My Captivating Comaskey Camino

By Bernie Comaskey

Long threatening doesn’t always ‘come at last’ – but this one did! I finally got around to walking the Camino; or more precisely the last 116 kilometres of the 780km ‘French Way’.

My son Ian and I set out on foot from the Spanish town of Sarria at 0830 on Thursday 20 April. How we got to that point doesn’t matter and would take too long to tell you. We were just two of the many thousands who undertake to follow the pilgrimage of St James every year. Nor are we going to go into any detail of the history or glorification of the martyred saint. This story is nothing more than an account of El Comaskey Camino.

The first thing that impresses you as you set forth is the brilliant signage along the route. You just couldn’t go wrong… even me, with my terrible sense of direction.

We had coffee and toastado before leaving Sarria and then got stuck into an ‘agricultural breakfast’ about two hours into our hike. Coffee and food stops are not far apart and the prices are unbelievably low. As well as great value, we found all café owners and their staff to be extraordinarily friendly and helpful. It’s as if all are part of the special Camino experience – which of course they are.

This day was a day of sunshine and warmth; and that wasn’t only to do with the climate. The warmth and friendliness of everyone we met along the way spread great joy around us. People talked to each other; maybe only a sentence or two, or sometimes you walked with another for 10 or 15 minutes. We hadn’t gone far before we had engaged with several nationalities and many of our own. Some were prayerful and devout and these carried all their belongings in their backs. Ian and I didn’t do that, nor did we do the hostels. Like many others, we stayed in nice hotels and had our backpacks moved each day.

One Dutchman I talked to had started his walk at the French border and was walking for six weeks.

Parts of today’s walk was challenging enough. I am used to walking on the flat, so the inclines do take it out of my legs. Our walk today was 12 miles, on a lovely summer’s day, so we got into Portomarín at 2.30pm.

116 Kilometres is around 72 miles – so if it’s ok with the rest of you, we shall stick with miles.

This is a good time to mention the beauty of the countryside and the contrast between here and the south of Spain. Good agricultural land and the trees, foliage and grass similar to Ireland. Up and down the hills you could be tramping through Mayo or Sligo.

Like we said, everybody was doing the pilgrimage for different reasons. Everyone had a story; some told it all and with others you just guessed it from a sadness in the eye.

Before we reached the end at Santiago de Compostela, even those who started off feeling detached from religion and were there for the challenge or adventure, admitted to feeling a spiritual effect.

Day 2 and the son and I ventured forth from Portomarín to walk the 15 miles to Palas de Rei. Again, there was a fair bit of incline, but the effort was eased through meeting lovely people like Mick and Breda – representing Armagh and Monaghan; the Wexford girls and the Derry boys. Rain was forecast, but we got an hour and a half of dry walking before the heavens opened. It did clear before we breasted the tape late afternoon.

Our third day took us from Palas de Rei to the town of Arzua, a testing 20-mile walk. Ian and I were incredibly lucky with the weather. The forecast was dire; ‘Tormenta… tormenta’ (storm), but the rain fell before us and behind us, or when we were in a café!

Arzua is a lovely town, around the size of Moate, I would say. All the accommodation we stayed in was superb, but special kudos have to go out to the Arzua Hotel. We treated our aching muscles to a massage by a super masseur by the name of Santi. He is well worth a session if you are passing through there.

On Sunday morning, Ian and I headed off for the final lap to our destination. This was a marathon 26-mile hike. We lost many of our new friends at that point, as most would have made two legs out of this stretch. Ian had to fly back to Alicante on the Monday.

Rain was again forecast… and this time we got it! Mind you, we did get three hours dry marching before the downpour. It cleared again after about 20 miles. The fact that Westmeath were eight points up against Louth at half-time put a bounce in our step… only to have lead added to the shoes as the second half unfolded!

We finally made it to the Sandiago Apostolus Hotel, three miles our side of the cathedral and the tomb of St James. The plan was that we would do that final three miles the next morning.

I don’t ever remember enjoying a shower as much! I then lay on my back on the bed and slept for 20 minutes. On waking, I lay there for another while. The last three miles, yet to be done, were nagging me. I sent Ian a text to his room; ‘let’s finish the job’. He agreed and so we walked in (more slowly) and touched the cathedral.

Ian took off next morning, but I wasn’t done yet. I walked the three miles again and got the pilgrim’s Mass, on what would have been my mother’s 100th birthday.

So, there you have it. My Comino was one of the most satisfying and pleasurable things I have done in years. That Ian and I spent those few days in each other’s company, without any distractions, is something I shall forever cherish.

At Santiago Airport the evening before boarding for home, I again met up with some of those I had marched with. We said our goodbyes and all are already looking forward to doing it again. We’ll leave the last word to Michael from Roscommon: ‘The three words that I’ll remember the Camino for are people, people, people!’