Camino de Santiago Day One: Lourdes to Asson: Wet, wet, wet.

Before today I had various romantic visions for our departure on the Camino de Santiago from Lourdes - a quiet moment, a taste of holy water, a last peek into the splendid cathedral to wish us well on our way. Au contraire, there myself and Adeline stood in the pouring rain like drenched rats as a passing Frenchman cracked a joke about us looking like hunch-backs in our bright red ponchos. We were surrounded by a milling crowd of plastic covered wheel chairs and umbrella wielding nuns, while we desperately tried to take the obligatory selfie, me hoping my iPhone is water-proof. To the uninitiated this must've all seemed very Monty Python.

 

And then we were off.

That's the Lourdes cathedral in die background.

 

Actually, walking while it rains cats and dogs is quite enjoyable if you're geared well, so we took it in our stride. After following the river for a kilometer or two we switched to a lush forested path. A small deer darted shyly among the trees, and every now and than we'd stop to look at a lizard or insect that looked strange to our South African eyes. It was great to be solitary and surrounded by nature.

 

After about 15km of walking along largely deserted farm roads we reached Betharram, the first main town on our route. We lunched at a hotel restaurant where we briefly noticed the only other pilgrims for the day. Next we set off for a steep climb on a path leading 200m up a forested hill to a small, intriguing cemetery with three full-size crosses towering overhead.

 

All along the way and at the top we saw beautifully designed religious shrines, I wish I knew the history behind them. Was it the legacy of a rich aristocrat from the previous century? It certainly looked that way...

 

We'd estimated the road to Asson where we're staying over to be about 20km but the farm roads stretched into a distance of 29km according to my gps - quite a distance, but still immensely enjoyable for the first day on Camino. We arrived in Asson around six, hunted for the parish refuge, were taken to an upstairs, bare basics room. We were looking forward to having a celebratory dinner at a cosy little French bistro, but were rather abruptly told all shops and restaurants in town close at five. A quick scouting walk around the village confirmed that - all we could find was a croissant vending machine (where else in the world do you find that??) but after punching in a Euro, turns out it was empty.

 

Which meant our minimalistic dinner before we nodded off for the day consisted of an energy bar for each of us and two sachets of cuppacino that kind souls back home had donated to us. Such are the blessings of friends...

All the photos of the Camino are on Flickr..

 

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This Camino Thing

I didn't think I could do it.

Well, I sort of did believe I could. I'm reasonably fit, and the doc says the old ticker is in fine condition. But still.

And yet, I've just finished walking ONE THOUSAND KILOMETERS, all in one go. Yes, I've walked the Camino de Compostela.

We'd been planning this Camino thing for just on a year, after returning triumphantly from that mother of southern African hikes, the Naukluft Hiking Trail in central Namibia. When we started thinking about the Camino, doing another walk that would add a zero to the 120km of the Naukluft seemed like a logical progression. After surviving on rations and clambering over rocks the size of houses for more than a week in the bone-dry, desolate Namibian mountains, the Camino's congenial albergues, and user-friendly pathways seemed like a cinch.

Which is why I hardly did any physical preparation before I tackled the Camino de Santiago. Me and Adeline did a few five kilometer walks in a local park, climbed the five storey staircase at Sandton Gautrain station, that sort of thing. But no stretches, sit-ups, push-ups, or any other ups of any kind. I hate physical exercise. I was the baby who refused to kick a ball, or later on, was the one hiding in the washroom when it was sport time at school. Sport, gyms, that sort of sweaty stuff, ain't me.

Rather, I'm an information junkie and Adeline a compulsive planner. That is why by the time we were at OR Tambo International Airport in Johannesburg in late April 2015, ready to leave for Spain, our backpacks and their contents were so optimally optimised for the Camino you can travel to Mars with  them. I had an iPhone filled with every app, map, and notes-to-take-note-of to ensure we don't  get lost, or, god forbid, have to roll out our sleeping back inners under a bridge somewhere because we can't find a decent bed for the night.

We were carrying slightly more than the recommended backpack weight. The check-in weight digital display showed Adeline's  backpack barely touching on 10kg and mine at about 12kg, both without water, which would add another kilo or two. A tad on the heavy side, but hardly overloaded.

