Moo-ving On
June 17 in Spain ⋅ ☀️ 27 °C
Who knew there would be so much uphill on a downhill day? Not gentle inclines, not rolling hills, straight up “up”. Of course, when the down did come I deeply regretted bitching about the climbs. For the most part, though, the path was nicely packed dirt or gravel. We did have some of the big rocks on some of the steepest parts, but it never lasted too long.
It’s our last day walking together. Tom and Yvonne are going a different route to Sarria and taking a rest day for their anniversary on the way, so we won’t see them again until they get to Santiago.
One place in O’Cebriero claimed to be open at 6:00 am for coffee and breakfast. We were suspicious but agreed to meet there at 6:30 just in case. Sure enough, coffee and breakfast. Thunderstorms were predicted in Triacastela at 2 pm, so we needed to do our 13 miles and get checked in by then. Mim had left her rain poncho in her JacoTrans bag but ran back to grab it as insurance that it wouldn’t actually rain on us.
I was in a fast-walking mood and spent the first three miles mostly by myself. I grabbed a big table in the shade at the cafe and texted where to find me. Which they did, three minutes later, so I wasn’t exactly breaking any land speed records. I started out wearing my hiking pants, the cleanest thing I had, but it was really humid today. Dug out my scrungy shorts and was much happier the rest of the day. Second breakfast done and determined not to dawdle, we got back on the path.
We saw (and took pictures of) so many cows today, including a very low-speed cattle drive of about a dozen being moved from one field to another. I walked around a corner to see two cows scratching their heads against a stone wall and was pretty confused until they moved forward, and several others were following behind, with an old lady and younger guy making sure they kept moving. We also passed by several barns and farms that smelled very strongly of cow. As expected. But a couple of these tiny towns had albergues, and we talked about how awful it would be to have unknowingly booked into one of those. Unless you’re from a farming community and used to the smell, it would be pretty tough to sit outside having a drink in the evening.
Stop number two was at a cafe about eight miles in and at the top of the toughest climb of the day. I inadvertently broke a Camino cafe rule by using my poles and pack to stake claim on a big, shady table that had already had a claim staked to it. There were no poles and no pack, and I thought the newspaper on the table had been left behind. When I came out with my food, though, there was an older guy enjoying his breakfast. I asked if we could share his table. His face said no, but he politely agreed. When I tried to make conversation, he told me his English wasn’t very good. Fortunately, Mim sat down a moment later, and he perked up when he realized there was an actual fluent Spanish speaker. He’s from Barcelona, but his father was born in this area, and he comes back about once a year to visit the town and some friends. He knows the owner of the cafe, and he specifically chooses that table because he likes to watch the pilgrims huff and puff their way up that hill.
The actual downhill started shortly after that stop. By the time we reached Fillobal three miles later, we didn’t care about potential rain; our feet were hot and hurt, and we just wanted a long break. The sky was still bright blue, although a haze was starting to build, but we probably stayed there thirty minutes airing out our feet, changing socks, and dreading more downhill. With just over two miles to go, we felt pretty good about beating any rain.
We checked in to our apartment and agreed to meet back at the bar for a beer. The sky was getting dark, so we decided to eat then, as well, so we wouldn’t have to go out later in the rain. I wasn’t in the mood for anything, so ordered eggs with rice and tomatoes and the local cheese, which I’d had with honey for dessert last night. The tomato was sauce on the rice, not slices, and the cheese came with a red wobble of something that I think was quince jelly, so both plates looked almost identical.
Fortunately, the downpour didn’t start until we’d just gone inside to pay the bill. Unfortunately, the downpour negated our plans to hang laundry outside to dry. This is the third day we’ve had a late afternoon thunderstorm. Galicia is the rainiest region in Spain, so we’re lucky it’s only happened after we’ve reached the day’s destination.
We said our goodbyes to Tom and Yvonne and made a run for our apartment. Mim and I shared a load of laundry — the washer is tiny — and put in just what we need for tomorrow. I decided to find a laundromat in the next town to do the rest, since the spin cycle isn’t the strongest, and I didn’t have faith in everything drying inside overnight.
The new shoes are bothering the tops of my toes. Fix one thing, break another. I walked the last couple of miles in my hiking shoes today, which was okay. Tomorrow is only 11 miles and supposed to be fairly flat (not hugely trusting of elevation profiles right now), so I may start out hiking in my sandals. I’ve done it, and I’m not a huge fan, but if it gives the toes a break it may be worth it.Read more