Tag Archives: Hiking

Bran to Măgura – why is Day 1 always a Bastard?

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Sunday 21 September 2025 – The day’s main agenda item was the first hike of this trip. According to our information, it would be fairly short – 10km – and take four hours. I suppose I should have inferred from those data what the route would be like; under normal circumstances, Jane and I would be able to walk 10km in around two hours; on other walking trips, maybe three. But I was blissful in my ignorance.

Breakfast at Casa din Bran was slightly weird.  The menu consisted of just four items.

I opted for number 3, and Jane made the better choice of number 2. It wasn’t bad, just odd to our way of breakfast thinking.

Anyway, we deposited our bags at the hotel’s reception and set off on a gloriously sunny day with temperatures ideal for walking, in the upper teens Centigrade. I took a final photo of Bran, which is very picturesque,

and we turned off the main road to seek our path.  The light was perfect for a couple of shots of Bran Castle.

As we left, I noticed a cross, perched high on a rock. Thinking that we’d be headed in a different direction, I gave it no further thought as we headed to the start of our hike. We saw a couple of hikers preparing also for the start of their walk

and seeming to be spending some time on those preparations.  When we got to the same place, we found out why. It was fucking steep, that’s why. It was so steep that we attepted to convince ourselves that other paths might be the right one, but no; this was the official route.

It wasn’t hiking, it was fucking mountaineering.

I have never before had to make my way up a path this steep. As well as steep, it was reasonably treacherous underfoot at times, which added to the general feeling of being hard done by. After a short distance but a somewhat longer time, we emerged at a viewpoint.

That was the very cross that I’d decided we wouldn’t be going anywhere near. And very cross is how I felt that I hadn’t taken a photo to show you how tough the whole thing was. However, the view was pretty spectactular.

As we were about to move on, a group of four lads, probably early 20s, came storming up the path which had virtually reduced us to hands and knees; they had only a short time before meeting a guide (presumably at the castle) so didn’t venture further; quite apart from anything else they were wearing regular trainers, and one was in a knee brace! We took their photo for them and went on our way – oh to be young and fit.

I got a couple of pictures of the castle that are even more satisfying for having been the reward for hard labour

however, the pleasure of getting these photos soon evaporated as the hard labour continued.

The path we were taking, you’ll notice, was headed perpendicular to the contour lines, i.e. as steep as possible given the terrain.

It had been 40 minutes unmitigated toil to get to the castle viewpoint. A further 40 minutes of similarly unmitigated toil got us to another viewpoint

where we realised that we were up with the eagles.

The unmitigated toil continued

then relented for a short while

before continuing once more

for another 40 minutes or so, overtaken at one point by a couple of rank cheaters.

By now we’d been going for a couple of hours, and so passing a table and benches gave us a nice chance for a rest

and to admire the view.

As we were preparing to leave, a goup of four hikers came from the direction we were headed. They were British, and so we had a nice chat for a couple of minutes before we pressed on.

And on. And up. And up.

We eventually reached the high point (geographically, not emotionally) of the trek after four hours of more or less consistently remorseless uphill. We’d climbed 600 metres in 5km and we were knackered. The views were great, though.

We rested for half an hour or so before embarking on what we fondly believed would be the easier bit – getting back down.

Wrong again.

The start of the descent was so steep that I needed to use my walking poles to help me get down. I’ve never felt the need to use poles on a descent before. This was what we came down

before continuing a much less steep downhill towards Măgura. There was an electric fence in our way, but its owner had thoughtfully made it easy for hikers to pass.

One might be forgiven for thinking that the rest of the way down was easy, and I suppose that, comparatively, it was. But we were both very, very tired by this point, and the continued stress on knees and thighs meant that the rest of the hike was still quite hard work. There were wonderful views, of course,

and we saw some of the haystacks that might possibly have given old Vlad the idea.

It’s an indication of our state of mind – and body – that when we reached the “road” into Măgura

it was an actual relief to be walking a strada bianca. (You’ll remember, of course, how much we came to hate these when walking in Italy.)  Finally, we caught sight of Măgura,

with a pretty church on the left and our accommodation for the night on the right, which is also the main restaurant in Măgura, called, imaginatively, La Măgura.

