trot around happily. Now most of my friends and pals don't agree with me. They think walking is healthy, fun and free. They even list it as a hobby; like collecting stamps, singing in a choir or spending hours watching Instagram videos. They buy sticks and specialist clothing and footwear. These people can be persuasive. They offer a destination with beer as an incentive. I am sometimes, very rarely, persuaded. I wonder what the fuss is about. Green and brown colour scheme, lots of pines, a bit of esparto grass maybe some rosemary and the occasional hare or hoopoe.

I am impressed by the solidarity of the walkers though. Often, when I've been tricked into walking in the countryside, maybe in a natural park or near some prehistoric site, there are signs to mark the way. Not necessarily those finger posts that tell you how many kilometres it is to the Bronze Age settlement or the spectacular waterfall but just little painted marks or piles of stones to keep you from walking off and becoming benighted as the wolves howl and the wild pigs attack to protect their young. 

Some of the marks are there because someone, town halls, provinces or regions, has paid for them to be there. They may or may not be maintained. Sometimes they are there because some association or even an individual thinks it's a good idea, a public service. They're the sort of people that love to be in the fresh air and presume that everyone else does. These marks can be really useful but they can also let you down because they are "unofficial".

There are other paths with marks which are homologated, standardised. These are the ones listed by FEDME, Federación española de deportes de montaña y escalada or the Spanish Federation of Mountain Sports and Climbing. These paths are the GR, PR and SL paths. There are homologation criteria for these paths, rules that say what the characteristics should be and how they should be maintained. The idea is that if you follow one of these trails you won't suddenly be abandoned to your own devices half way up some windswept mountain pass.

The three sets of marks that you will see along these paths are painted flashes on surfaces such as rocks, posts and trees . They are sometimes backed up with piles of stones, little cairns called mojones or hitos. They have colour schemes that tell you what sort of path you are following. Red and white markings for the GR, yellow and white markings for the PR and green and white markings for the SL.

The GR routes are at least 50 kms long are marked with a red and a white flash. 

The PR routes are between 10 kms and 50 kms long and are marked with a yellow and a white flash

The SL routes are less than 10 kms long and are marked with a green and a white flash

If the colours are painted as two (or more) parallel flashes the instruction is that you are on the right path and should keep going The marks can be combined: For example a white, red and yellow flash would show that the mid distance route shared the path with a longer route for that part of its length.

If the colours are arranged in a cross it means that you have gone the wrong way and should backtrack till you find the parallel marks. 

There is also a turn sign.

Should you ever, mistakenly, wander away from the safety of the asphalt and concrete, with shop windows to look in and signs of civilisation all around, you may come across these strange markings. But don't forget, as Phil Esterhaus used to say, "Let's be careful out there".

Two legs bad, two wheels good

The first time I went abroad independently was with a couple of University pals to Paris in about 1972. We went on the train. We drank filter coffee from bowls, just like Jean-Hugues Anglade, we struggled with the language, climbed thousands of steps and walked and walked and walked. I was very soon hobbling. I'm prone to blisters and foot damage in general. When I wandered around Spain in the 1980s and 1990s using public transport I would always pack all those patent foot plasters, bandages and balms designed to keep one's feet in tip top condition.

We were planning to walk the Camino de Santiago. We still are. Maggie has booked flights and a room and a couple of friends are bound for Galicia at the end of May beginning of June. To be classed as having done the pilgrimage you only have to walk the last 100 kms and that's what Maggie intends to do but I have more time. I fancy the Pamplona end of the French route much more than the Galicia end so I'll do one end and then join Maggie at the other. A chum from around here has signed up to come along, actually it's probably the other way around, I'm probably joining him as he walks regularly and does yoga and badminton and stuff that makes me tired just thinking about it as I flip the pages of my book.

So we were planning and walking became cycling. Like me, Bobby, for that's his name, has problems with his feet. To qualify as a pilgrim, we need to go 200 kms on a bike. That didn't sound like much. First things first though. If I were going to ride to Santiago I'd need a bike. The one I had in the garage came from a supermarket, weighs the fabled ton and cost me 40€. Not really suitable. It was easy to get a replacement. Lots of people think a bike is a good idea until they have to go uphill. There were lots for sale and I bought one - it's one of those half mountain half tourer jobs. I put on some panniers and saddle bags and a cuentakilometros, an odometer. I couldn't hold it off for ever though and I had, eventually, to ride it rather than just tinker with it. I bought padded underwear.