The plan was fairly elaborate, as the Camino de Santiago goes. We would start in Lourdes, a modern-day pilgrim destination. We'd visited the town a few years ago, and the religious tourism in its finest form we saw there fascinated me, perhaps more so because I'm a lapsed Calvinist Protestant who grew up with fire-and-brimstone warnings against Catholicism. I bought a mid-sized plastic madonna holy water bottle from one of the countless souvenir shops that line the streets of Lourdes and promised myself I'd return someday to investigate further. Little did I know my return would be to start walking the Camino, on a pilgrimage away from Saint Bernadette's statue in front of the cathedral.

The route we were to follow took us high up the Ossau valley, on a pilgrim route to Santiago that fell out of favour after the opening of the Somport pass to pilgrim traffic during the Middle Ages. We would cross into Spain at Portalet, via a footpath route over the Pyrenees,  then take about four days to walk to Jaca, from where we embark on the seven-day Camino de Aragonés, which in turn joins the Camino Frances at Puente la Reina. Here we would be joining about twenty thousand other pilgrims on their way to Santiago. From there it's a seven hundred kilometer trundle to Santiago on what seems to be, judging by the photos on Pinterest, a very well-trodden path. The envisaged total distance came to about 960km, but with variations it'll probably reach four figures.

We would stay at a mix of albergues, casa rurals and hotels, and give ourselves one rest day per week. We did a few bookings at strategic places, but for most of the way, we'd just be winging it.

Why do we do it?

There's nothing dramatic about us doing the Camino. I'm not weighed down by anything heavy, like Martin Sheen carrying his son's ashes in his Hollywoodified Camino Road trip movie. I've no big decisions to make, no emotional baggage to deal with. The Camino is simply an adventure, an opportunity to take in medieval architecture and history, and hopefully discover a few good places to eat and drink at (rumours say that's nigh impossible on the Camino, but we'll see. We have a talent for sniffing out gourmet food in unlikely places).

Which I guess makes our big adventure slightly undramatically boring.That said, according to most records, no-one goes home after walking the Camino exactly the same person they were before. How I'll change, I didn't know.

Ready for it? This is how it went...

Almost off the map in Botswana

We got really lucky a few weekends ago.

Friends of ours recently started work at a four star game lodge on the banks of the Limpopo on the Botswana side, and invited us to come and visit, for free. We didn't need much persuasion even though we weren't planning to go anywhere before setting off for Spain to walk the Camino, but hey, who can refuse a luxury long weekend in the bush, and mahala too?

I've never been to this corner of Botswana. And I mean that quite literally, referring to the notch where South Africa, Zimbabwe and Botswana meet, known commonly as the Tuli Block. It certainly hasn't been on my travel radar. I doubt whether anyone else but a handful of super-rich hunters and wild-life lovers show up here, and then I doubt  even more whether the rich and famous venture out further than their game drive vehicles will take them.

We crossed into Botswana at the tiny Zanzibar border post, and ten minutes later we were all oohs and ahs about the lodge, which was all bespoke fittings and bush-veld chic. We relished every comfy moment in the massive bedroom with a five star view over the river and the outdoor shower that doubles as a bird watching spot, but having driven all this way we also wanted to explore the area. So after a good night's sleep we set off Saturday morning early on a 200km circular drive to explore the area. (Foreigners go on safari; South Africans take a drive).

The map we used as a guide promised several 'historical sites' and other attractions but there was no actual signage anywhere along the road pointing to them. 'Culture' here seems to be limited to the size of a warthog's teeth and a visitor's ability to tell the difference between a kudu and a waterbuck (all of which we spotted along the way). Which is a shame for a natural history junkie like me.

The dirt road we were on heading east became narrower and rougher as we continued until I was thankful that we were in the Landy and not our friend's hatchback. The landscape gradually changed from low, rocky hills to a broad river valley. Looking for clues of what lay ahead, Google maps showed that we would soon reach a bridge over the Matloutse river.

Well, to be fair, it showed we'd be crossing the Matloutse river, not how we'd be doing the crossing.