We had a slightly chaotic reception there, as all the staff were busy serving Sunday lunch, but the proprietress showed us to our room, which had a balcony with a lovely view

and enabled us to get a Nice Cup Of Tea and a couple of cold beers, things that we both really needed by this point. The four-hour walk had taken us 6 hours, but I suppose we were grimly satisfied that we’d made it, albeit at a trudge for the last four of them. The tea and beer on the balcony was wonderful and after a short restorative kip we went down for some dinner, which gave us the chance to plan for the morrow. As seems normal on our walking excursions, the first day’s hiking was an utter bastard. What was due to come next?

Our official schedule had us trudging hiking to the neighbouring town of Zărnești, which is some 7km away and somewhat downhill from Măgura. The benighted souls who had organised the itinerary for us had, though, invented a route which was 15km long and involved another 600m ascent (and therefore a 900m descent). Looking at OutdoorActive, the app which we’re using to not get lost, we saw that this route was categorised as “Demanding”, whereas the stroll in the park we’d undergone today was “Moderate”. So there’s no fucking way we’ll be doing that, then.  There’s a perfectly good cheater’s route which covers that 7km with no uphill at all so you can bet your sweet bippy that this is the route we’ll be taking. The Clint Eastwood option: “A man should know his limitations”.

I hope I haven’t bored you with my ceaseless whining about how tough today has been; indeed, I hope you’ve been able to have a gentle laugh at our expense, and will thus be prepared to check in tomorrow to see how our cheating went.

Camino Finisterre Day 13: Walkin’ back to Santiago, whoop-ah, oh yeah, yeah*

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Tuesday 14 May 2024 – Whilst we had a reasonably comfortable stay, the Hotel Millan is not a place I would recommend; any better days it might once have seen are many, many days ago. So we weren’t tempted to linger after breakfast, and in any case the weather forecast made a prompt start seem a good idea; cloudy and showers were the order of the morning, with the prospect of rain in the afternoon.

We set off just after 0830 in light rain, retracing our steps to Santiago whence we started on May 2nd.  We passed sights that I don’t remember from that walk, such as this dovecote

and some that I do, such as the impressive gates to the Pazo de Albariña,

which is some kind of a historical landmark.

The weather stayed gloomy, with occasional light showers, so when we walked through Ponte Maceira I was glad that we had seen it at its best on the way out to Finisterre. Nonetheless, I took a couple of photos, because it is a lovely village.

After Ponte Maceira, there is a longish climb up to Carballo, which is the high point of the day’s walk. (Coming the other way, you’ll remember, it’s also the high point after The Steep Bit, a decent example of the sort of mandatory component that makes Day One of any walk a bastard.) On the return leg back to Santiago it’s not so steep, and the ascent not so much, but it still tested my energy levels and, frankly, found them wanting. So I used photography to give me the excuse for some short rests on the way up.  For example, there was a beautifully red horreo to be admired,

and some decent scenery

which held out the tantalising possibility that the rain would stop.

In Trasmonte, we had the courage to walk past the tempting Casa Pancho, as we hadn’t quite done the qualifying distance after which a coffee stop is permissible. I looked in at Trasmonte’s intriguing Fisterra Bovine World, where I got a chance at a better shot at one of their sheds.

This is apparently a two-year project whereby thirteen different bovine breeds from all over the world will be fed and raised under the Galician livestock system, using feed typical of the area based on native corn, to measure the effect of the Galician System on each breed. Crikey.

Trasmonte features some photogenic corners,

and just beyond the village we passed the high point, which is more or less marked by a fonte.

The path then goes down, as is not uncommon after high points, and, in the case of this path, it goes down quite steeply (had I already mentioned this, maybe?).

It’s interesting that Google describes this path as “mainly flat”. I’d hate to take on something that it describes as “a bit of a hill”. Whatever, as the sun was now shining more or less reliably, it made for some attractive scenes on the way down.  It is a damp environment, as can be seen from the vast amounts of moss which adorn, well, pretty much everything.

At the bottom is a café called Bar O km 79, where we stopped for refreshments. I think its name stems from the distance from the bar to Finisterre. Whatever, a coffee was a welcome thing, and it meant that we were under shelter as a small spattering of rain swept through.

