Melide

Ok I'm up to telling the tale now.

There was a guy limping around the kitchen last night, and as I was packing up in there this morning, I did such a good job of saying hello when he hobbled in that he thought I was Spanish! That evaporated instantly don't worry.

I was very prepared to loathe him on principle as a new starter but I shan't because he's Spanish (Madrid), extremely Catholic, has done the Primitivo and Norte before, and is handsome in a tennis way. Like this guy ABSOLUTELY plays tennis, or should be in tennis catalogues at least. If you don't know what I mean by that I simply can't help you I'm afraid.

It's Friday, and the template stages split the remaining 77km between us and Santiago de Compostela (SdC) into three days (28km, 20km, 19km) to arrive on Sunday. Between that fact and the exaggerated wincing I was watching him do, I was somewhat confused when he assumed I was getting to SdC tomorrow. He was, and it's easy terrain from here he said - you can do it easily.

Something I haven't mentioned here yet is that when we are chatting about the day and how far we're going, we almost never use the town name, we talk about distance. So the stage town is Arzua (28km) but there are other options at 31km, 33km, etc. In pilgrim, if someone asked where you were going today, you might say I'm going to try for 33 but if it rains I'll go to 28. I pondered this over my - if not rounded, perhaps manic scribble? - breakfast of a chocolate protein shake, pork empanada, and REALLY good really cheap yogurt I'm furious to only be discovering now.

I pondered this further as I walked, and ran into him after a few kilometres because althought he was in his pjs when I left, evidently he's extremely fast. We walked together for about five kilometres, he asked me questions like there might be a test at the end. He's been to Australia once for a Catholic youth convention, I bet that was an absolute riot. After insisting I stop in Melida to eat octopus at a specific restaurant, he abruptly said well, ok Leslie, I'm going to go and pray for you now, and sped off. 10/10 exit.

I tend to do anything good looking people say - it's a character flaw - so at 10am I dutifully schlepped into the pulperia to see Michel finishing up, "wow, jus, a-wow" and got an even stranger second breakfast. To be fair to him it was absolutely amazing. I'm always iffy on inland seafood, but Galicia does stretch to the coast, and apparently their traditional cooking methods are a source of great pride (even if the source of the octopus itself is Morocco).

So far it had managed to stay clear but I knew it was going to turn and sure enough, about 40 minutes from Arzua hail started pelting down, followed by rain that quickly got so aggressive it was funny. Saturated, I sloshed into town, stood under a balcony where Sophie and co were sitting dryly having got there earlier, and dripped. If you think about it, it's the GETTING wet that sucks, staying wet is sort of tolerable, and I knew it was going to rain earlier in the day tomorrow so I figured I'd keep paddling (which would cease to be a figure of speech if this kept up to be honest).Les mer