Autumn on the Forest

We recently bought Little dog a coat to keep her warm and dry after she caught a bit of a chill during our long wet walk in the Downs a couple of weeks ago. Mrs C wanted to buy her a vibrant pink one, but as I take Little dog for most of her walks I refused to be seen with a dog mincing around in public in such an effeminate colour. Therefore we came to a compromise and bought her a purple coat, which is much more regal. Today that coat got it's maiden outing when Little dog and I went for a walk up on the Forest.

This is my favourite time of year, the long hot days of summer have been replaced by cooler weather. I love autumn, as the leaves on the trees begin to change colour to various shades of yellow and brown, the mornings are misty and the weather is wet and blustery. It has certainly been wet over the past couple of weeks and now it is becoming blustery. In fact according to the Met office there is a storm forming out in the Atlantic ocean that is due to hit England sometime tomorrow night and Monday morning. They are saying that it will be the worst storm to hit us for many years and are even comparing it to the great Hurricane of 1987 (I slept right through that one).

I thought that today would be a great day to visit the Forest to take some photographs of the autumnal colours. In the UK we don't get the bright reds that are seen in New England unfortunately, as we don't have the sugar maples that they have in the USA and Canada. Our trees are only just beginning to turn, what we need is a sharp frost to help them along. Apparently we will get this frost around about next Wednesday or Thursday, the problem is that if this storm is as damaging as predicted there won't be many leaves left on the trees.

Dressed in her new coat Little dog and I set off in pouring rain from Gills Lap car park. Our route took us into Wrens Warren with panoramic views northwards towards the Greensand Ridge and the North Downs in Kent. The Conservators of the Forest have introduced some Exmoor ponies to this valley as an experiment in grazing the bracken and gorse that quickly covers the heath if left unattended. They are fenced in behind an electric fence to stop them wondering off as they do on Exmoor and in the new Forest of Hampshire. It is really great to see them up here on the Forest, even though they bully the cattle and sheep.

This part of the Forest is 'Winnie the Pooh' country, the author A A Milne lived just north of here at Cotchford farm near Hartfield. The setting for the '100 aker' wood in his books was the Ashdown forest; Gills Lap is Galleons Lap and the Enchanted place, Eyores gloomy place is a swampy area in Wrens Warren and a couple of kilometres away is Pooh sticks bridge. A few weeks ago I was walking in this part of the Forest when I met an American woman and her children who asked me for directions to the North Pole. This seems a strange request on the face of it as normally an arctic explorer from the US would not take a detour via East Sussex. Luckily I knew that she was in fact looking for the North Pole which Christopher Robin, Pooh and gang launched an 'exposition' to find, so I was able to point her and her children in the right direction. They wandered off muttering to them selves something about how unusual it was to find an Australian citizen walking about the Ashdown Forest.

We crossed over the road and followed the hill up past Gills Lap view point and memorial to A A Milne and E H Shepard who illustrated the books so superbly. We passed by Kanga and Roo's sandy pit on the way. The nearest car park to this place is actually called 'Piglets' also as a dedication to the author. In fact all the car parks on the Forest have picturesque names such as Shadows, Smugglers, Roman road and King standing for example. Now safely back at home Little dog is sleeping soundly on the sofa (much more comfortable than her bed apparently) and I am about to go and batten down the hatches ready for tomorrows impending storm.

Wet Dog in the Downs

Little dog is chin-strapped! She is asleep beside me on the sofa covered with my old fleece jacket, snoring gently. She will probably spend the next two to three days comatose, only getting up for her meals and the occasional call of nature. The reason for her being in this state is that we went for a long walk across the South Downs today. Little dog is not as young as she used to be but she won't let a little thing like her age prevent her from joining me on a long walk. In fact if I went without her she would spend the day sulking and being a nuisance to Mrs C, who would behave in a similar fashion if I dragged her for ten miles across the Downs in this weather.

Talking about the weather, the Met office forecast  said  that the rain would stop at lunch time yesterday and the rest of the weekend would be clear and sunny. They got that seriously wrong! The sun was shining yesterday and today it's been raining all day long. Still I've been promising Little dog a long walk all week and it will give me a chance to try out my newish light weight waterproof jacket. I bought it earlier in the summer to replace the jacket that I left in the donativo box in an albergue in Spain after it leaked one too many times.

