September 26, 2022
- Route: Boo de Piélagos to Cobreces
- Distance: 34.1 kilometers (21 miles) + 1.2 km train ride
- Cumulative Distance: 336.3 km
Although my morning technically began at the albergue in Boó de Piélagos, I didn’t begin walking until the next town, Mogro. “Why and how?” you might ask. Well, it’s because of a bridge.
The next stretch of the Camino crosses a major river just west of Boo de Piélagos. The most direct route across the water follows the railroad tracks. However, trying to walk the route is super sketchy because there’s currently no pedestrian path on the bridge over the Rio Pas. There’s just a railroad trestle for the FEVE commuter train.
Consequently, pilgrims following the Camino del Norte must decide between three options:
- Follow the train tracks on foot to the water’s edge, and then carefully time your bridge crossing over the river between the oncoming trains (from both directions);
- Take a convoluted 10-kilometer long detour on a busy road to the nearest pedestrian-friendly bridge; or
- Just simply ride the FEVE commuter train for the 1.2-kilometer distance between Boo de Piélagos and the town of Mogro on the opposite side of the river
Given the rainy weather forecast this morning, I decided to just keep it simple, and I went with option #3.
And while some people might scoff at riding the train instead of walking, I didn’t care in the least. I feel no need to be a “purist” on this Camino. I don’t have to walk every step of this 840-kilometer journey — especially when the other options were either (1) unsafe, or (2) unnecessarily long.
After all, I didn’t attempt to swim across the Bay of Santander yesterday. I rode the local ferry across it like a reasonable person. And that’s the same exact reason I was taking the train this morning. And I’m too old to run across a railroad trestle like those kids in the movie, “Stand By Me.” Or why should I risk getting run over by an inattentive driver while roadwalking 10 extra kilometers in the rain?
Taking the FEVE train was, in my opinion, the only reasonable option.
WAITING FOR THE FEVE
Having settled on this particular plan, I spent a few minutes researching when the FEVE train came through Boo de Piélagos, and it appeared to run once every 20 minutes on weekday mornings. Thus, I was hoping to catch the 7:39 am train and get a nice early start for this long day of hiking.
Unfortunately, when I walked outside to retrieve my hiking shoes from the porch this morning, the conditions were already a mess. It was still pitch-black outside at 7:30 a.m. And the rain was coming down in sheets, just as it had been all night long.
Sigh. I was really hoping for a few dry hours.
Both of the weather forecasts I’d checked last night indicated that the rain was supposed to taper off early this morning. They predicted a dry window between 7 and 10 a.m., before the next storm rolled in. But the weathermen were off base, yet again!
I departed the albergue in a downpour and made my way back to the same train platform I’d crossed over on my way to the albergue yesterday afternoon.
I was still several minutes early, but the platform was totally quiet on this early Monday morning.
I checked my watch continuously for the next ten minutes, but 7:39 a.m. came and went with absolutely no train. Clearly, it wasn’t running on time. So I stood there, waiting in the dark, hoping the trains were running today and this wasn’t some Spanish holiday I didn’t know about.
Finally, at 7:50 a.m., I saw the light of the train approaching just as the first vestiges of light were emerging in the sky. I grabbed my backpack in anticipation of the train’s imminent arrival, shrugging it over one shoulder as I watched the small, narrow-gauge railcars rolling toward the platform.
But then, right at the last minute, I realized that the westbound train was headed to the opposite platform! I was on the wrong side of the tracks, and it was too late to do a thing about it!!
When I walked to the platform this morning, I’d just assumed the train would be traveling on the set of tracks furthest to the right in my direction of travel. I hadn’t even bothered to look for any signs to confirm this was correct.
Now, with no time to get to the opposite platform before the train left, I had to stand there and watch helplessly as the first train to Mogro pulled up, and then departed without me.
Sigh! That just seems to be how today was going to go!
And who knew when the next train would arrive? It clearly wasn’t running on schedule — or even every 20 minutes. But what other choice did I have?
So I slowly walked over to the opposite platform, and then sat down to watch as the sun came up though a small break in the rain clouds to my east.
Twenty-five minutes later, a second FEVE train pulled into Boo de Piélagos. And now several pilgrims (who’d been smart enough to stay warm and dry at the albergue for an extra 45 minutes) joined me for the short ride over the river.
It was nearly 8:20 a.m. when I stepped off the train, just a few minutes later. I was finally in Morgo, but I’d wasted close to an hour’s time on getting here due to my own ineptitude. I definitely could have walked over the bridge in less time than it took me to wait for the train.
By Camino standards, it was still relatively early in the morning. I had plenty of time to make my miles for the day, but I was already feeling frustrated with myself. This day was not off to a strong start.
JUST DO 10 KILOMETERS
Once I arrived in Mogro, I felt like I needed a plan to get through the day mentally. I was past the 300-kilometer mark on the Camino Del Norte, but my head just wasn’t in the game. All this gloominess and rain was messing with my mojo and putting me in a foul mood.
