Day 25: Mondoñedo to Vilalba with no Rain

Last night,  the owner of the hostel brought me a thermos of coffee,  a gluten-free ham and cheese sandwich,  and some fruit since I was going to leave long before breakfast.  Wow.

All my clothes from yesterday's rain dried except for my hiking boots.  If I'd expected rain, I would have worn my sneakers which dry faster.

The significance is this: my day started with a choice of routes.  Climb a mountain on gravel paths or take a more paved route that's six kilometers longer.  Not wanting to spend the day in wet shoes (or climb the extra height), I opted for the extra distance. 

I still had to climb out of the town, but roads are faster. Here's the view of Mondoñedo from the heights as I left.

Yes, I ate the ham sandwich before six AM.

This is not a Roman Aqueduct.  This is the A8, a superhighway partially paid for by the European Union.  It runs across Northern Spain, and this Camino has been criss-crossing it since the beginning.   It's as if the engineers used the Camino's route as a template. 

At six AM, you couldn't hear the highway,  but I must tell you: it is really loud.  The small towns it runs by will never be the same.  I never appreciated noise pollution as much as I have spending three plus weeks in the forest. 

I crossed the A8 at least three times today. I lost count.

Can you see the windmills in this picture?  These were the first I saw at seven AM, but as I paralleled the ridge line they're on, more and more came into view.  They make noise too, like a far away airplane sound.

I was trying to finish two pages in the guide book today by going first to Abadín after this long detour,  and then to Vilalba,  where I am now.

The first half of the walk, including that extra six kilometers, went through no towns.  Tons of beautiful scenery and the occasional horreo,  but no human interaction. 

Bessie and I shared a quiet moment.  The rest of her little herd was grazing, but she was more interested in the road where I was walking,  beyond the boundary hedge.

I got to Abadín at 10 AM and had another cup of coffee.  I've gone at least two full days without a Spanish Omelet.  I check the guidebooks.  It's 21 more kilometers to Vilalba, and most of the route is on gravel. 

Those wet hiking boots hanging off my backpack drying would have been useful. I head out.  So far, I've only seen one pilgrim,  a young girl going the wrong way and swearing because she left something back in her albergue. 

Check this out.  Those are returnable bottles heading back to Coke and a beer company.   How sustainable.  (A blast from my childhood.)

The day is breezy,  overcast,  and cool.  My hoodie stays on until 11:30.  There's no rain. 

But I'm walking on a lot of gravel and I can feel it through the soles of my sneakers. It's getting tedious. 

At noon I decide to take a fruit break by this ancient Camino marker.  There were a lot of them on the road today. I sat just to the left of it in this photo.

As I was putting my pack back on, that Spanish girl sped by me.  I started walking,  but she was faster.  It's good to be young.  Then, I saw her looking at her phone in front of this sign:

She made a left turn and that was the last I saw of her.

I walked on and came to an old stone bridge where I met Jesús selling wood carvings. 

We ended up talking for more than 20 minutes (in Spanish). He was very articulate and opinionated.  We talked about today's election in Spain,  in which he refuses to vote because "they are all crooks."  I could have stayed much longer,  but I was on a mission. To get to Vilalba and out of these sneakers.

At 1:30, I'd had enough.  Who cares if the boots are damp? It's not like my socks are dry... I swapped shoes and immediately started walking 50% faster.

I finally passed two groups of pilgrims.  First was a group of young Spanish girls talking while music played.  Next were two more Spanish girls so engrossed in loud conversation that I could still hear them from 100 yards ahead.

That figures. When you get close to 100 kilometers from Santiago,  tons of young Spaniards show up to walk the minimum distance required to be awarded a Compostela for completing the walk.  Here, it's a resume builder.  The nature of the walk is going to change for these last few days.

I got to Vilalba just after 3 PM.  So far, it's one of the least nice towns I've walked through with a lot of boarded up spaces.

Today's walk was over 37 kilometers.  The bottoms of my feet are bruised... Tomorrow,  I'll walk another 33 kilometers to a place called Miraz where I'll be staying at an albergue run by British volunteers. That should be interesting. 

I'll let you know.

Day 24: It Always Rains in Galicia

I awoke before the alarm and was out of Casa Domingo before six. Wow, did I pick well.  The only part missing was the shower scene. 