We started the walk from the Long Man car park at Wilmington at 10:00 am and it was already raining steadily. There was only one other car in the car park, the driver was from a rambling club awaiting his compatriots who should have arrived thirty minutes earlier. They had apparently made the decision to stay in bed and forgot to inform him, either that or they don't like him. There was low cloud blanketing the top of the Downs above the Long Man as we set off, a bit different from the last time we were here a few weeks ago.

Our route led us in an anti-clockwise direction around the base of the Long Man and up onto Windover hill. There were no 'shucks' or cows here today, they had apparently sought out the relative shelter of the valley bottoms. I had to scramble up a short section of chalk path which had been polished smooth by constant use, it was like walking on ice. I nearly fell over on several occasions but Little dog had no problems with her four foot drive and crampons on the end of her paws. At the top we met three Australian women who were on the last day of their eight day walk along the South Downs way. After a brief  exchange of pleasantries I left them standing in the murk as Little dog and I followed the fence line up to the Trig point at the top of the hill.

After locating our exact position we back tracked 100 metres to another fence line which ran parallel to the route of the South Downs way. We followed this fence through the mist, passing the ghostly bodies of sheep looming out of the cloud. Eventually coming to a wood where we picked up a track that led us down to the village of Jevington, the birth place of the Bannofee pie.

Just outside of the village we met the Australian ladies again who were looking a little lost. They were trying to find the village of West Dean but had missed their turn off and were about three miles off course. I walked with them into the village and gave them directions to Eastbourne via the alternate route of the SDW. Little dog and I carried on walking to the top of Bourne hill whilst they went to the pub for a cup of coffee. Upon reaching the top of the hill we turned right and walked two miles to the outskirts of Friston.

My new jacket was holding up well to the constant down pour although I was still wet from perspiration. Little dog was soaked through but still happily wagging her tail. Our route took us into Friston Forest where we stopped under cover of a beech tree for lunch. Little dog may be small but she managed to devour half of my Cornish pastie in double quick time.

A short while later we came to a small clearing where several paths went off in different directions, some of them weren't even marked on the map. One of the Camino Angels must have followed me back to Blighty because while trying to work out my route I discovered two yellow arrows painted on the ground pointing our way. We followed the slippery muddy path uphill into Lullington Heath nature reserve but the only signs of life that we saw were sheep and rooks. In the distance about two kilometres away I could see the Long Barrow on top of Windover hill above the Long Man .

Forty minutes later we were back at the foot of the Long Man where the fields were full of Canada geese feeding in the stubble of the cropped wheat. A few hundred metres more and we were back in the car park and out of the rain. It was now 2:15 pm and apart from a ten minute break for lunch we had been walking constantly for four hours into the non stop rain. Little dog slept throughout the drive home and is now chasing rabbits in her dreams. I'm enjoying a much needed refreshing mug of English Breakfast Tea. A brief look at our route on the map tells me that we have walked approximately ten miles today. Not bad really for a little old Spaniel.

Note: For those of you who have never served in the Army, the term chin-strapped refers to a soldier being so tired that he is only being held upright by the chin strap of his helmet.

My Camino de Santiago (Los Arcos to Logrono)

Los Arcos is a classical pilgrim stopping point half way between Estella and Logrono and goes back to the days of the Roman Empire. My albergue was located near the eastern gate into the old walled town, or it would have been if there was one. When there was a gate here, it was called the 'Portal de la Concha' or Gate of Shells, another historical reference to the camino.

Some of us met up in the town square next to the church for a few beers and something to eat. I wasn't particularly hungry so shared a plate of paella with one of my new found friends, a petite Australian lady Lucy (again name changed etc etc). She could represent her country in an eating contest; It became a feeding frenzy in which I came second, much to the amusement of everybody else. I never made that mistake again. Also the paella was cooked in squid ink, we discovered afterwards that when we smiled, we had black mouths and teeth, which again everybody found amusing.

The following morning it was raining as Henry and I left the town after a really good breakfast including home made Madeira cake, which was delicious. It carried on raining until midday and was a welcome change from the sun. We had a long walk today approximately twenty eight kilometres via the small town of Torres del Rio (Towers by the River); Another town linked with the Knight Templars, the protectors of peregrinos making their way to and from Santiago. The topography in this area consisted of a series of short steep hills which made walking a bit of a drag, going up them made your thighs and calves burn and coming down was painful on your knees.