We round a sharp, forested bend in the road which then abruptly ended on a sandy bank of the Matloutse's dry riverbed that stretched out ahead of us for about 70 metres or so. On the opposite bank we could see a steep incline where the road - now little more than a washed-out track - continued. The river was a narrow, shallow stream that lazily snaked its way along the wide stretch of sand. A tall, imposing rock wall flanked the river on both edges, creating the impression that the river had at some point thousands of years ago broken through this natural barrier.

There was a strong, almost supernatural ambience here, almost like something from a Lara Croft movie, or a scene from one of those dinosaur hunting movies set in a steamy jungle. It felt like time immemorial has seen natural wonders wax and wane here, until, right now, it was a peaceful scene waiting to be discovered.

What was this incredibly beautiful, unmarked place, about?

It was only later, with the help of Wikipedia that we realised that we'd stumbled upon Solomon's Wall. The huge rock-faces with their ancient vines and the white roots (were these Namaqua fig trees?) spidering on it is called Solomon's Wall, and it once formed a dam behind which was a huge pre-historic lake. As we sauntered around the deep sand in the riverbed we each collected a handful of pretty, brightly coloured pebbles that are an alluvial leftover of the time the area was covered by the lake. There must've been a breathtakingly beautiful waterfall thundering over the wall before time, countless floods and the workings of nature eroded it, leaving the river to flow freely again.

And yet, no signage, no picnic spot, no explanatory notice board, nothing that says anything about what we saw. If not for the details preserved in Wikipedia we may as well be the first explorers to set foot here.

Well, almost. A trickle of 4x4 vehicles and intrepid mountain bikers showed up shortly before we left, just to prove that humanity has indeed reached into all hidden corners of the planet. But still, Solomon's Wall has the ambience of an ancient place where, given time to explore, one can probably dig up up a treasure trove of local legends and myths.

We had to make our way back to the lodge long before I was able to look around and take enough photos to satisfy my curiosity. So I plan to return as some point in the future, perhaps with one of my geologist friends to help lay out the rock history here.

Thinking about Solomon's Wall on the eight-hour journey back to Johannesburg reminded me of Mapungubwe, the site of an ancient civilisation that lay just across the Limpopo river in South Africa. Perhaps for them the lake was where giants and mythological beasts from that long gone era bathed before they were destroyed by a natural catastrophe, only living on in misty legends and fantastical fables.

The scientist in me laughs at that notion. But that's the magic of Africa - the stories it evokes through its amazingly beautiful natural history.

Lovelocks in Johannesburg

I first came across lovelocks a few years ago on a bridge fence across the Seine in Paris. It may have been my first introduction to this cultural phenomenon but it was old news in Europe; lovers, tourists, families, everyone with a need to express affection in a sort of lemming-like, publically symbolic manner was doing it. We were staying in a rather chic little apartment on the Ile St Louis nearby and I went back several times to photograph more of the literally thousands of locks that clung to the fence like an amourous bird colony. Most had some sort of whimsical inscription or little tweak that made them interesting. Many rusty ones had clearly been hanging there for years.

I was intrigued.

Well, for a while anyway. When we visited Venice the following year lovelocks had become a cheap thrill. The city's infamous fake brand bag sellers were flogging ridiculously small, five Euro locks to the tourist throngs on Accademia bridge, and Venice's staid bureaucracy was forced to shut down the whole industry lest the bridge collapses under a few tons of shiny, brand-new brass locks. It didn't take long for a fuzzy romantic moment to turn into hardware store cliché.

Now, what can I say about my hometown and lovelocks? Johannesburg's never one to be left off the cultural trend radar, so it's only natural that has it's own fence of lovelocks. A few dozen couples have sworn eternal love (well, barring a passing a  scrap metal collector armed with a cutting torch) by attaching lovelocks to a rather scenic section of fence where the road starts crossing the wall of Emmarentia Dam.

The locks have been there a while now, and the collection didn't grow much after Valentines day so I suspect lovelocks has yet to be 'discovered' in Johannesburg. What I mean is, a newly-wed celebrity still needs to be seen love-locking on television before the fence will fill up. (Note to self, major economic opportunity selling locks to wedding couples in the botanical garden doing photo shoots on Saturday afternoons.)

