We got up at silly o’clock (5am) to get ready for our ferry crossing to France. Thankfully due to jet lag, this was our natural wake up time anyway. And the sun is up then too.
A coffee, followed by a quick breakfast and we were on our way. It is an 8 km ride from Bournemouth to Poole where the ferry leaves from.
It had been really cold the last few days so I layered up in ALL of my clothes, and 5 minutes later I overheated and whipped them off again.
It was the first time we’d ridden our bikes fully loaded and it was so much harder than I’d remembered. We’ll definitely be taking it slow to start with.
We arrived at the ferry in plenty of time and we’re ushered into a fast queue for check-in. A couple in the car next to us we’re getting agro with the car in front. They kept telling them to hurry up as they were fed up with waiting for them. We couldn’t believe it. As if the car in front could make the check-in process go faster.
The ferry crossing was 4.5 hours and so calm. Thankfully I didn’t need to take a tablet.
We docked in Cherbourg and found our way to the town. We spent an hour there trying to find my cycle gloves. In the main square I emptied all my bags, tried to repack them but now my stuff wouldn’t go back in. Mike started getting grumpy at me so I shoved in in as best I could. Still couldn’t find them dammed gloves, and I’d packed two pairs of them!
It was a long uphill drag out of Cherbourg. I hadn’t realised how cycle unfit I had become. Meanwhile, Mike was zooming away from me.
It was mostly road riding for the day with a fair bit of traffic. The French drivers are very polite and patient though, sometimes sitting behind us for a few minutes before they think it’s safe to overtake.
After 24 kms we found a nice Municipal camp for just 10 Euros a night, close to the beach. We thought we’d prepared so well for our cycle tour. We’ve bought so much stuff, new tent, sleeping bags and mats, chairs even, but we forgot the most important thing. The one thing you’ll never find in French campsites, or quite possibly anywhere in France. That’s right … we forgot the toilet paper. Thankfully the nice man on reception gave us a roll. We now have happy bums!
Mike took a bit of time setting up our new tent while I quickly set up our chairs and sat and watched him. The sun was shining and it was quite warm, I was down to wearing a t- shirt.
We went for a walk and found the Atlantic Ocean. There would be a nice sunset tonight and we decided to walk back to watch it later. We then went in search of a restaurant or shop but there was nothing. So we resorted to a packet pasta which was really disgusting.
We were so tired after dinner we crawled into bed before dark, completely forgetting to capture the sunset.
The day after arriving in Bournemouth we headed to Poole to get our bikes from our storage unit to check if they needed any work done before our cycle tour. We decided to walk to stretch out our legs after having been sat on a plane for 24 hours the previous day. The walk is only 7.5 kms so it made sense.
After a quick tour around Poole Quay, we ventured to our garage, wondering what condition our bikes would be in. Mike inserted the key, and it didn’t open. Then we remembered they’d changed the locks on us a while back and we dug out the correct key.
The garage door opened with a theatrical groan, cobwebs dangling like candy floss, eight legged creatures lurking within. My fear of spiders meant there was no way I was going in there. I watched safely from a distance as Mike entered. He grabbed a broom, and brushed the cobwebs away.
I didn’t see any critters scattering, so I deemed it to safe to enter and followed him in. Our bikes were suspended from the ceiling and apart from flat tires, they seemed to be in good order.
Mike lifted them down and pumped up the tyres. I took mine for a ride to see if it still worked. The gear changes were smooth and the brakes worked. Maybe we don’t need to do anything to them.
We rifled through our stuff and found our panniers, and a few other surprises. We loaded them onto our bikes and cycled back to Bournemouth without any issues.
I’m getting a bit of an Amazon addiction. I ordered one thing and it signed me up for one month free Prime membership. I immediately cancelled the membership but the free month remained. So now, whenever I order anything, it arrives the same day. How remarkable is that? It’s actually just as well as the shops in England have very little stock in them. But it’s not an easy job to buy cycle shorts without trying them on first. I’ll have to make do with what I’ve ordered and hope I don’t get a sore bum.
Now to try and fit all of our stuff into our panniers.
On Saturday morning we woke up early and headed to the Frankton Pharmacy for our pre-departure covid tests. We’d been isolating for two weeks prior to this, so were confident we’d be fine. There was still that sliver of anticipation though, especially since I’d gotten a cold during our isolation.
