Colville on the Camino

After a good night’s rest, I got ready to leave the albergue at 7.45. Before leaving, 2 of the hospitaleros were lined up to give us each a hug and a handshake, and to wish us a Buen Camino, which was a lovely touch.

I headed back into town in the light rain to find somewhere for breakfast. Over breakfast (and afterwards), I bumped into the Kentucky colonels and another American I met in Hornillos (after my first day’s walking) as well as a Canadian lady I met at Carrion de los Condes (and subsequently). It was lovely to catch up and to hear how they were each doing.

My next task was to cross the Pons Ferrata, and find an outdoor shop in the newer side of town, in order to buy some new ferrules for my trekking poles. If you’ve not met a ferrule before, it can be all manner of (usually metal) fastenings eg. the metal collar which holds the brush hairs onto a paintbrush. In my particular context, I needed new rubbery feet for my poles. The existing ones had worn through to the extent that the metal tips were now making a racket on any hard surface.

The first outdoor shop I tried, no one spoke English but with some pointing I communicated what I wanted and I understood they sold whole poles but not replacement feet. My second attempt was to try Ponferrada’s branch of Decathlon, who had exactly what I needed, but was a little further out from the town centre.

New ferrules fitted, my next destination was Ponferrada’s estación del autobús, to catch the 1200 Alsa bus towards A Coruña (where General Sir John Moore received his fatal injuries - see my second post on Astorga). I was only planning to take this bus as far as Pedrafita do Cebreiro, about 40 mins away, from where I planned to catch a different bus to Triacastela.

Once at Pedrafita, and just over the border into the Autonomous Community of Galicia, I had a couple of hours until the next bus and it was lunch time. I had a delicious lunch of a Sandwich Mixte (Spanish Croque-monsieur) con patatas bravas at Pedrafita. It rained hard whilst I was sheltering in the bar for lunch.

About 15 mins before my second bus was due, I walked back to what seemed to be the single bus stop, which had a substantial concrete shelter and space for buses to pull off the road. There was already a bus in the layby from Monbus - the bus company I was expecting - but the driver was eating his lunch halfway down the bus, and the sign on the front was blank.

It appeared likely this would be my bus except for the fact it seemed to me to be facing the wrong way down the street and away from my intended direction. There was even a road sign to Triacastela just beyond the bus stop, pointing back behind the bus. I therefore kept a watchful eye on the traffic coming in the opposite direction, in case another bus appeared, whilst lurking near the parked bus at the bus stop.

At 15.17, 2 minutes after its departure time, the driver finished his lunch, and returned to his seat at the front of the bus and he opened the door. I asked if this was the bus to Triacastela and he said “si”, and invited me on board. No one else got on and so we soon left to head to a roundabout about 50m ahead, where we did a 180° turn and went back past the bus stop, in the direction of the sign to Triacastela.

The bus drove higher and higher into the mountains, which were largely enveloped in mist and rain. The bus went first to O Cebreiro, a stop on the Camino where the local priest of 40+ years ago was instrumental in the re-awakening of the Camino and especially the painting of yellow arrows to point the expected pilgrims in the right direction.

From O Cebreiro, the bus roughly followed the route of the Camino, which largely ran alongside the road or close by. Having seen the scale of the mountains and mix of ascents and descents on the bus route, I was quite relieved not to have walked this section.

After nearly 40 mins, the bus descended into a wide valley and arrived at Triacastela. Knowing that I would be arriving relatively late in the day to get a bed, I had again booked a bed at an albergue. This was a little way back along the route of the Camino through the village.

Once unpacked and showered, I put some washing on and headed to the downstairs bar. In the bar I ended up chatting to my lower bunkmate who turned out to be from Seattle (yes, I ended up on the top bunk again). We shared our stories and found much in common and so we continued talking as we headed back into the centre of the village to go to mass.

When we arrived at the church, it was locked up but we struck up a conversation with an American who had also expected mass to be on - she said the American guidebook spoke highly of the local priest. Whilst we were talking together, an Australian friend from the San Anton convent appeared - also hopeful of mass - and so we also caught up briefly.

My bunkmate and I decided to have dinner together and he suggested a restaurant in the village which Camino friends of his had recommended, having had lunch there earlier. We had an excellent meal, including a salad with local cheese, followed by pork and a chilli sauce.Läs mer