I'm not sure whether this is the city's only lovelock fence, but I haven't noticed any others around. Certainly Nelson Mandela Bridge is still blank.

So keep an eye out. If you spot a few padlocks clicked onto a fence and not keeping anything visible under lock and key, you may just be looking at lovelocks.

Naukluft Hiking Trail #12 - And then, suddenly, it was over

So we arrived back at  the starting point of our Naukluft expedition not too long after lunchtime having completed eight days of scenic hiking. Where we were met and checked in by a slightly bemused Man Behind The Desk.

We didn't have much time to hang about, which was a pity. There's always a need to decompress after an intense experience like this. But a long drive home to Johannesburg awaited us. Besides, Adeline and I had our next adventure awaiting us.

Let me explain, and tourism people in Namibia, listen up.

While planning the Naukluft hike the two of us decided to spend an extra two weeks in Namibia, with plans to travel to Sesriem, Swakopmund and perhaps up to the Kunune river. We weren't enthusiastic about camping after ten days of roughing it,  preferring to rather stay over in a handful of mid-priced lodges along the way.

However after spending a few nights researching accommodation it was perfectly clear that lodging in Namibia is EXPENSIVE. A very average three star establishment will set you back R1 800 per night,  and R2 500 isn't unheard of. A special location is best not spoken of in Rands, but rather in Euro, even if it just sounds more affordable, which of course it isn't. In addition guest reviews of most places were very luke-warm, which points to average facilities and service being the norm.

Seriously, I couldn't find anything within a reasonable budget to stay over at in the whole of Namibia, except for two or three very delapitated self-catering places. So we started looking for somewhere else with nice scenery to comfortably put our weary feet up after Naukluft. Cut a long story short, we settled on Ireland because, one, no visas required, and two, we could spend two weeks in Ireland for less that we would pay in Namibia, Emirates flight included. I know, sounds crazy, but there you have it. Namibia is clearly not interested in South African tourists, preferring Euro-spending Germans.

Dunloe, Ireland.

And that's how we came to say a hasty goodbye to our fellow hikers outside the reception office of Naukluft. We had a flight to catch to Dublin from ORTIA in Johannesburg in two days' time, and a good 1 700km journey still lay ahead of us.

________

The Naukluft should be on every serious hiker's to-do list, period. It rolls every challenge found on different types of hikes into one, and a little more of each. It's further, it's steeper, it's colder (and hotter in summer) but it's also the most beautiful and scenic hike I've done. It's tough yes, but don't believe the exaggerations. With decent equipment, sustenance and a reasonable level of fitness you can do it. I did it, and I'm no Virgin Active junkie.

So go do it.

You can see all the pics from Naukluft in my Flickr gallery.

Naukluft Hiking Trail #11 - The home run

I can't recall many specifics about the final morning on the Naukluft trail. We must have gone through the usual motions of rising just before dawn, getting a camping stove or two going for coffee water, doing our extremely basic ablutions, and having a functional breakfast. In-between there'd be bedding to be folded and packed away and a last check to see that nothing had been left behind. That was the daily routine; this had been our morning ritual for the past few days, but by now it had all become a bit blurry.

I seem to recall we did agree to sleep a little later than usual since it was a relatively easy 14km downhill walk home, but most were up at the usual pre-dawn hour. Such habits die hard especially if you're sleeping on gravel separated only by a thin layer of foam. (Note to self: Follow the example of person who brought with a plain, simple kid's lilo).

I put my Hi-Tecs on for the final time, after snapping a soulful image of them against the prevailing landscape. They'd served me well, but the soles had several deep cuts and the rubber was chipped quite badly. I'd have to pension them off when I return home.

The first few kilometers were spent crossing a section of the table top Kapokvlakte, and then we entered the final canyon that would carry us down almost right up to the door of Hiker's Haven.