The pre-departure test is a RAT test and it costs $49 each. They took us into a back room and watched while we performed the test on ourselves. Then we had to wait 15 minutes for a negative result, then another 15 minutes for the paper work. Thankfully all was good, and headed back home to get ready for departure.
Sister Jenny picked us up at 12.30, and we were at the airport by 2pm, six hours before our flight was due to depart. But, we’d rather be sitting around at the airport than at home twiddling our thumbs in a constant state of apprehension.
We arrived at the check-in counter and there were no other customers there, just us and one lady waiting to check us in. We’d been unable to check-in online due to the complex list of things we had to do before flying.
The lady said there was a problem with my British passport, there was no ESTA on it. An ESTA is an online visa for the USA. Mike definitely did this about a month ago, so we were worried why it wasn’t showing up. We showed her my NZ passport, and this did have an ESTA on it, although we thought the two passports were linked. No problem though, I’d just have to fly into the US with my kiwi passport and into the UK on my British one. We’ll see if it causes problems later on. I hope not.
We arrived at the lounge and settled into our seats with a view of the planes and the runway. It’s my first time flying without drinking alcohol so I was apprehensive as to how I would go. I went to the drinks bar in the lounge and there were loads of alcoholic beverages. Beer, wine, champagne, spirits, a few soft drinks. But I just wanted water. I hunted high and low, but no bottled water. Then I saw a queue of people and wondered what was so exciting to be queuing up for.
I followed the long line to the source of their interest and can you guess what it was? Coffee? No, the coffee counter was in a different place. Cocktails? No, those were served at the coffee place. You’ll probably never guess so I’m just going to tell you. They were lining up for the… wait for it … haha, I can feel your anticipation… It was…. You are not going to believe this… the water fountain! Unbelievable, hundreds of bottles of alcohol and one poxy water fountain to fill up from!
Anyway, I grabbed some egg sandwiches and a glass of water, grateful I wasn’t paying for the lounge experience (we got a free lounge pass due to having silver status).
While we waited for our flight, we watched a series we’ve been following on Prime, took a time lapse of the planes landing and taking off, had some venison stew and a yummy coffee. But nobody really wants to hear about that stuff.
We headed off to the gate, way to early, but the lounge had emptied out so we thought we better. As well as that, we’re travelling with carry-on luggage only, so the plane would have no problem leaving without us. I doubt they’d even bother to call our names. Anyway, we arrived at the gate and there were hundreds of people all crammed into one spot, waiting to board. Feeling claustropobic, I headed straight past them and waited at an adjacent gate that was empty. We were both a bit apprehensive about flying post pandemic.
Eventually we got on board, and all was good. We managed to get some sleep, and I had no urge to drink, so that was good. We landed at LA airport, and the immigration queue was the best I’d seen it in ages. We only had two hours to catch our connecting flight, and in the past we’ve spent two hours just getting through immigration. But Air New Zealand surely wouldn’t schedule a flight with an impossible connection time.
The man on immigration looked serious and without humour. I asked him to check my British passport for an esta, but he took my NZ passport and allowed me entry on that one. I said I needed to fly to the UK on my British passport and with a stern look on his face he said that I should get rid of one of my passports. He must’ve seen the look of horror on my face and he smiled and told me he was just joking. And with that, he went from scary man in immigration, to kind funny man you might like to take home to your mother.
We cleared immigration and floundered about trying to find out where to go. We were so glad we’d travelled with carry-on baggage only, otherwise we’d have had to go to baggage claim to collect our bags, then check them through again.
There was a reasonable queue through security before we got a chance to pile all our stuff onto the conveyer belt. All was good until Mike couldn’t find his bum bag. My immediate thought was someone had taken it by mistake. It took a while to track down a security staff member. I remembered bum-bags are called fanny packs in the US but I couldn’t bring myself to use that word, knowing it has a different meaning in NZ. He looked at me blankly when I said bum-bag, so I said it, the F word and he knew exactly what I was talking about.
He went off to look for our fanny pack and after a while he brought us two fanny packs, neither of which belonged to us. After a bit of waiting around, Mike finally got it back. All good.
LA airport was buzzing. Shops were open, people eating in restaurants, nobody wearing masks. It was a stark contrast to Auckland airport where all the shops were closed and the only people we saw were crowded at their gates.
