I’m Grace, a priest in the Anglican Church of Canada. I live in Montreal and this summer I’ve had the privilege of being on a sabbatical – my first in 15 years of working in parishes. I took a 6-week trip through 5 European countries, but the most relevant part for this blog is the week I spent riding the final portion of the Camino de Santiago (the Portuguese section) on horseback!
There were 14 people total in our group, plus our guides, Lorena and Jesús. Three of them – Laurie, my roommate for the trip and a colleague from the Episcopal Diocese of Kentucky; Tamara, and her husband Nick – were already friends of mine. We were also the only English speakers in the group. We started our ride in Tui, just on the Spanish side of the border with Portugal, and gathered on the evening of August 3 for the first of many enormous Spanish meals.
On the morning of the 4th, we were driven from our hotel to the stable where the horses were waiting. (I confess I had had romantic and unrealistic visions of riding from one farm to the next and sleeping within sight of the paddocks … that’s not how it worked. Vans for the humans and trailers for the horses were an essential part of this operation.)
We had been asked about our preferences and riding experience beforehand, so a horse had been selected for each of us. One by one, we met our horses and mounted up.
Laurie on her mare, Malareina. (At least, that’s what we think her name was. We never saw it written out.)
I was one of the last to be paired off with a horse, and by the time it was my turn, the only horses left were several big-barreled greys and one dark bay way down at the end of the stable block. I confess that I much prefer skinnier horses and have a probably entirely irrational prejudice against greys, but I was bracing myself for being assigned to one of them. The groom couldn’t find my name in the list he had on his phone, so I looked over his shoulder and helped him find it. I was paired with a horse named “Ringo” … and lo and behold, Ringo was the dark bay!
We took a group photo in the paddock …
… and then we were off!
You’ll notice that not everyone is wearing helmets. I did, but there was no official policy from the trip leaders. As with many things, Europe tends to take a more hands-off approach than North America.
The trail was a mixture of woodland paths, dirt roads, and paved roads. At times we were on the same trail as the many pilgrims on foot, but at other times we diverged and took routes that made more sense for horses.
We were in the saddle for about six hours the first day. There was a coffee break in the late morning, and then “lunch” from about 2:15 to 4:45, then one more hour of riding before we arrived at our evening destination in Vigo.
Ringo during the lunch break.
Lunch (only one of the three courses!)
I hadn’t ridden at this point since about ten months prior, and as usual, I found that I had no problem with riding technique, only with stamina. We were all – even those who ride almost daily – grimacing and groaning when we dismounted! However, it was the schedule I found really hard to get used to. I’m a night owl, but I’m a homebody, introverted night owl, and not even starting dinner until 9:30 PM was really hard for me, even though we’d had a decent break beforehand. Eventually, the four of us (myself and three friends who had signed up for the trip together) asked to be taken home midway through dinner, and went straight to bed!
On the second day we were “only” in the saddle for five hours.
Our morning break was in the woods, where there were wild blackberries!
Periodically we would stop to water the horses at roadside fountains, some of which looked to be hundreds of years old. This could get somewhat chaotic.
From the top of the slope we could see down to the Bay of San Simón.
Just after this picture was taken, those of us who were more confident riders on faster horses were able to have a glorious gallop along the top of the hill. Unfortunately, one rider came off, but no one was hurt. Ringo thoroughly enjoyed being able to shift into high gear but was very good about stopping to help the downed rider. Sadly, this was the last gallop we had (we’d had a shorter one the previous day) because on days three and four we were mostly either on the pilgrim trail with walkers and cyclists, or on “real” roads with cars.
In the evening, we were able to take a ramble around the city of Pontevedra.
A pilgrimage church.
The third day was our long day. At the end of it, I wrote this post to my Facebook account:
I’ve been keeping my phone in my saddlebag on airplane mode, both to save charge and because it really isn’t safe to try to pull it out, get my gloves off, open the phone, use the camera, and then do the whole process in reverse, on a fairly hot horse who’s moving with his herd and may break into a trot at any random time if I drop his reins. (One other member of our group in particular is VERY irresponsible in this regard and I’m frankly crossing my fingers we make it through our final full riding day tomorrow without her getting someone killed because she’s streaming to Instagram instead of riding her damn horse.)
So you have been spared a wearisome number of pictures of:
Picturesque old churches
Picturesque old towns
Picturesque narrow streets
Picturesque wayside crosses
Picturesque countryside vistas.
