And so, home from the Barrow Way. At the end, a visit to the local cemetery informs visitors that two saints are honoured each year: St Mullin and St James…
While it has still a long distance to go, it ends in the southern tip of the country, but I can imagine that it might well have served as a Pilgrim Route. Let those with knowledge speak up!
St. Mullins is the end point of the path, as from there the river widens out on its onward trip to the sea. We walked for seven days, although the last two were very short, and we retraced our steps on the final day. There is no public transport from the end point, and by retracing our steps for 8km we reached a village from where the local bus runs to Kilkenny. There, options exist for onward travel by bus or train.
The way was a blessing. For the first two days, the waters of the canal were so still and calming. Some tarmac, but by the second day much less. From then on, the River Barrow shared itself with the Grand Canal, from time to time giving way to the locks, and we saw some tourist barges and kayaks along the way. Our other companions: birds, butterflies, otters, ladybirds, occasional local walkers with dogs, one pair of women in training for beginning their Camino on September 8th. It rained, yes, but it was not wet rain really!
My personal learning concerns my new walking method. After three caminos, and millions of steps, I now know that I was doing it all wrong! That gave me ginormous blisters. On day three, I copied my walking companion’s gait, and lo and behold! Whoopee! Heel down, toes spread, heels down, toes spread… In some things I am a very slow learner. Then, the walking poles! I finally got it. The straps are there to cradle the wrists, so the poles can be used to help spring forward rather than be used as supports to drag the body forward. A poor description, but the transformation in how the poles actually supported me was a pure delight! Dave Bugg’s words of advice accompanied me along the way. Thanks, Dave.
There were no challenges for those who like Picos de Europa, or Alto de Perdón, or any other hills you can think of. Flat. Flat. Flat. Nowhere else to be but where you are. A totally different infrastructure to any of the Caminos in Spain and Portugal and France, and more costly because of that. However, for anyone who can carry a tent, it could be done at minimum cost. It was a blessing and we will be accompanied for many months to come by the silent beauty that flowed and lapped along at our side, and formed the framework of the memories we will dip into during the year. In sum, a gift of time to walk almost at a snail’s pace, to look, listen, breathe, be thankful, apply willpower, and feel the brand new legs and feet every morning. I am thankful.
And now, a few photos:
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drooling
joke only
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