We pressed on

and it became clear that we were running into a stream of peregrinos who had set out that morning from Santiago.

It never became crowded with pilgrims, but the oncoming flow was steady and constant for several kilometres.

We passed another unusual horreo as we walked on.

It’s been noticeable that, starting around Negreira, the principal construction of the horreos has gone from entirely stone-built to stone-and-wood. This is a stone-and-wood one, as you can see, but the unusual thing about it is its base; typical horreos are mounted on stone “toadstools”, which serve to keep the rats at bay; this one simply has stone pillars, but of course there’s the ledge in place to make it impossible for rats to get at the riches within.

After a few more kilometres we came to our second stop, a bar called Os Arcos.  Whilst we got ourselves outside beer and pizza, an amusing little cabaret played out before us, involving the delivery of large gas cylinders.  With a huge din, this van pulled up.

Its mission was to deliver two full cylinders and take away two empties.  It would have been cruel and ill-mannered to video the troubles the driver had in unshipping the bars which hold the cylinders in place, but it was funny to watch – and very noisy. It involved a lot of hitting things with spanners and other bits of metal before he could get the cylinders out. He correspondingly had trouble getting the bars back into place as well before he drove off.  This video (if played with sound up) will give you some idea of the cacophony which surrounded this little vignette.

After resuming our journey, we passed a tulip tree in full bloom (something Jane tells me I’ve seen before, but not that I remember)

and the sun came out enough to make the scenery worth taking photos of.

The last of those is taken from the ascending path just a few kilometres from Santiago. Once again, I found it really hard work, even though it wasn’t all that steep; but we were rewarded at the top with our first sight of the iconic towers of Santiago Cathedral.

Slightly further on, one gets an even better view

and I was pleased to be able to see it whilst the sun was shining, something it wasn’t doing on our outbound walk.

The cathedral continued to dominate local streets as we made our way through the outskirts

and soon enough we were in the Plaza del Obradoiro

and shortly thereafter back at our hotel, the massive San Martin Pinero monastery building.

We’d walked the complete final stage today, covered 21km, and arrived in the sunshine, which was a nice way to finish our Camino Finisterre. It’s not been a classic achievement for us like completing the Camino Francés was last year – the weather and my digestive issues had intervened to make it a bit of a disjointed experience – but we still had a quiet sense of satisfaction.

What do I think of this Camino? I think it’s worth doing for anyone who has not visited Muxia and/or Cape Finisterre, which are both attractive, charismatic places, but probably less so for people who have visited these before. We found the endless eucalyptus plantations, and their aftermath (blasted earth and chewed-up trails) a bit tedious and depressing; it’s a shame that people’s livings depend on planting and harvesting this invasive species. The poor weather we had in places took some of the gilt off the gingerbread, for sure, although there’s a case to say that this is our fault for not having industrial-strength waterproofs with us.

That said, we’ve stayed in some great places – As Pias in Olveiroa, Casa de Balea in Corcubión and the excellent Hotel Semaforo at Cape Finisterre come immediately to mind – and the trip has got us walking again after a period where it was too difficult to get out and about. Assuming that Vueling don’t cock things up and ruin our journey home, we’ve had a pleasant couple of weeks, which of course included visiting A Coruña and Lugo; and We Will Be Back – our plans include taking on the Camino Portugues. As and when we undertake this journey – and all the others, of course – you can rest assured that I’ll be writing about our travels in these pages.

Hasta la próxima!

 

* Sorry about the title. Anyone younger than me will probably never have heard of Helen Shapiro, a teen star in the early 60s with a big voice and a big hit called “Walkin’ Back To Happiness”, which I, of course, had on my brain for the whole of today’s walk.

Camino Finisterre Day 12: Flamin’ Rain In Spain – Again!

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Monday 13 May 2024 – We looked out of our Mazaricos hotel window this morning to a drearily familiar scene.

In a moment of madness which we’ll surely regret, we decided we would brave the conditions, despite the track record of this kind of weather in this area. After all, the last time we came here, we were forced into a taxi by weather that was the subject of a Yellow Alert for rain. No such alert was in place today, so surely it wouldn’t be that bad? Anyway, I’d be wearing special waterproof socks, so at least I should be OK, surely? [Hah! What about me? Ed]

As you’ll remember from your reading of my description of how we got here way back on Day 2, the Mazaricos hotel, Casa Jurjo (#3 below), is quite some way off the official Camino path, and it has a deal for peregrinos whereby it will collect them from, or deliver them to, the Camino (at #2) as part of an overnight stay.