What’s more, I still needed to walk 34 kilometers before I’d get to my bed this evening. I had a reservation this afternoon in the town of Cobreces, and that distance seemed like an unimaginably long way to walk in the crabby state of mind I was in. How was I ever going to endure walking 34 kilometers (or 21 miles) in the pouring rain?
And so, I did what I always do when faced with a giant task that seems insurmountable. I mentally broke it down into more manageable chunks. “Forget about the 34 kilometers,” I told myself, “You only have to walk for the next two hours. Just walk 10 kilometers. You can do virtually anything for a few hours at a time.“
There was a town 11 kilometers away. I could stop there for coffee. And when I was dry and motivated again, I’d walk another 9 kilometers to the next town. And then I’d only have another 13 or so kilometers left to Cobreces, and I’d be done with the day.
Despite this plan, my motivation didn’t immediately follow. I was just plodding along on wet pavement at an abysmally slow pace this morning.
It wasn’t just the dreary rain that was bringing me down, either. The scenery along this stretch of the Camino was wholly unremarkable, and the views were partially obscured by the umbrella I’d lowered until it nearly sat on the crown of my head.
I swear something in me just wanted to quit, but I pressed on knowing that I would eventually push myself out of this funk. Don’t quit on a bad day. Just put one foot in front of the other.
THE FIRST LEG
The drudgery continued for the next hour, and it didn’t dissipate, even as my surroundings changed when I got to the Rio Besaya. Here, I transitioned from the wet pavement to a wide dirt utility road that ran parallel to a giant pipeline raised off the ground.
Wetlands and a river sat in the distance off to my right, with frogs croaking and long-legged wading birds staring back at me. But on my opposite side, it was nothing but industrial warehouses that seemed to stretch on forever, looking as gray and dismal as any commercial wasteland.
The flat dirt path that cut between these two disparate worlds was an uninteresting stretch to walk. And the rain made it feel even colder and forgotten. I could have been in Ohio. Or the Western Siberian Plateau. Virtually any place that’s flat, dull, and gloomy.
Perhaps I should have ridden the FEVE even further west instead of bothering to walk this puddle-filled, boring stretch of the Camino. This tableau certainly wasn’t going to make the cover of the next Camino Del Norte guidebook, that’s for sure!
By the time I made it to the outskirts of Requejada, my shoes were sopping wet too. I’d tried my best to avoid the puddles that dotted the dirt trail, but the entire path was just covered by standing water in some points. My overwhelming desire to quit this Camino still lingered over me.
My eventual return to pavement was harkened by a bright green pedestrian flyover that took me over the train tracks and along the edge of town. Now, all I needed was that cafe I promised myself a few hours ago. Somewhere warm and dry where I could get a steaming cup of coffee to try to restore my motivation.
Unfortunately, finding a cafe seemed to take forever. The Camino didn’t go through Requejada, where the bars and cafes might have been plentiful. It stuck to the suburban outskirts, where nearly everything looked residential.
But once again, I was saved by an enterprising business owner who had painted an eye-catching mural with an arrow pointing to their establishment, sitting 50 meters down a side street. I absolutely would have missed the bar and walked on by in this heavy rain, but for that well-positioned mural.
The first leg of my day was finally complete. It was now 11 am, and I was long overdue for a break. I still hadn’t quit. But I was only one-third of the way through my mileage.
THE SECOND LEG
My respite from the rain seemed far too short, but I forced myself to get back out in it again after a 30-minute rest. I’d been walking too slowly in the rain today. If I didn’t pick up my pace, I might be out here until 7 or 8 pm!
I followed a sidewalk out of town and to a giant traffic roundabout, then set about searching for the bridge that supposedly crossed the river I’d been paralleling all morning. That’s when I spotted the silhouette of a familiar pilgrim standing in a bus stop shelter.
Hey, I knew that guy! It was Renato!!!
He was on his phone (as per usual), this time dealing with a crisis back in Italy. We tried to have a quick conversation while he was on hold, but I didn’t catch where he stayed last night or even where he had a reservation for tonight.
He was all worked up and agitated about an issue with the water pipes in his new apartment back in Rome. Not only was he having to endure a crummy day out here on the Camino, but he also had to deal with a problem 1,800 miles away.
As Renato was sharing this, the person on the other end of his call came back on the line, so I offered a quick “Ciao” and left him to deal with it. Hopefully, I’d see him again under better circumstances, maybe even in the next town of Santanilla del Mar.
Up ahead of me, two more pilgrims splashed through the puddles. Their lumbering pace seemed even slower than mine. My immediate goal became catching up and passing them, and then seeing if I could pick up my pace a bit as the Camino transitioned from an urban sidewalk to a dedicated walking path beside the rural highway.
Around noon, the rain slowly dwindled to a stop. “Yesssss!” I cheered to myself as I closed up my umbrella and shook the excess water off the arms of my rain-soaked jacket.
But the rain was soon replaced with a strong wind. And while I preferred this element to the rain, my mind started to spiral and catastrophize. Does my future contain both rain and heavy wind?? Is that what’s coming next?
I guess I’d have to deal with that problem when (and if) it came. For now, I was just happy to put my umbrella away for a little bit as I headed further into the cow-filled countryside.