The crystal clear stream we picked up along the way flowed stronger and faster as we descended. After so many days of seeing very little water it felt good, there's something reassuring in having a gurgling flow of water in close proximity on a hike. We lunched at a series of large rock pools below a small waterfall, and for most in the group it was hard to resist a quick plunge before the final seven or eight kilometers home. I'm not much for swimming in places where I have to share the water with floating objects that include dark green, slimy bits of algae and semi-drowned goggas but I thought I'd be a sport and join in. As to be expected the water was icy cold and I don't think I spent more than about four minutes before settling on a warm bank of rocks to dry out.

It was a nice, long and lazy break, but as soon as we started off again everyone walked faster and faster, expecting to see the final stretch after each bend in the canyon. The final stretch of a hike is always like that - just a little longer and further than you expect it to be. The short walk through the shady camping area and the dusty road leading to Hiker's Haven eventually arrived, and then, the final hundred meters to the compact little two-room building where we knew we'd find the Man Behind The Counter.

He looked slightly perplexed as he watched eight dusty, slightly beshevelled hikers file into the tiny office.

'You finished all eight days?'

No, you silly man. We camped just over the first hill, living for a week on Old Brown Sherry and Woolies chicken sosaties.

We asked about the hiking group we'd seen at Tsams Ost. He shook his head. 'Not finishing. We had to rescue them, one of the group developed a knee problem.' He turned the visitor's book over for us to sign.

'You're the first South African group to finish this year.'

I could be mistaken but I sensed a slight note of admiration in his voice.

You can see all the pics from Naukluft in my Flickr gallery.

Naukluft Hiking Trail #10 - The last night

We woke up early on the morning of our second last day with everyone in a hurry to start walking. Normally we left the shelters in one group, but today everyone followed their own lead, and by the time Adeline and I saddled up we were the last to leave, the others having gone ahead. This had us speculating that the trail may just be a little too long, that six days rather than eight may be more ideal to prevent burnout and this sort of 'social disintegration' setting in. But that's idle speculation. The Naukluft is a solid eight days long whether you like it or not, and it's not getting shorter anytime soon.

We steadily gained height during the course of the morning until we reached a rock pile at the highest point of the trail. We were on top, so to speak!

Everyone knew from here on it was pretty much plain sailing and that the canyon slogging of the past few days had come to an end. So we enjoyed an extra long pause to have lunch and absorb the last amazing view of the outstretched valleys before we start on the final leg home. That would be plateau, and then a slow decline down to the starting point at Hiker's Haven.

The afternoon's walk was a long stretch crossing Kapokvlakte. After six days of mountains and deep valleys, we were now in a dramatically different landscape - a perfectly flat table top blanketed all the way to the horizon with kapokbosse - a dusty green shrub covered in pearl-sized, cotton-like balls that gave the plain its name.

Shallow indentations hinted at pans of water during summer, and here and here I spotted patches of mud and sludgy water with hundred of hoof indentations pockmarking the edges of the dark pools. Small herds of springbok broke the horizon now and again, the little ones playfully hopping and bouncing along.

Our final shelter, appropriately named Kapokvlakte, remained hidden behind a massive clump of bushes and trees until we were literally a few yards from it.  Later, as we were preparing the last of the food in our bags for dinner, we were treated to the most spectacular bright orange sunset. Those who still had battery power left in their cameras scurried into the surrounding veld to capture this highlight of the trail. Having slept mostly at the bottoms of canyons the past few days, the sun would leave us quite surreptitiously and unnoticed every night, as it faded behind the mountains. Finally seeing the quintessential African sun set behind the horizon here on our final evening seemed like an appropriate goodbye from all of beautiful Naukluft.

By now temperatures had risen somewhat, and tonight wasn't as cold as it been at the outset. Or perhaps my skin had grown a layer or two of extra protection. I decided to for the first time ditch the thermal underwear that had kept me from freezing to death on previous nights, and slept soundly until 7am,  two hours later than our normal rising time.

As we set out on the straight footpath leading home I turned a last time and looked at the last of the familiar stone shelters that had kept us, sort of, protected during the trail. Across the plain a few springboks were watching us walk away, curious about these strange animals that kept trekking through their territory.

You can see all the pics from Naukluft in my Flickr gallery.