On the way out, we’d only managed from #1 to #1a before getting waterlogged. Today, the idea was to walk all the way from #2 to #1, even though we knew it would rain.

Accordingly, after breakfast, a lad called Jorje dropped us off outside #2 (a bar called Casa Pepe), and we started along the Camino towards Negreira.

At first it was raining, but OK. We walked through the village of As Maroñas

and out into the countryside.

As we went, there was the usual fairly attenuated flow of peregrinos coming in the opposite direction, and rueful smiles were the order of the day accompanying the “Buen Camino” greetings (through increasingly gritted teeth) as we passed each other.

In the distance in the photo above, you can just made out a digger by the roadside.  Its job was clearly to maintain the roadside drains that were obviously well-needed with so much flamin’ rain falling from the sky.

We pressed on,

and the rain pressed down. It was also bloody windy, which made things a lot more unpleasant. As I said, there wasn’t a Yellow Alert for Rain in force, but there might just as well have been, as I’m buggered if I could distinguish between the user experience today and that of ten days ago.  We simply got wetter and wetter, and our resolve to continue walking fell lower and lower…

…until we passed #1a (Casa Vella) again

at which point we decided, exactly as before, that Enough Was Enough. The claims to waterprooficity of my vaunted waterproof socks turned out to be overblown and my feet were as sodden as the rest of us.  We called in again

and the delightful señora there once again made us coffee and whistled up a taxi for us.

This means that we have completed the Negreira – Mazaricos stage of this Camino, albeit not in one go and, indeed, not even in one direction. This leaves unwalked the 13km from #2 to #4, which is a shame. But this Camino hasn’t been about proving we can do mileage, which the Camino Francés was, partly, and did.  This was supposed to be enjoyable and having to walk in the pissing rain is not that.

A small vignette played out whilst we had coffee at Casa Vella, as a couple of other people were there, one of whom was evidently (a) English and (b) slightly embarrassed to have no euro cash with him in order to complete paying his dues.  He asked if we could spare €20, which he would send us online.  While I suspect he was legit, I was reluctant to start handing out bank details to a complete stranger in The Foreign, even if he was an English Gentleman.  As it turned out he had sterling cash (does this make him more of a gentleman or less, these days?), and so I gained a bit on the deal – he gave me £20 and I gave him my last €20 note, retaining the €50 I judged would be needed for the taxi.  We never caught his name, but he was a pleasant chap, despite the fact that he runs a podcast, and hails from Newcastle, not that you could tell from his accent.

Anyway, the taxi was warm and, importantly, dry and ferried us swiftly and cheaply (for just €15) to our hotel, the Hotel Millan in Negreira.  We were supposed originally to have returned to the Mesquita, but there had apparently been a cock-up and so we were in a different place for tonight.  Luckily, our room was available for us to move straight into, and so we dripped our way upstairs and started the process of drying ourselves out.  We have a lovely view over the hotel’s pool

but it’s not really the weather for a swim, somehow.

The hotel offered a lunch, which was decent enough and very good V for M. Afterwards, we hopped across the road to buy some newspapers, which are almost as good at telling one the news as tablets are, but infinitely better at sopping up moisture from the inside of sopping wet shoes.

The rest of the day was spent drying out, both by us and the weather, which was dry by the evening. According to Accuweather, we should expect a couple of showers tomorrow, but, assuming that our various tactics for wringing the moisture out of our gear work, it looks like we should be able to walk the remaining leg.  We’ll take another look at the weather tomorrow morning, obvs.

Lunch had been an opportunity for us to discuss our philosophical approach to completing this Camino. It would, of course, be infinitely more satisfying to arrive into Santiago on foot than to skulk in by taxi. But the course of the last couple of weeks has taught us a lot about the limitations of our waterproofs (fairly considerable) and our courage (easily swayed by the lure of practicalities and comfort). So we’ll see.  And so will you, should you come back to these pages to find out.