Our next task was to find our gate number. Most airports have screens dotted around the place with the departure times and gates, but could we find them? No. And we looked everywhere! We flagged down an official who pointed up. We both looked in the direction he was pointing and there it was, a giant screen about 50 feet wide. Who would’ve thought to look up there!
We found our gate and sat in a quiet spot away from all the people. I checked our boarding passes to see if we had a window seat. Upon closer inspection, we had no seat numbers, just the letters GTE. I assumed this meant our seat would be allocated at the gate, but they hadn’t mentioned this at Auckland airport where our boarding passes were issued.
I went up to the gate and waited in line. While I was waiting, a sign glared at me. It basically said that they overbook flights and were saying you would get compensation if you gave up your seat. This was an ominous sign.
I handed over my boarding passes to the lady at the gate. She said, “You got through early, most people from your flight get held up through immigration and don’t make this flight.”
I was thanking the fact we had carry on luggage for our speedy check through process while she checked her computer. Then she said, “Premium economy is full. They overbook the flights as normally your flight doesn’t make it through.” Thanks Air New Zealand for telling us this.
“Ok, so what happens now.”
“I’ll check and see if anyone is volunteering their seats.”
I tapped my fingers on the counter as she made a phone call. She hung up. “No one is answering, I’ll try again in a minute.”
She continued to tap on her screen. “I can see there are some seats which have not yet been allocated. I’ll just see if it’s anyone from your flight. At this stage it’s a matter of first-in-first-served.”
Again, I thanked our foresight of bringing carry-on only. She picked up the phone again and this time someone answered and I listened to the one-sided conversation. I hadn’t realised I was holding my breath when she hung up and took two boarding passes off the printer. Are those for us? I asked myself.
They were. As she handed us the boarding passes, she said we got the last two seats. Phew.
The Virgin atlantic flight was ok, but nowhere near as good as AirNZ. Thankfully it was a shorter flight, but neither of us managed to sleep very well.
We landed at Heathrow airport at 9:40am half an hour early, had a speedy trip through the smart gates at Heathrow, and made our way through the underground maze to the central bus station. Our bus was booked for 12:45pm, but we were at the bus stop by 10.30am and were thankfully able to get the 11am bus. It took 3 hours to get to Bournemouth, but was a stress free way to travel and we’ll probably do this again in future.
Then it was just a 20 minute walk to Nick and Ems place. They were all our at Brownsea island for the day, so we let ourselves in, had a shower, then promptly fell asleep exhausted.
A crazy last minute idea from sister Lynda found us climbing Mt Te Aroha.
Our fitness had dwindled away over the winter months to be replaced by rolls of belly fat and wasting muscle. But still, that didn’t stop us from attempting to climb to the summit.
We started out quite fast, eager to get to the top. Five minutes in, my heart pounded and I thought I might faint.
“I’m going to stop and take lots of footage,” I said to Mike. Really, that was code speak for, I’m going to stop and take lots of rests.
Brother John, Nephew Quinn, and Sister Lynda had left us in their dust, striding their way to the top.
Many other day walkers overtook us, clearly thinking we would never make it. They were probably right.
About 45 minutes in, we made it to a viewpoint, where sister Lynda waited for us. The township of Te Aroha sprawled out below us, colourful roof tops dotting the Hauraki Plains. We munched on an egg sandwich whilst admiring the view.
“I’m not sure I’m going to make it to the top,” said Sister Lynda.
“Don’t worry, we don’t think we will either. I’m knackered already and we’re not even halfway!”
We decided to keep walking until we’d had enough.
Sister Lynda headed off, while we chatted to a few others that had stopped at the view point. None of them were continuing. This was the end of their day hike.
Mike and I headed off in silence. Without the other walkers around us, the bush was eerily silent, with only the occasional chirp of a bird.
I continued to take regular “camera shots” while we climbed our way up.
Then the path got steeper. I’ve found in the past that it is hard to slow yourself down, so I’ve learned a few tricks. I said to Mike. “Let’s walk for ten minutes and take a 30 second break.”
Thirty seconds later. “Scrap that. Let’s walk for 30 seconds and take a ten minute break.”
With our newly formed tactic, we struggled on.
A short while later we stumbled upon Lynda who was having a rest.
“I’m probably not going to go to the top,” she said.
“Don’t worry, nor are we. Why don’t we just walk until we’ve had enough?” I said.