That's where I spent the night... It was really dark out, and it seemed to be staying dark longer.  I ascribed it to the fact that I'd been at this for three weeks as the days shortened and had traveled significantly Westward.  I should have checked the weather forecast. 

The day started out beautifully enough. 

I knew that there would be some heights to climb on today's hike, but these slopes seemed to go on and on. Just before seven AM, I remembered that the Buen Camino map could show the route in profile, so I could see how much climbing was left. 

Damn! I'd barely scratched the surface!  I hadn't had much to eat since the prior afternoon,  and of course, no coffee.   I felt sluggish climbing.

But, the views were awesome. 

I was stopping about every ten minutes to catch the views looking down at the clouds.

There had to be a town with coffee in my future.  

After 9, heading downhill outside a town named San Xusto (the Galicians love their x's), I met a pilgrim going in the opposite direction. He wished me "Buen Camino", and I noticed he was wearing a scallop shell, the symbol of the Camino de Santiago.   I asked him if he was heading home.  The response surprised me.

"I'm going to Rome, then Jerusalem."  In the middle ages, those were the big three pilgrimages.   He'd been on the road for 65 days, having started in Valencia.  He'd also been doing this for a few years, and everything he owned was in his backpack. 

Thoroughly impressed,  I asked an insightful follow up question:  "Is there a bar in this next town?"  He said it hadn't opened yet.  A townswoman passing said that it should be open daily at nine. I held my breath.

There it was! It was 20 after 9. I dropped my backpack,  and was met by the lady working the counter.  "Please wait", she said. For the next ten minutes, I cooled my jets outside, while she did all kinds of stuff.  Finally,  at 9:30:

As I sat under the overhang on that porch, it started to rain. I sat there for a half hour making arrangements for places to stay the next two nights, and it continued to rain the whole time.

I got up to leave during a lull, but within a minute,  out came the hideous blue poncho.

Now that I'd had coffee, I was springing up the slopes.  I felt like Popeye after a can of spinach.  It was pretty funny. 

It would rain for the rest of my walk.

Taking pictures wasn't as spontaneous as before.  On this Camino,  my phone had acted weird in the rain. Programs would open by themselves,  the fingerprint sensor became useless, and the worst was when water got into the charging port. 

I continued walking,  glad I'd shaved ten kilometers off today's effort.  If there were no impediments,  I might make it to my objective, Mondoñedo,  by 1 PM.

Let's talk about corn cribs, known as horreos.  You saw the photos of the big square ones in Asturias.  In Galicia,  they're a different shape, rectangular. I tried to capture the perfect one.

Well, you get the picture. 

An hour after that coffee,  at 11 AM, I got to the town of Lourenzá,  the end of the recommended day 29 itinerary in the book.

It's a sizeable town with plenty of places to stay and an impressive church in the main square. But I was wet and not thirsty.  My objective was less than two hours away.

I made it to Mondoñedo just after 1, and was shown to my room in a hostel.  With a private bath... I showered and washed my clothes in the sink. Let's hope they dry in this humidity.   Then I went out to lunch nearby.

Chipirones a la plancha, grilled young squid.  Galicia is the rainy Atlantic northwest of Spain,  like Seattle.   A lot of the fishing fleets are based here.  The seafood is awesome. 

Oh, and Mondoñedo has a cool cathedral from the 13th century. 

I got my pilgrim credential stamped there.

There's a reason I opted to cut ten kilometers off tomorrow.   Look how it starts: 

I'm not psyched. I've got this planned out so there are five more days to Santiago, 150 kilometers. 

Update on Tina: she's getting better, but not well enough to meet me tomorrow in Vilalba.  She's going to fly to Santiago on the 26th, our 37th wedding anniversary,  and she'll be there to meet me, hopefully the next day.

As a bonus,  the honeymooners, my son Chris and his wife Laura,  will be there too.  (Tina and I were supposed to be arriving together. They were planning to meet us.)

Tune in tomorrow to see what happens,  and please pray for no more rain!

Day 23: La Caridad to San Vicente, another 31 Km.