There was a long line of peregrinos along this section of the route and we all intermingled and chatted as we struggled on with aching legs to the town of Viana for lunch. Some people decided to stay here for the night but others including myself carried on to Logrono. The sun came out during the afternoon drying us out as we walked through fields of poppies and other wild flowers to the outskirts of the city.

The approach to the city wasn't particularly pleasant, the path followed along the side of a motorway, through subways that reeked of stale urine and into an industrial area. Even the storks had taken to building their nests on electricity pylons which seems a bit of a dangerous thing to do. However once we passed through this area things greatly improved as we crossed the river into the actual city itself. I booked into the municipal albergue which resembled a refugee camp and found a bunk in one of the large dormitories.

We found a very nice bar to eat in that night and I ordered a massive plate of sausage, egg and chips and then discovered that I couldn't eat it all. My appetite appears to have shrunk since I've been in Spain, or is it all the pre-dinner beers that are filling me up. We had trouble finding our way home that evening, could it have been the alcohol or have we become unaccustomed to being in cities. Lucy declared that she was brought up in the bush and could find her way anywhere, so we promptly followed after her like sheep in the wrong direction (there are no Gum trees in Spanish cities). Luckily we came across a yellow arrow on the pavement which we followed back to the albergue, arriving just before they locked the doors for the night.

Logrono was the lowest point of my camino and is indelibly stamped on my mind for three reasons:

• The showers were freezing cold
• I picked up a stomach bug which took over a week to clear up
• When I left the following morning I left a pair of good walking trousers behind

My Camino de Santiago (Slimy food & no wine)

Estella is a delightful little town in the Basque region of Navarre. It takes it's name from the Spanish word meaning 'Star' and is so called because the camino follows the path of the milky way westwards past Santiago de Compostella to the Atlantic ocean at Finisterre. The historical old town is set around it's central square which is full of bars and restaurants.

A group of us from our albergue decided to go into town for an evening meal together. However as is usual everybody had different budgets and ideas of what they wanted to eat. So after walking round and round the square for about forty-five minutes perusing the various options we eventually settled on a small bar with a reasonably priced 'Peregrinos menu'. The bar owner had an extensive selection of plates on the menu which he proceeded to read out to us; Unfortunately he only knew one word of English which he emphasised very loudly between each spoken item, so the one sided conversation went something like this:

"Blah blah blah OR! blah blah blah OR! blah blah blah OR! blah blah blah OR! blah blah blah"

We were a disparate bunch of peregrinos from all over the world, luckily two of our crowd could speak fluent Spanish so we were able to make our choices of starters, mains and desserts without to much difficulty. Myself and a Lithuanian girl chose a local delicacy of white Asparagus for our starters. When it arrived it was floating in brine and was served with a dollop of mayonnaise. It had no taste and the texture was cold and slimy. The girl turned her nose up at it but me being a typically stoic (insert stupid here) Brit ate it without complaint. The rest of the meal was okay and the beer and wine was good.

The following morning I was woken by Pablo (name changed to protect the innocent and prevent me from being sued for possible libel or slander) from Texas, returning to his bunk to collect his water bottle and stick that he had forgotten when he left an hour earlier. This was to become a recurring theme over the next few weeks, I'm surprised that he didn't finish his pilgrimage naked.

It was a sunny morning as I walked out of Estella alone, I was feeling tired and my boots and pack felt like they weighed a ton. On the outskirts of the town is the 'Bodegas Irache' with it's famous wine fountain which the owners generously provided to fortify pilgrims. When I arrived there was a large crowd of peregrinos crowded around the fountain which is another one of the iconic sites along the camino (That's the fountain, not the crowds of peregrinos). So I took my place in line ready to partake of the free wine, even though the sun wasn't quite over the yardarm. I really needed fortifying this morning, but I was to be sorely disappointed as there was no free flowing wine. The 'Fuente del Vino' was dry, it was lucky that Mrs C wasn't here as there could have been a very serious Diplomatic incident indeed.

We were a very sad bunch of peregrinos as we set off walking again, it was hot, we were all sober and we had to walk up a steep hill alongside of a main road. Things soon changed though as I met another of the Camino Angels in the guise of an old man who was walking his dog. He pointed out an alternative route away from the main road which led me along a footpath through a beautifully shaded forest of oak and pine. I walked the last few kilometres to Los Arcos in open country amongst bright red poppies accompanied by the smell of wild thyme and the constant sound of cuckoos in the background. It turned out to be another glorious day after all.