I have pals who don't like to cycle unless the route includes near perpendicular climbs. I see the Facebook pictures of other chums who ride vast distances to go to distant tearooms and take photos of wild flowers. I smoked for forty years. I am reminded of this when, on the slightest incline, I sound like, well I sound like an old bloke with wrecked lungs gasping for air in order to keep his vital organs from failing. I also notice that my legs don't work quite properly when I get off the bike (and what's with this modern form of dismounting where you have to step forward because the saddle is so high?). I also worry that the light headedness which comes over me as I stop and pant may have me blacking out again and earning another ride in an ambulance. I somehow suspect that steep gradients and immense distances are some way in the future or, more likely, in Peter Pan's homeland.

Nonetheless I'm trying. Only 12 kms the first day but today, fourth time out I did just short of 30 kilometres which sounds reasonable enough until you turn it into a bit short of 19 miles and then you add in that the difference between the lowest and highest point on the route was only 80 metres. Worse still I only averaged about 17 km/h. Approximately the same speed as a pig can go when it gets a move on.

Walking to Santiago

I have friends who love to walk. They stride out across moors, along coastal paths and through forests carting tasteless cereal bars and bottles of water in their high tech backpacks. They comment on the fauna and flora and marvel at the views. I have no problem with the basic idea of walking as a method of shrugging off a mild hangover or as penance for a good lunch but serious walking has never appealed.  Now don't get me wrong. I don't have any problem with people enjoying walking for walking's sake and I definitely approve of walking as a form of transport. For instance, if I were in the British Museum and still lusting for enlightenment the walk down to the Natural History Museum, with the promise of all those landmarks along the way, would get my vote over the Tube. As a young man I worked in Leeds and often caught the last train to Huddersfield. With a following wind that train might get me in early enough to catch the last bus home to Elland but, as often as not, it didn't and, usually, I quite enjoyed that four mile walk home

I'm sure that you've heard of the Camino de Santiago, The Way of St. James. It's said that the bones of the Apostle, St James, lie in Santiago in Galicia. The pilgrimage to get there is, I think, number three on the priority list of Christian pilgrimage sites after Jerusalem and Rome. Nowadays walking to Santiago is a big tourist draw. People do it for all sorts of reasons. Religion is one of them, for others it's a broader idea of fellowship, for some it's the physical challenge whilst some people do it in the same way as they'd walk the Light Wake Walk or stride out on any weekend. I have several friends who have done it - generally by foot though at least one by bike. Most have found it hard, painful work.

People often wrongly think of the Camino de Santiago as a route, something like doing the Pennine Way from Edale to Crowden. That's to miss the essence of the Camino. The whole point is the pilgrimage, the destination, the tomb of Saint James. When Christianity was a driving force behind European society getting to Santiago was worth mega points in your bid to get into Heaven; into Paradise. Getting the Compostella, the certificate that proves you did the pilgrimage to Santiago, was the real life equivalent of the get out of jail free card. Nowadays there is a non religious version but I understand that most people still opt for the much prettier religious version. I'm also told that, for obvious promotional reasons, the Church tries to persuade walkers to take the religious document.

That's not to say that there are not recognised routes to Galicia. In the Middle Ages, to get to Spain from the British Isles, your average Irish or English pilgrim would take ship to A Coruña or Ferrol and walk in to Santiago from the coast. On the other hand the common or garden French pilgrim would probably walk in at Roncesvalles via St Jean Pied de Port and do the French Way. There are plenty of other routes too. If you've ever done the Lonely Planet type trip around Guatemala or Turkey you know that you keep bumping into the same people. It was the same for the early pilgrims. Walking in from Southern France the Arles Way or the Catalan Way made sense whilst the Swiss would walk the Le Puy Way and the Portuguese, very properly, the Portuguese Way. I was in Pinoso town hall years ago when a bloke turned up with his credencial, the passport that you get stamped as you walk. He was asking about getting some sort of official stamp to show that he'd done his distance. Pinoso isn't generally on the major routes!

After a few drinks we've often talked about doing the Camino. Some friends took this more seriously than most and bought a guidebook and did a bit of planning. We are now pretty sure that we're going to do it in the Spring and there may be more friends going to join us. Now for someone who has just said that he doesn't care to walk this may sound like madness. But I'm working on a theory, a theory that, like Ernie's, is one what I have and is not backed by anything specific. Santiago has been attracting pilgrims for hundred of years. As those pilgrims trudged the new routes other people, entrepreneurs, saw the opportunity to make money by opening hostels, brothels, taverns, cobblers and bakers, along the way, aimed specifically at the pilgrims. In turn, that influx of people, and wealth, along the route made lots of other services, like flour mills, vets and blacksmiths, into viable business ideas. Over time those original routes have lost importance. Like drovers paths and canals the traditional route has now become become something of a backwater. The motorways and train lines still go to the same major cities but by slightly different routes. This, I hope, has left the old route laden with history so that it's going to be nearly as interesting as that walk through Bloomsbury, Mayfair and Knightsbridge.