I do wish, however, that I could capture:
The grapevines, citrus groves, apple, peach, fig, and almond orchards
The flowering trees
The cactuses and palm trees
The little stone houses that Galicians have in their yards, apparently to store food
The tracks that have been there so long that the path runs between two banks of earth higher than a mounted person’s head
The small boys selling bottles of water, fruit, scallop shells, and suchlike snacks and trinkets beside the road
The various livestock, especially the horses in pastures who trot up to the fence and greet their new frens passing by
The people coming out of Mass as we rode through Caldas des Reis, who were clapping, taking video, and waving their babies’ hands at us as we clattered through the centre of town
I would need sound/video to capture:
The noise of sixty-four iron-shod hooves on asphalt under a highway overpass
The ALL-CONSUMING FURY of the many smol doggos of Galicia who have objected to the presence of sixteen large, loud, funny-smelling ungulates in the road in front of their houses (all of them, thankfully, from behind fences, except for one Chihuahua who managed to dart out into the road and do his level best to get trampled; the lorge doggos were generally more laid-back, though there were definitely exceptions)
The Galician folk band that was playing in Caldas des Reis, and the people in giant puppet heads that were dancing along.
There is no way to convey through the internet by any means:
The smell of a Spanish forest in August
Ditto a pasture full of wild mint after being trampled by horses
The taste of a wild blackberry grabbed from the saddle (and the impact of the thorns on the cane!)
The combined thrill and terror of a gallop up to the ridgeline
The way that it is possible to think, simultaneously, “This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever done” and “If we don’t stop for the day soon I am Literally Going to Die”.
We rode 41 kilometers today. We’re only 23km from Santiago now, so we’ll ride basically the whole rest of the way tomorrow except for actually arriving at the cathedral, then get up appallingly early on Tuesday to be in the plaza while horses are still allowed in.
Some of the photos I did take:
Lunch break
We saw the pilgrim markers constantly, of course, but couldn’t exactly get a selfie with one from the saddle!
“Torta de Santiago,” a dense almond cake
The flowerpot was on the windowsill at the stable where we (FINALLY) ended the day’s ride. Ringo was nosing it curiously. “Do not knock that down!” I said sternly. Two seconds later …
Day four was a short ride again, which was simultaneously a relief after day three’s seven-hour grind, and also a reminder that we were almost done. Before going to lunch, we left the horses stabled just a few kilometers from Santiago.
That night we stayed in the Gran Hotel de Abeto, a luxury hotel on the outskirts of Santiago, whose lobby contains this delightful mural.
On the morning of the last day, we got up, as anticipated, appallingly early (6:30 AM – it could have been worse!) and met up with the horses in a vacant lot outside Santiago as the sun was rising. (Spain is, of course, in a time zone that’s at least two hours later than makes sense for its geographic location – even in July the sun doesn’t rise until past seven.)
It was only a half hour or so ride to the cathedral plaza. Between Ringo’s ears:
All of us:
Me:
Farewell to my faithful mount:
At some point during the journey I calculated that I had spent as much time on Ringo’s back as I would have on one of my childhood lesson horses for six months of weekly lessons.
Laurie and I got a delightful surprise when the Rev. Anna Noon, newly appointed chaplain of the Anglican centre in Santiago, met us in the morning on the plaza. We had been in touch beforehand but hadn’t known she would actually be there for our grand arrival. Later that day, after a big celebratory breakfast back at our hotel, some touristing, and a much-needed nap, we collected our pilgrim certificates.
Then we met Anna at Santa Susana, the church where she welcomes pilgrims and conducts services.
The three of us, all women, all priests, celebrated the Eucharist together and shared the bread and wine.
To get thoroughly into the spiritual aspects of the pilgrimage for me would be a whole other, very long, post. But being an Anglican pilgrim, especially a female Anglican priest pilgrim, in a very Roman Catholic world can be a strange experience featuring a deeply divided consciousness, as you reckon with a religious establishment that simultaneously welcomes you and informs you that your fundamental identity is erroneous. Being able to worship together with Anna and Laurie at Santa Susana’s was a source of deep refreshment and gratitude.
And then we went out for dinner!
I had to have actual scallops at least once before leaving Santiago.
The next day, I boarded a bus back to Porto for the last ten days of my trip, already missing Ringo and being sad that just as I was getting used to spending five or more hours a day on horseback, I wasn’t doing that anymore!
If you’re interested in doing a portion of the Camino this way, I would strongly recommend booking directly with Caminos Galicia at caminodesantiagoacaballo.com (you can see their logo and website in some of my photos, on the sides of the trailers, and we also had a pilgrim shell sewn onto each of our saddle pads). Laurie, Tamara, Nick, and I had booked through a Scottish company called Walk the Camino, which was not a positive experience. Jesús, our guide, is the company owner of Caminos Galicia, and has been doing this for thirty years. Our trip was only five days but they will book much longer ones if you want to do the whole of the Camino Francés or one of the other routes.
Buen Camino, and happy riding!
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