I promised I'd stay in an albergue,  and this was a nice one, but you can't fix the other guests... I was thinking about it, and in Spain,  there's no concept of an "indoor voice".  They grow being a part of large social gatherings both indoors and out.  They project. Needless to say, the place was loud and sleeping was a challenge. 

Plus,  it doesn't matter where you are, somebody always shuts the windows and turns the dormitory into a sauna. Always!

I snuck out at 6 AM through the back door, and headed out of the little town of La Caridad.

The town church, lit up,  at 6 AM.

The path went through town and very soon changed to one of those narrow rocky paths through the woods.  Thank goodness for my headlamp. 

In the distance,  large sounding dogs started barking.   "They must have some really good hearing," I thought.  The barking got closer and closer.  (Here, it bears saying that I don't like dogs...) Finally,  I held my hiking poles up and whacked them together as menacingly as I could.  They made a funny sound.  The barking dogs came no closer.  (There may have been a  fence between us, unseen in the dark...)

I come out of the woods, and snapped this photo:

My left hiking pole feels weird.  I look at it with the headlamp.   I cracked all the carbon fiber successfully fending off that vicious, fenced in dog!  I guess that's why you can't make submarines out of this stuff.

I shortened that pole by ten centimeters,  hiding the broken part.  I now have two different sized poles but they work.

The roads were largely paved and ran behind people's houses or through fields.  It was brisk walking.  I came across this effigy in someone's yard:

It's a scarecrow,  dressed a knight of Saint James, with a sign over its head that says "Buen Camino!" I can't help it, but I got really choked up.

This walk, the Camino,  is really special.  It's hard. It tests you.  Yesterday,  Fran and Nuria said that they felt  a change in themselves after only two days.

It's made more special by how many strangers wish you "Buen Camino!" Old men, little kids on bikes, ladies jogging, construction workers... Out of pure kindness,  they wish you well on your journey. Enough said.

A half hour after that last photo, I was on the coastline, working my way towards the town of Tapia de Casariego.

Beautiful rocky coastline and beaches.

I get to the town, it's 8:30, and I've walked 10 kilometers,  half of what the book prescribed for the day. My reward? 

Pretty predictable... If I could eat gluten,  that would be a chocolate croissant,  hands down.

At this point, I'm thinking,  I should make Ribadeo by 11:30, and that's where my English friends are going to end today.  Let's see if there's anything left in the tank and if I can cut some mileage off tomorrow's tough plan.  I walk on.

My final two hours walking through Asturias are beautiful. 

What a beautiful part of the world!  I need to come back.  And the weather has been stunning, with highs in the 70's.   What's not to love?

I approach the river separating Asturias from the last province on this walk, Galicia, right on time.  Why am I making such good time?  First, the roads are paved and relatively flat.  Second,  after three weeks of constant walking,  you become like a machine. 

Ribadeo,  the first city in Galicia on this walk, as viewed before walking over the Puente de Santos.   This is supposed to be the last stop of day 28, according to the guidebooks. 

I walked to the main square at 11:30, sat in an outdoor cafe, and ordered a coke.  I looked in the guidebooks,  and there were two small places to stay in two towns, 7 and 10 kilometers down the road. The closer one had a reputation for closing with no notice.   I called the other.  No answer. 

This new process of winging it takes some getting used to.

I get on the web and find a second number and dial it.  It's the right place.  Of course, I can stay the night!

I start walking uphill out of the city.  Say goodbye to the water views for a while.

This a panoramic shot from above Ribadeo.  That's the sea on the left and the Ribadeo River on the right.

Galicia is beautiful too. I saw this scene and I wished I was an oil painter:

This Northern part of Spain is called Green Spain for good reason.  Look at these views. 

One thing to like about Galicia on the first day is the clear, consistent  waymarking. 

These posts appear every few hundred meters and by every possibly ambiguous intersection.   It's wonderful!  This will save battery life on my phone as I cut back on using the app. They also say how much further you have to go! 

It's 1:38 PM, and I reach my destination,  Casa Domingo.

I walk into the bar and there's the owner and a delivery man having a beer.  I tell the owner who I am and he shows me to my room before doing paperwork.  That's fine. I'm hot and pretty rank after over seven hours of walking. 

Come and have lunch.

No menu. I explain the gluten problem, and it turns out that his daughter has celiac disease.   (There is such an awareness here. It's amazing.)  I essentially am given what I can eat.

