October 8, 2022
- Route: Ribadeo to Lourenzá
- Distance: 26.8 kilometers (16.6 miles)
- Cumulative Distance: 675.3 kilometers
Today was my first day of ‘taking it easy.’ Rather than pushing myself to reach Santiago in five or six days’ time at my normal pace, I gave myself a full week to walk the remainder of the Camino. For the next few days at least, I intended to keep my mileage down in the 23-26 kilometer range (or around 14-16 miles per day).
This easier pace meant I also could have a more leisurely morning, and I didn’t need to head out in the dark like I’d been doing lately. Instead, I went out to find a cafe at 8 am where I could enjoy a large coffee and toast, and I didn’t begin hiking until half past eight.
Leaving Ribadeo, I set off in a new direction. I was walking southwest now, heading inland with my back to the Cantabrian Sea. The next two days would be spent climbing over the mountains that separate the coast from the interior of Galicia.
A MANGLED HAT
Clouds still lingered overhead as I walked out of town. It wasn’t supposed to rain today, but I’d come to learn to take the weather forecast with a grain of salt. Every day on (or near) the coast had been a gamble.
Yet my reason for wanting to avoid the rain this morning was new. It was all about my hat. I basically destroyed it overnight. I’d decided to take my clothes to a local laundromat while I was in town, and I forgot to pull my hat out of the load before I tossed everything into the dryer.
Even though I’d selected medium heat to dry my clothes, the commercial dryer at the laundromat must have been working overtime. The heat level was more like molten lava. And when I pulled my precious white hat out of the dryer, the brim was utterly destroyed. The fabric pulled away from it in some areas and melted in others. It was no longer wearable. So now I have nothing to keep the rain or the sun off my face!
GALICIA
As I walked the first few kilometers through the province of Galicia, tall stone pillars emerged at regular intervals with the remaining distance to Santiago engraved on little plaques mounted on them.
I remembered these pillars from my last Camino. They provided a constant reassurance that you were, in fact, getting closer to the end. All you had to do was watch as the numbers on each pillar drew closer to 0.
And much to my amusement, the distance to Santiago was measured out to the third decimal point! Because nothing says choose your own adventure like a marker indicating the distance to the closest meter (or 3.37 feet).
I effortlessly passed the first six pilgrims of the morning, all of whom are just wearing light daypacks and moving at a leisurely speed. As I climbed into the foothills above Ribadeo, I was in awe of how good my body felt. I am now much stronger than I was three weeks ago. My pack seemed as easy to carry now as those pilgrims’ daypacks.
However, one negative thing was still nagging at me. As strong as I felt, and as athletic as my legs have become, I still have a few extra pounds hanging around the midsection.
Usually, any “extra luggage” I had starting out on my journey would melt off me on a long hike. But perhaps middle age is harder to contend with than I’d expected. Or maybe three weeks of eating napolitanas or croissants for breakfast wasn’t the best weight management plan if you hoped to lose a few pounds along the way.
As I continued walking through small villages, I passed scallop shells on walls and houses pointing the way to Santiago. This was momentarily disorienting because some of the shells seemed to be pointed in the wrong direction.
Then I remembered that I was no longer in Asturias, where the shell’s hinge (or flat bottom) pointed pilgrims in the direction they were supposed to travel. Here in Galicia, the shell was simply another symbol of the Camino. The direction of the nearby arrows is what I really needed to pay attention to.
SUPERDOG
Today’s route to Lourenzá was mostly filled with climbing uphill, offering wide, sweeping views of the surrounding landscape.
Around 9:45 am, I spotted a man walking toward me who was clearly not a pilgrim. He was wearing a blaze orange vest and camouflage pants. At first, I suspected he was a hunter. His attire seemed to hint at that, and it was October. But then I noticed he had a hound dog on a super long orange lead rope.
He was directing the dog to head into the trees beside the road, and I watched as the hound did as asked with his nose to the ground. Then he called the dog back and sent him off in another direction. It looked like he was training the dog to track smells while giving him a 10-meter-long lead so the dog could wander into the woodline.
The dog, for his part, was dutifully going in and out of the woods sniffing. He returned to the road as we crossed paths, and that’s when I noticed he was wearing the type of dog harness you’d see on a K-9 working dog, and it had a name tape attached to the side that read, “superdog.”
Seeing that nickname on the dog’s vest put a smile on my face. I have no idea whether he’ll become a pro at whatever he was learning, but I liked the positive thinking! And I gave the trainer a silent wave as I passed so as not to distract the training.
IN SEARCH OF COFFEE
For the next hour, I was mostly in my head as I passed by giant mushrooms growing along the side of the trail, and spotted some bee boxes on a slope.
I was headed up one of the day’s bigger climbs about an hour later when I caught up to Sebastian. He was sitting on the grass beside the road, taking a break, and seemed to be hiking solo today.
