The mushrooms are back again!

After lunch, once again in a bit of a rush, I arrived to the coach station to set foot on folk music... again! It had been a while since I last danced and being back again to the folky circuit feels tremendously well, like a warmth cosy feeling over myself. Funny enough, was the fact that I found a friend, on the same coach, heading to Skint as well ^^

Her name is Cassandre, with whom I experienced the first french folk gig in London, at SOAS. In between catching up with each other, reading and sleeping the journey was, despite exhausting, very light to carry with.

Once we left, an escort was waiting for us! Nahhh, just kidding. We happened to arrive at the same time as other people and Ella drove us to the centre of the return of the mushrooms to Skint! A whole 2 days and a little more hours of music, dancing and good fun of french, english and scandinavian folk!

Next morning, still half awake, I open the curtain that separate the main hall to the stage, now served for some of the people to sleep in - other were in other divisions of the Hall and a few more moved instead to a Village, just to see the end of a Ioga session, while some other were still happily devouring the amazing breakfast, courtesy of the best festival cookers: the Vaughan's!

Oh, how can one describe their food? Imagine the best dish you've ever ate at a festival and multiply it by one hundred... and you'll get way behind what their food tastes like.

I can for sure and a lot of people will stand by me when I say that Skint without them wouldn't be the same thing :)

With the help of a few volunteers, all sorts of aspects of the festival were handled with no major issues: from making sure all the rooms are ready to hold the sessions and breaks to making the food ready to the hands of the chefs, everything is done with the most joy and love, making it an essencial ingredient of this gathering.

Clothes here, mattresses there, bags and instruments over there, every corner had some element of presence, memory and suspense. And the certainty of this are the sounds that dance throughout the building. Either it be music, or just conversation, the whole Hall is lively and merry, for everyone's reason to be there is the communion, and Folk! 

A little before lunch time, I set out with Amy to go for a walk and see what Ashover had to show us. We carried along the football field, jumped over the fallen wall and went down the road that led to the village's church. There, we found a very friendly fella who told us, right after Amy opened the door of the church "I'm sorry, but there's a weeding being held there now" to which we stepped back, thanked them and asked for a way to get over the hill. "Turn right after the church, follow the path over the tiny bridge and you'll face a upward muddy road that shall take you over the top of the hill. If you carry on that path, you can manage to get down again and be on the nearest village from here."

Following his instructions, we saw the road becoming more and more forestry, muddier and more like what I was expecting to see. The wind was whispering the coming of the winter but the sun still is strong enough for us to feel it embracing us.

After a while discovering around, we felt like going back and have a proper lunch; our bellies were shouting the same. It is wonderful to have moments like these, when the simple act of walking outside your frontyard proppel you to unknown lands, might they be as close as the hill you see from the windows of your house. The distance and toughness of the achievement do not have a thing to do here. What matters the most is how joyfulness of what you do. And if you enjoy what you do, the day seems to go right on the spot, like this whole festival felt to me.

And for now, we stay here.

Looking for Spain - The last journey

The next morning was dedicated to look around to some of very interesting things that Coruña has. One of those is probably the most ancient, still working lighthouse in the whole world: Hercule's Tower. Unfortunately, after a restoration, I look at the tower and feel like it lost part of its history. Not saying that the Tower is bad, that is not where I want to get. I'm just stating that, by looking at this reconstructed tower, built on 2 century A.D., all polished and even re-designed, I feel like the stories of such ancient lighthouse were somehow lost with its legends. The story, that gets engraved in their walls, like scars in our bodies, are covered to make you look at something that is not Hercule's Tower anymore but something brand new; a whole new Tower, not Hercule's anymore...

Anyhow, it felt funny to go inside such old foundations and having to walk all the way up, to the balcony, imagining how could it have been to see, through the same balcony, fleets of ships, sailing to distant lands; guiding the course of incoming boats, through the misty, tempestuous night to get to shore; and the way this same place around looked like before… how many more rivers did it had? how few houses, and how much landscape... it seems that some views over the tower still look like unchanged, apart from a little path leading to the very edge of the hill, leading to a solar watch, gaining control over the time, without the need of a wrist to hold such weight.

Because of some arguments we had with the GPS to see a prime spot at Bilbao, I managed to persuade all to go to the hill over Coruña, to have a grasp over the city and the surrounding sea, and enjoy of the comfort of the grass, the freshness of the wind, the smoothness of the clouds and the happiness of a very nice time.

But yet we had to move on, like gaining conscience of becoming close and closer from your home; this sense of feeling that we are more than half way through. That home is nearer.

Anyhow, we carried on. Towards the end of the world, it was. It's name, Finisterre, literally says the end of the world. And it was believed that Finisterre was associated with the edge of the world, according to Pre-Christian beliefs. Also, it is a very special location for pilgrims, for it is the place where, after the pilgrimage, there is this sense of re-birth and the place where one physically burns his one-self. Such place as Finisterre.

Being no pilgrims nor rubber tramps, although apparently making similar routes with them, we journeyed on, back to Santiago de Compostela, to see the wonder that the city brings to the people from there. As we got in, after the middle of the day and walked about, what I felt about the city, despite all its beauty and history and sublimeness was the reason why people go to Santiago. More than half of the people we where crossing paths with or along where there because of the cathedral; because of the pilgrimage; because of their beliefs. The epicentre of the city was the cathedral and, the larger amount of people were gathered around it. The mass was still on so what we saw could not be photographed, for respect over the ones praying inside.

We all knew that this was gonna be our last day. That after this day we would get to the comfort of our house but yet so many places were kept away from us... so much more we could have seen...! And yet, we were still moving on; this time towards the beautiful city of Vigo, following the increasingly descending trajectory of the sun.

Arriving in Vigo was somehow like arriving at Porto. So many similarities between both cities, despite the divergences on the landscape. What I am trying to say is that the ambience of the city is very alike Porto's, which can kind of enhance this amiableness that we often see between the north of Portugal and the very North West of Spain.

Adding to that, there was an event being held in Vigo at that time. It was sponsored by Red Bull and everyone was able to use the platforms and toys they had in display for the one that felt like doing it, could give it a go. This gathering made the city so much alive, with music dancing around the long avenues near the river, the massive amounts of people gathered around the rings where one could see break dancers performing many times better than what you usually would, many kids trying to do and learn some new tricks on the boards and a crowd, happy and pleased to be able to see such event.

But more intense and beautiful to witness was not the event being held, but the view of Vigo. The light had been going down beautifully and it was promising to be astonishing; One great enough to be remembered for days to come! Hence, at the established time, I set out and started doing this panorama, telling a small tale of a city, that being covered with darkness of the night, gets illuminated, and clouds change their colour to that of fire, while the rest of them are slowly, step by step darkened more and more until we see them no more and all that's left is of the city.

After a well deserved dinner, as farewelling such great journey, we set course to the warmth of our house, where we would get in about 3 hours, from Vigo.

We were tired, grumpy and not willing to store all we had brought with us. We hence went to bed and left the next day to rest and start establishing to the new pace, for as little as possible, before the very next travel of Eoin.

And for now, we stay here.