Lynda agreed and we continued on, stopping to take many “camera shots.”
About two hours into the walk, we stopped for a decent sized lunch break. While we were sitting on a rock admiring the view, brother John texted to say that he and Quinn were at the top already. Wow, those two are machines!
We headed off again, still in an uphill direction. At this stage, nobody wanted to give up. Heck, we’d come this far, why would we?
I kept looking out for the tell-tale broadcasting tower but couldn’t see it, my frustration increasing not knowing how far we had to go.
We stopped again, but this time for a “Vlogging break.” I pulled out my GoPro and started rambling about something when Mike said, “Look in front of you.”
I turned, took two steps forward, and there in all its glory sitting proud upon the mountain was the Eiffel Towers ugly cousin.
Excitement bubbled out of my mouth. “That’s where we’re going Mike. Look! Look! That’s where we’re going. Look!”
“I know, I just told you that.”
From that point on we knew we would make it to the top. We scrambled over rocks, pulling ourselves up by tree roots, the occasional glimpse of the Hauraki Plains egging us on.
Then I stepped out of the bush and into a clearing, where the broadcasting tower loomed over me.
We’d made it and were rewarded with 360 degree views over the Hauraki Plains, Mt Ruapehu, and out to the ocean.
None of us wanted to scramble down the way we’d come up, so we decided to take the road route down. This was not a good idea.
Having seen that it was 1.5 hours back to the domain, we figured it would be a little longer via the road, maybe an extra 30 minutes?
After we’d been walking downhill for two hours, I wondered why we were still in the clouds. It seemed we still had a long way to go.
My calf muscles burned and my knee ached. I tried walking downhill backwards, but it was taking too long.
Jo: “Are we there yet?”
Mike: Silence. He was having his own personal battle behind me.
We caught up with sister Lynda and Quinn, and she said, “Do you want the good news or the bad news?’
“Gawd, we’re lost aren’t we!”
“No, that’s the good news. The bad news is there’s two more hours to go to get back to the Domain.”
“Arrrrgggghhhhh.” Actually, those weren’t my exact words, but we’re keeping this blog clean.
Had there been an option to call a cab, I definitely would have done it, but we pushed on, because we had to. I sang songs, something I always do when I’m struggling. That, and dreaming of an ice cold beer at the end.
But we made it. It took us seven hours, up and down, but we made it! And even though it was hard work, it was easier than some days we had on camino. Some of those days I was in so much agony I had to limp into camp. So, we must be fitter than we realised.
So, all in all, a great day out. Highly recommend it, but maybe come back down the same way.
This morning we got up early and walked to the airport. I can now say, apart from taxing on the runway, I have crossed Spain under my own steam (if that makes sense).
At the airport we met Indiana Jones and one of his harem, and Irish Dave was there too. Irish Dave was the guy who originally told us about Indiana and how he’d met a girl and was doing Camino twice.
Anyway, they were all on our flight to Gatwick today.
We arrived in Bournemouth safely and are currently drinking wine in the back yard.
See you tomorrow.
I’m seeing a pattern here. My phone and fleece are also orange:
Today started out like any other day. We got up, we walked, we stopped for breakfast, we met some “friends” we met weeks ago but keep bumping into them.
We saw Climate Change guy. I don’t think I’ve mentioned him, but we met him a week or so ago when he was sitting with Close Talker.
Climate Change guy goes around picking up people’s rubbish, kinda like a womble. We asked him what his climate change group does and he told us how they protested in London.
“Did that change anything,’ I asked.
“Yes, we stopped traffic in central London.”
“But… did it change anything?”
“Yes, they declared a climate emergency.”
Meanwhile the govt are like, “we need to get traffic moving, let’s tell them we’ll think about it.”
Still, good on the guy for doing something.
With all the masses heading to Santiago, I googled what all the fuss is about.
It’s all about St James (also known as St Jacque in France and St Iago in Spain. Sant Iago… get it?)
Anyway the story goes: St James was a disciple of Jesus, and he came to Spain to spread the word. When he went back home, King Herod chopped off his head.
So, his followers carted his remains back to Spain. Not knowing where to bury him, they let the Ox that was carting him decide. When the Ox lay down to rest the decision was made. Now a big cathedral sits there.
Anyway, you’re probably itching to hear about our last day.