I gave Sebastian a quick hello, but didn’t stop to rest beside him. My guidebook indicated that there would be a small picnic area just ahead, complete with a bench and a water fountain, and I wanted to make it all the way there before I lost my uphill momentum.
The air was turning cold now, and a brisk wind was blowing the low gray clouds across the sky. Wisps of blue still peeked out in places, but I couldn’t deny it was definitely chillier now compared to when I started hiking this morning.
At the top of the climb, I stopped to take off my pack and eat an apple while I rested. One of the things I’m trying to do each day is to pack out some fruit or a vegetable (like carrots). I don’t have that luxury on most long-distance hikes in the backcountry because fresh food is heavy. But when you only have to carry one day’s worth of provisions, it becomes far more feasible.
I was just finishing up my last few bites of my apple when Sebastian appeared again. So we spent the next hour or two hiking together as the Camino continued into the mountains.
As we descended toward the tiny hamlet of Villamartin Pequeño (or Little Villamartin), I was craving a coffee like nothing else. But there weren’t any bars or cafes there, just a few farms and rural homes.
We’d need to wait until we got to Villamartin Grande (Big Villamartin), which was at the top of the next climb. I was sweating and working up my thirst as we pressed the pace to get up the hill, but when we arrived in the small town, we were greeted by even more disappointment.
The sole albergue and bar in Villamartin Grande was closed today. A sign was taped to the door, printed in both Spanish and English, informing pilgrims that the establishment closed ‘due to illness.’
Well, that sucked! But I hope they aren’t sick with Covid or anything serious. One of the risks of running an albergue is the volume of pilgrims coming through with their germs each day. This substantially increases the business owner’s risk of contracting an illness.
So, with no other choice, Sebastián and I trudged on. He distracted me from my coffee yearning by telling me about the art he likes to create, and told me about the several of the museums he visited on this European trip.
As we got closer to the next town, I noticed we’re catching and passing more pilgrims every few minutes. Either these folks were newcomers who were building their stamina, or they were feeling the absence of caffeine this morning, too.
I suspect it was the first reason. Few pilgrims had the time or desire to walk the entire Camino del Norte route from start to finish. The bulk of people who walk any Camino only do the 100 kilometers required to get their compostela.
However, some pilgrims choose a random spot along one of the Camino routes that coincides with the amount of time they have to walk. On the Camino Francés, I met several people who arrived in León and then started walking west from there because it was convenient.
I suspect Ribadeo might be a similar jumping off point for people on the Camino del Norte. It’s a reasonable distance from Santiago (190 kilometers), but more substantial than the bare minimum of 100 kilometers. And it’s also the beginning of Galicia, which creates as good of an imaginary boundary as an international border.
Things from Down under
It was nearly 1 pm before Sebastian and I approached the town of San Xusto. A few kilometers earlier, we’d caught up with a woman from New Zealand named Nicki. She was the second pilgrim I’d met with that same name in as many days.
Since all three of us were native English speakers (an American, a Canadian, and a Kiwi), we naturally fell into conversation. Our little chat was interesting and varied enough that when we arrived at San Xusto, we decided to stop and share a table, where we could continue talking over some long-overdue coffee.
We were now barely four kilometers from Lourenzá, the town where we each had reservations for the night. We had more than enough time to linger here and swap stories with each other as we got our caffeine fix.
After more than half an hour outside at the bar, the chill was setting in, so we all decided to get a move on. There was still one more climb to get over before Lourenza, and it looked as if it might rain at any moment.
The climb took us through another eucalyptus forest. These tall trees seemed to grow everywhere around us now, covering entire swaths of the landscape. Of course, eucalyptus trees aren’t native to Spain. They were introduced to Europe in the 19th century by a Galician monk who returned from Australia with some tree seeds.
The species adapted well to the northern Spanish climate and now completely dominates areas of Galicia. The coastal town of Viveiro (less than 50 kilometers to our northwest) lays claim to the largest eucalyptus trees in all of Europe, including one that was planted in 1880 that is now 220 feet tall and has a circumference of 35 feet around!!
None of the eucalyptus trees on the way into Lourenzá were nearly a remarkable in stature. But there sure were plenty of them lining our route, with their long, slender leaves fluttering in the wind.
LOURENZÁ
Before I knew it, Sebastian, Nicki, and I were walking into Lourenzá! Somewhere in the back of my mind, a nagging feeling was telling me I couldn’t possibly be there yet. It was too early to stop for the day. I just wasn’t accustomed to this scaled-back plan, where I only walked 26 kilometers in a day.
After checking into my albergue, I used my extra afternoon time to wander around the small town, taking in the sights. A Baroque church stood in the town square, partially obscured by construction.
Then I sat next to a medieval arched bridge, watching the rushing water under it. I was mesmerized by the robust green grass waving from the bottom of the river bed, and I must have wasted 20 minutes just lazily watching the water.
All told, it was an immensely relaxing afternoon. Then it was time to head back to the albergue to unwind. A glass of wine and a downloaded book on my iPad were calling out to me.
