Old age and treachery

The Duarte is fine. Clean room, large (although currently wet) balcony and a sea view. The wifi did come with a warning from my security software when I connected (what is it with Spanish hotel wifi?) so my VPN was on at all times.

The catering has taken a significant step forwards. A scallop and prawn brochette for lunch, then some ibérico and a dozen very local oysters for dinner. I’m a recent convert to oysters - I’d never had one until I was in my 50’s; but I’ll go out of my way to find them now.

Arcade is very quiet on a Sunday evening. There are a number of permanently closed bars and restaurants; as there were during the day. A combination of the pandemic and economic pressures I assume. Pilgrim numbers are (according to various patrons) very low at the moment. I’ve not seen a dozen in total yet.

I have noticed that all the marker posts have their distance plaques in-place and I haven’t seen one with graffiti yet - does the Portuguese attract a better class of pilgrim, or just fewer, I wonder?

Breakfast is on offer but only at 0900. I’m having a very short day tomorrow; 13k or so to Pontevedra; but there’s rain forecast from 1200. So, breakfast or get wet? I’ll decide in the morning.

So; it’s morning. Always a bonus to make it through the night. Being Monday the few facilities en-route stand a chance of being closed so a guaranteed breakfast has won out. Rain forecast from mid-afternoon now which is better, but the remaining days to Santiago promise to be wet.

Breakfast (surprisingly good) revealed half a dozen other peregrinos; two Americans and four Spaniards all of whom are dressed for a flood of biblical proportions. I’m sticking to shorts.

Some serious road-building going on just outside Arcade. This is turning into a civil-engineers road-trip. So there are some short diversions and lots and lots of mud. (Photo)

Well; turns out we were all right. A brief downpour for ten minutes then, progressively the blue sky broke through. The sun always shines on the righteous; so if I meet him or her I must thank them.

But - if the sun’s now cracking the flags; why would you persist in full body waterproofs. I dread to think what the contents of the Spaniards’ trousers are going through right now.

Which brings me nicely onto the subject of underwear - No! Come back! It’s OK, honestly (photo: no I’ll spare you that).

I do lurk on the Camino forum far too much; but I do benefit from the advice of some very experienced peregrinos; if I can ‘tune out’ the ‘which shoe goes on which foot’ and ‘OK; so I’ve arrived in Spain, South Dakota where do I start the Camino?’, there’s some great advice to be had.

A recent one was a reccomendation for ‘ex-officio sports mesh’ briefs. Whilst the sizing’s a bit generous - I should have aimed-off for US sizing, where the ‘x’ in ‘XL’ is doing some very heavy lifting so the current pair I’m sporting are a bit Bridget Jones (sorry) - for air circulation and speed of drying after washing; they’re excellent. They are imported to order to the UK, so the pricing is aimed at the investment banking community.

Now, where were we?

Ah, yes. It’s stopped raining and after a brief slog up a hill we’re back in the countryside. Nothing going on on the catering front, but it’s not far to Pontevedra.

The San Fermin bar and supermarket combo saved the day whilst I awaited the arrival of a splendid young German peregrino who’s overtaken me three times so far going very quickly. He seems more determined and confused each time. Thus the title of today’s nonsense. I tried to explain that I have a map and I use it, I don’t just plough on following arrows. He seems to regard this as something akin to witchcraft, but does account for how I can nip up a short tarmac road and avoid a kilometre’s mud-fest through the wooded hillside. Old age and treachery beats wide-eyed youthful enthusiasm every time.

The riverside option down the Rio Gafas is currently contra-indicated (photo) so it’s straight along the road into las afueras of Pontevedra.

Tonight’s lucky winner is the Hotel Rias Bajas. I’ve dumped the bag and set out in search of a late lunch; or as they say in Spain, lunch.Read more