Today is the longest day at 19.5 miles, and walking in the afternoon heat is draining. So my alarm is set for 06.30 with the intention of setting off as soon as humanly possible after the 7am breakfast
So a quick breakfast, as illustrated, with the addition of black coffee and the banana held back for later
And then out into the dark streets at 07.15, sunrise won't be for another hour
But, as ever, there is a constant stream of pilgrims on the road. And, as ever, it's an uphill start
After half a mile or so the streetlights give out, and it is properly dark but still enough to just follow the track. This truck is picking up timber from the side of the road before the trickle of walkers becomes a flood. It is also raining, I can hear the drips on the tree leaves but strangely very few seem to make it to ground level
The pre-dawn light reveals a very pleasant and forested landscape
Passing a cemetery. There are a lot of cemeteries on the route, and I'm not sure if this is related to the pilgrimage route or just chance. Pause here to eat my breakfast banana
The rising sun struggles to burn through the morning mist and cloud
and then, very suddenly, God flicks a big switch and the world is bathed in light
Cloud stubbornly remains in the lower lying land, creating a magically uplifting scene
There are a few miles spent plodding along a rather busy road, before turning off onto a forest track
Here I encounter a rather tired looking walking stick, with a written request to be taken to Santiago. I like the idea of a cooperative effort, and decide to take the stick part of the way and then leave for others to carry forward
Just after this we encounter a very attractive cafe for tea and coffee and another stamp in our passports
The countryside today feels more remote and peaceful than on the first two days. The sound of the motorway, previously never far away, has disappeared, replaced by the singing of robins and wrens
Lunch is in a small roadside cafe in the village of Travesas. Huge bocadillos washed down with lashings of iced lemon tea
As ever the afternoon is characterised by plodding along tracks and quiet roads. This is of course alleviated by the quality of the scenery. Approaching the small hamlet of Bruma we are supprised to see a woman running down the road in the midday heat. We surmise that she is hoping to secure accommodation in one of the hostels there. We learn that these are full, or nearly full, and it will be some distance to the next one. With the hostels opening at 1pm, suddenly people's pre-dawn starts begins to make sense: to secure a bed a reasonable distance from your starting point. It also means that your walking day finishes relatively early, and you spend most of the afternoon and evening socialising with your fellow walkers. Depending on the company you find yourself in this could be wonderful or begin to be tiring
I leave my stick at the 40km to go waymarked. Someone else's responsibility now
The highlight of the afternoon has to be the much anticipated Galicia Sculpture Park. This is attached to a small bar where, with less than 4 miles left to walk, I calculate it is safe to indulge in an early beer
And so we plod our hot and weary way, on hot tarmac. In a change from previous day's finishes we turn off the road near the end to finish by walking through delightful forest glades, the sunlight playing through the green leaves
We are staying at Dona Maria Casa Rural, and it is the most delightful and homely place so far.
In the garden is what we learn is an horreo, a traditional grain store. Apparently the bigger your horreo the more acres and the bigger a harvest you must have. So a traditional status symbol, you can demolish and rebuild your house, but you are obliged under local rules to maintain your horreo in it's original state
We head to the Bar Novio, conveniently situated across the road for beer and food
Robins and wrens. Sounds like you know your birdsongs! Or is that Merlin talking?
ReplyDeleteLove the stick story. Have you met any interesting fellow pilgrims? Perhaps made a new friend?
Today we met an American pilgrim pulling along his rucksack on a trolley attached to a waist harness. We meet him later retracing his steps, searching for his lost phone. Having lost my phone on a walking trip I can sympathise so get him to call his own number. His phone is off so diverted to VM. He is v much into the traditional experience, so has started in A Oruna where the English pilgrims came off their boats. He will then return to Ferrol to walk our route to qualify for his Compostela. We encounter him later, and he had found his phone at the last hostel he had called in at
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