I booked into a small private albergue close to the main square with Henry (again name changed to protect the innocent etc) another Texan who I met on day one outside of St Jean. The owner said that he was very particular about who he admitted as he didn't want to upset the neighbours; He couldn't have been that particular though because he let me in. There was an elderly American couple in our dormitory, so I introduced myself, they replied in the usual fashion "You're from Australia aren't you"? That is the third time that I've been told that I'm from Oz and it's only day six. I think that I need a large cold beer!

My Camino de Santiago (Puente, Picnic & Pink Socks)

The town of Puente La Reina is named after the bridge constructed in honour of its benefactor Queen Dona Mayor wife of King Sancho III (whoever he was). She commanded that it should be built to provide a safe crossing of the Rio Arga for the increasing number of peregrinos from both the Camino Frances and Camino Aragones which meet at this point on the route. The bridge is Romanesque in style with six supporting arches spanning the river which has swollen in size to a wide powerful torrent since we joined it near Zubiri.

On the morning that I crossed the bridge, the river was certainly wide but not exactly a powerful torrent, in fact it's surface was as flat calm as a mill pond (They obviously use a bit of poetic licence in the travel brochures).

I was walking in company with numerous pilgrims from all corners of the world the majority being Americans followed in descending numbers by Germans, Koreans, Australians, Spanish, Irish and one lone 'Billy no mates' from England, namely me. I did meet some other Britons along the way but we were definitely in the minority. Our idea of Spanish culture is to get pissed out of our brains in Malaga on cheap lager and throw up everywhere (apparently).

After approaching another peregrino and exchanging names the next question would usually be

"Which part of the United States are you from"?
"Florida, which part of Australia do you come from"?
"London"
"Is that just south of Sydney"?
"No, it's just north of Surrey"
"I didn't know that there is a Surrey in Australia"?
"There isn't, I'm from England"
"Why are you speaking with an Australian accent"?
"I'm not, I'm speaking with a London accent".

This is how I discovered that I was bi-lingual. I lost count of the number of Americans who thought that I was Australian. It got even worse though when some of the Australians thought that I was a fellow country man of theirs. A thought crossed my mind that if it carries on like this, I'll have to wear a string vest and a hat with corks around the brim. Later a couple of Australians that I met in Galicia decided to christen me 'Bruce' and make me an honourary citizen of Oz, I think that they were impressed with my beer drinking skills.

A few miles along the trail we stopped for a lovely picnic breakfast made from the remains of last nights meal by two of my new found friends. It was another glorious spring day without a cloud in the sky. The birds were singing, the bees were buzzing and all the flowers were in bloom (Now look what's happened I've turned into Mary Poppins).

As the morning wore on it got hotter and hotter and my left hand was suffering from the sun burn that I picked up yesterday. Luckily for me I was walking with a very resourceful young Woman from Colorado who made me a pair of sock gloves, an invention of hers that she had perfected in the highlands of Scotland a couple of weeks earlier. Another lady pilgrim donated a pair of old pink coloured socks which were turned into a gloves by cutting off the toe areas and making a slit along the natural curve of the heel sections. They worked really well in preventing my left hand becoming more sunburned, and matched my wife's pink coloured camera that I was carrying. I was definitely getting in touch with my feminine side out here on the camino.

I stopped for lunch in the shade of an under pass beneath the main road where I brewed up a cup of good old English tea on my super light camp stove, Titanium cup combination. It wasn't real tea unfortunately, but  it was the next best thing, instant tea powder from an old army ration pack. It tasted great and was a change from cafe con leche which I was beginning to get fed up with. Everybody who passed by found it highly amusing that I was brewing up along side of the trail. Just another eccentric Englishman, mad dogs and all that. On the wall of the underpass amongst all the usual graffiti  somebody had drawn an amusing cartoon of a typical peregrino which was so apt.

The rest of the afternoon was a long dusty slog under the heat of the unremitting sun but I was in good company. We eventually reached Estella our destination for the evening and booked into the municipal albergue. An hour later after a warm shower and a couple of cool beers I felt  almost human again. 'Buen Camino' as they say in these parts.