Redondela to Pontevedre

With the weather predicted to be hot again I left the apartment before full light. Actually before any light, the moon being but a slim crescent. Just as well we'd scoped out the route the night before. On the main road the street lamps provided guidance, but off them? Darkness.

"I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year 'Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown'. And he replied 'Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God. That shall be to you better than a light and safer than a known way'"
"So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night. And he led me towards the hills and the breaking of the day in the lone East"

Well He certainly kept me on the right path. Not that I was alone though. Hoards of people came at me out of the gloom. I wasn't expecting this at all. Eight years ago while walking from Porto to Santiago we'd seen at most, 30 people. Now I was being passed by that many people each hour and pass me they did. Weighed down by no more than a flask of water and a rain jacket they left me standing!

Brierley had promised 3 times as much elevation as the day before, but this time it was more gradual. Plus I had endless breaks as people passed me. The walking was also more pleasant. Some tarmac but also plenty of senda and tree lined routes. Soon the descent into Arcade began and the first place of any size that day was reached.

Et in Arcadia ego? Well. Nice as it was I wouldn't be rushing back. Once over the old bridge we reverted back to hellishly steep streets. For a while anyway.

The skirl of a gaita welcomed in a more gradual climb on a bouldered path. At last an opportunity arose for me to do a little overtaking myself. The bloke didn't stand a chance, I swept pass him like Lasse Viren. Fair play, he was trying to push a child in a pram up the path, but that was his choice not mine. Upwards we went. Excelsior.

I was a little saddened as, after we plateaued, a queue had formed to get a stamp in a tiny Chapel dedicated to the Blessed Virgin. The din was prolific inside with scarcely anyone giving a look to her whose house this was or her Son residing on the altar.

Forty minutes later I found myself standing where I'd been 8 years before. The decision to walk through the commercial outskirts of Ponferada or take the more tranquil route along side the river was the same as last time.

Ponferada was again reached without too much drama. It too was packed to the gunnels. I popped into the wonderful small church of Nuestra Senora del Refugio La Divina Peregrina. Calm and cool. A half hour spent away from the heat and the noise. I'd missed this church the last time I was here in favour of the bigger and older church.... whose name at the moment eludes me! There was Mass at 19:00 so that set a marker for the day.

Booked into the Hotel Don Pepe, a whole new experience awaited me. The room was as hot as an oven and looked as if it had time warped in from the mid '70s, but for the first time ever I found myself in charge of an electric bed! It's not something I'll be rushing out to buy.

After Mass i went in search of a bottle of cold water. This proved way more difficult than I could have ever imagined. I ended up in a small shop next to Don Pepe's. A delightful elderly lady selected a warm tin of coke and a warm bottle of water for me. Only when I went to the counter to pay did I realise I was in the Spanish equivalent of a Scottish offal shop. Varies bits of cured pig were arrayed in a glass counter. Deary me. And so back to the oppressive heat of the room and onto the electric bed. Meanwhile, somewhere below in the street, a lone dog barked. He was still barking when I awoke from a fitfull night's sleep.

Executive Summary: 8 years ago Ponferada smelt a little odd. 8 years later nothing had changed.Read more