Caldo Gallego, a very typical regional soup with potatoes and kale. 

A ton of baked chicken with fried potatoes.   Some local Ribeiro white wine, water, and flan.  I can pay for everything at eight o'clock tonight. 

That's different. 

I do my laundry in the bathroom sink.  If you happen to be driving by today, that's my stuff outside on the street.

So that's the update.  The waymarkers say that there are 180 kilometers to go.  Tomorrow's plan is to walk to someplace named Moldoñedo. Thanks to this extra push, it should be only about 26 kilometers but with elevation. 

I'll tell you how it works out.

Day 22: I finally try winging it.

You may remember my whining about how this Northern Camino wasn't spontaneous enough.  Well,  I decided to do something about it.

Okay, I confess.  The reason I didn't leave the hotel until 7:15 this morning wasn't because I slept in or anything. I was examining my itinerary and the guidebooks to try to come up with concrete times to get together with Tina. Sounds very Type A, I know.

But, when I left the hotel,  I had no reservations for where I would spend the night.  In fact, the actual town was up for grabs.  That's progress. 

So I walk a block from the hotel and for the life of me, I can't find the Camino.  Finally,  two young Spanish kids walked up a clearly marked street, and I followed them.  The street scaled the heights that surround the harbor city of Luarca,  and allowed me to take this shot:

Once we crested the heights,  we were on flat, straight roads that extended into the countryside.  I started talking with the two.  They were Fran, age 21, and Nuria,  age 19, from Barcelona.  This was the beginning of the third day of their first Camino.  They had lots of questions. 

Cool conversation as we were learning each others names.  They ask me my last names (Spaniards have two). I answer "Francisco Rodriguez Galvez". Without skipping a beat, Fran says "Galvez? That's from the South, like Grenada or Almería." I confirmed that we are indeed from Almería.   Who knew that your name could give you away like that?

They also walked fast,  which I liked. I thought I was going to zip past them, but we spent three hours together. And we were jonesing for coffee and breakfast.  Nothing was open in Luarca at 7:15.

About an hour into this, we come across another Spaniard, Luis, from Zaragoza, sitting on a rock, smoking a cigarette.  Like a line from the movies, he says in Spanish "What does a guy have to do to get a cup of coffee around here?"

See? It's not just me.  The three of us walked for two hours all we talked about was café con leche.

We were getting obsessed.   It was after 10 and over 13 kilometers from Luarca when we found a café in the town of Villapedre.   I ordered the largest slice of Spanish Omelet ever sold. 

Slightly embarrassed by how much I'd just eaten,  I begged my leave and said that I'd see them on the road. I had some calories to burn.

The original plan was to have a short day, 20 kilometers, ending in the city of Navia.  My traveling companions from yesterday were going to stop there, and it was likely that good times would ensue. (Plus Dave owes me a few beers...)

Navia.

But I got to Navia by Noon, and that's just too early to call things quits. I stopped for a Coke and pulled out the guidebooks.  The town of La Caridad was ten kilometers further up the road.

I called an albergue there.  They said I had to book on the web.  I filled out a form. I got no response.   I said "the heck with it. I'm walking there anyway."  Really.

I can't tell you how many times I checked my emails over the next two hours.

See a cow getting milked? Check email.

Walk through a corn field? Check email.

Need to walk past a cool looking church with the sea in the background?  Check email.

Finally,  after 2 PM, I got two emails and a missed phone call. (Okay, so maybe I made a pest of myself...)

I got to the albergue before 2:30,  and it's really nice. I think it has 15 beds total.  I was the first to arrive.  I got the first shower,  did laundry before anyone else arrived, and left for lunch just as the next pilgrim was arriving. 

At lunch, I saw Fran, Nuria,  and Luis. Now they're in the bunk beds above me.  Romina, the Ukrainian lady from day 19 is here as are others I recognize.   That's the Camino. Oh, and the albergue is fully booked. 

Since tomorrow's only scheduled to be 21 km, I'm thinking of doing what I did today, tacking on an extra town to shorten future days, some of which are earmarked to be really long.

Today's total was 30.65 kilometers.  We've covered 624 kilometers and there are 211 more to go to Santiago. 

I'll let you know what happens.