We’d booked a hotel by the airport as it was a lot cheaper, so we checked in, had a shower and dropped off our bags. They had a free shuttle to take us into Santiago centre, but we thought we should walk it.
We arrived at the cathedral, had the obligatory photo shot, then wandered for a bit. As we wandered passed a bar, all this cheering came at us. It was some Germans we’ve been meeting on and off. So we stopped for a drink with them.
Then we went for some gelato, then we walked back to the hotel.
This morning we went down to breakfast and it smelled like a locker room. All the walkers from Sarria had not washed their clothes overnight. It stunk.
Good brekky though, fresh fruit, yoghurt, and heaps of other stuff. Oh, and of course there was cheese.
It was an easy 20km walk today. We started late and took it slow.
Not much to say. The people are still there. The wooded trails are still there.
We met a Chinese lady we saw in Astorga. I remember watching her walk and she looked so elegant. But she was carrying next to nothing. I assumed she was having her stuff transported, but she was carrying her towel and sleeping bag. It didn’t make sense.
Then we met her today, I told her we’d seen her in Astorga. She told us the airline had lost her bag on the way over and she’d had to buy new stuff. As a result, she decided she didn’t need a lot of stuff, and was travelling light. Super light.
Today was a big 30 km day in the heat. I had set the alarm for 5.30am to get an early start and avoid the crowds.
After two vending machine coffees and some yoghurt cereal stuff we bought the night before, we were out the door at 6.15am.
I thought we were mad, the sun wasn’t even up yet. Surely nobody else would be up this early.
We were surprised that the cafes were already open and people were queuing up for breakfast. Thankfully we’d had ours and we were still ahead of the rush.
As we left the town, I looked behind me, and about 60 people were following us. WTF?
Looks like every one had the same idea.
It was a nicer walk today, through forests and the countryside. We even managed to escape the crowds for a bit. I never thought the sound of our footsteps crunching on gravel could be so peaceful.
I’m not sure what it is about the Spanish people. They speak so loud and it is constant, like verbal diarrhoea. They never shut up. And the language sounds so ugly to me.
Perhaps I’m being harsh, but it’s such a contrast the the previous 30 days where most people were respectful of each other and their surroundings.
We were glad we’d left early as we’d done the first 15kms by 10.30am, before the heat. Unfortunately it heated up after that, and the final 15kms were hard work with no breeze and little shade.
I was hoping to finish the Camino pain free but the top of my foot has started hurting. I think it’s due to overuse.
We have realised we haven’t had a rest day since Burgos, over 550kms ago, and it’s starting to show in both of us.
Only two more days of walking until we reach Santiago. Before now the walk was about the journey, taking each day as it comes, taking our time with no destination in mind.
Now in the last week it’s become about the destination. We are so close to Santiago that it’s become a challenge to get there.
We are in Arzua tonight. A lot of people are limping, all of them having started in Sarria. It just goes to show, whether you’re walking 100kms or 800kms, it’s still hard work.
We’ve met a few people we know along the way, and they are still winging it with accommodation and are having no problem. I think if you don’t stay in the main towns, accommodation is no problem.
We met up with army guy again, the one walking with a broken foot. He’s picked up some pilgrims and were planning on walking 56 kms to 1aSantiago today.
We also found out he has five kids. So…he’s been in the army, got a degree, travelled for four years, and has five daughters. Did I mention he is only 28? Sounds legit to me.
Anyway, we had the most amazing pilgrim menu. The beef was oh so yummy and the best I’ve eaten yet. Hopefully the protein will repair our muscles for another day.
We had planned to get away early this morning but that didn’t happen. The hotel had free breakfast, but not until 7am, so it was 7.45 by the time we got away, along with all the hoards of people. We have finally found them.
The day was spent walking surrounded by a constant cackle; a cocophany of languages being spoken all around us. It was awful.
So I plugged in my headphones and tuned them all out and it was much better.
I can’t understand why so many people choose to do only the last 100kms to Santiago. If I only wanted to walk 100kms, I’d choose a different, quieter route.
Today I felt like I was part of a big herd of cattle or sheep, and it’s really not me. But we are so close to Santiago where our flight leaves from that I have no interest in catching a bus now.
So I guess we have to suck it up, bellow baaaa, and get on with it.
We have a big day tomorrow, so we’re going to leave early and hopefully avoid all the people.