The absence of rain did something to enhance my mood and pace. It took no time before I was dropping down into the town of Santanilla del Mar.
I had no real idea what to expect on my way into this town, as I’d done absolutely no research on it. I just knew that nearly all the pilgrims I talked to at the albergue planned to stop here this evening.
As I slowly entered the older part of the town, I could see exactly why this was such a popular place. Santanilla Del Mar’s city center was wonderfully preserved with cobblestone roads and beautifully maintained historical buildings.
This was exactly what most tourists imagined when they envisioned walking through an old medieval European town. It was just stunning, and perhaps one of the loveliest towns I’d walked into thus far on the Camino del Norte.
I was happy to take it all in and absorb my surroundings as I wandered down the narrow streets. The splendor of the town was enough to turn my mood around completely. It was just the most delightful experience.
And then, in a weird twist of fate, I ran into some more familiar faces. The two American ladies (from Hawaii and Oregon) whom I’d met at lunch two days ago were walking directly toward me down the cobblestone streets!
Holy cow! What were the chances we’d run into each other again?
The three of us stopped to greet each other cheerily, and they seemed utterly amazed that I’d spent the last few days walking all the way here. I suspect they don’t know many thru-hikers; otherwise, they’d have realized what I’d done wasn’t anything special.
They unabashedly admitted to me that they had zero intention of walking the Camino in this foul weather. They’d walked a few kilometers between Guemes and Somo during our sunny afternoon yesterday. Then they hopped on a bus the rest of the way so they could spend two nights in a luxury hotel, and explore every nook and cranny of Santanilla Del Mar.
It sounded like a lovely vacation! Maybe I could do that instead of hiking every day! I could scrap the rest of this Camino and spend my remaining 18 days in northern Spain on vacation, drinking lots of wine, sightseeing, and relaxing!
THE FINAL LEG
I stopped to eat a picnic lunch on some stone steps as I left Santanilla del Mar. And then, it was time to begin walking my third, and final, leg of the day.
My plan of breaking the day down into three 10-kilometer sections seemed to be working out for me — especially now that the rain was on hold. I had a renewed spring in my step after visiting Santanilla Del Mar, and much to my surprise, blue skies and sunshine were even emerging during the early afternoon hours of the day.
In fact, by the time I crested the grand hill where the massive Iglesia Parroquial de San Pedro sat, I was sweating and completely ready to strip off my rain gear for the day.
I could see the ocean from the church. And just beyond this church, a sign informed me it’s only 530 more kilometers to Santiago!
Finally, around 3:30 pm, I crested the final hill of the day and could see the spire of several elaborate churches in the distance. That must be Cobreces. I’d briefly read about the town’s unique parochial architecture in my guidebook, so I knew I needed to take a few moments to stop to see the three churches in this town.
The first church of the two large churches I encountered was a deep brick red color and had scaffolding around one of its towers. But otherwise, it was simply stunning against the now-bright blue sky.
Beyond it, barely a quarter mile away, sat a second immense church, too. This one was blue and white, which seemed to be a relatively unusual color for a church, but it was still quite striking in the late afternoon sun.
And finally, I made it to the third church, a small stucco ermita (chapel), that looked a bit more like what you’d see in the New World as one of the missions dotting the California coast.
I spotted a small soda dispensing machine in a nearby parking lot, and I suddenly realized how thirsty I’d become. I dug through my wallet for some Euros to treat myself to a Coke to celebrate that I’d made it. I still had another kilometer to go, but I’d endured another hard day on the Camino without quitting.
After guzzling down the fizzy soda, it was time to head to the far end of Coerces to my lodging for the night. I was staying down near Playa de Luaña, a small pocket beach with two small boutique hotels.
It had been a long, long day and I was treating myself to another private hotel room where I could shower and sleep with a touch of privacy. And once I was all cleaned up and had my wet clothes hanging to dry in the wind and sunshine, it was time to make a visit to the beach to celebrate my success.
As I dipped my feet into the sea water, it was so much warmer than I expected this time of year. I suppose I can now understand why the north coast of Spain is so appealing to surfers. It wasn’t tropical temperatures, but the sea water was far more comfortable than I would have ever expected for Europe.
The sun started to set, and the air turned cold, so I turned my back on the beach and made my way over to the sole restaurant located nearby. I’d have a quiet meal by myself and then call it an early night before waking up to do it all over again.
I’d barely sat down in the sparsely crowded restaurant, when you’ll never guess who limped in wearing his flip flops? It was Renato! I invited him to join me for dinner, and then he unloaded the full weight of the day during our first glass of wine.
Today was just a horrible day, he told me. First he had to deal with the call from Italy about some major plumbing issue in his new apartment. Then, the rain just about broke his morale. And he spent 12 full hours walking today, and just barely limped into Cobreces due to some foot and shoe problems. It was just so much to deal with.
I could so empathize with his funk. Today was an incredibly mentally challenging day for me as well. It was the first time I’d very seriously considered quitting the Camino.
But you can’t ever let yourself quit on a bad day, right?? You had to push through to the other side. Tomorrow would bring something new.
