October 12, 2022
- Route: A Lagoa to Sobrado de Monxes
- Distance: 27.9 kilometers (17.3 miles)
- Cumulative Distance: 781.2 kilometers
Although I was up around 6:15 am, I lazed around the albergue this morning until 8 am. There was no point in walking before the sun came up, especially when I had no idea if any bars or cafes would even open for business today.
Today was October 12th, the National Day of Spain. This national holiday commemorates Christopher Columbus’s arrival in the Americas on October 12, 1492, and vaulting Spain into the position of the preeminent global power and Empire builder of the era.
But honestly, I had no idea how seriously the Spanish took this holiday. We had the analogous Columbus Day in the U.S. (which many of us now celebrate as Indigenous Peoples’ Day). However, most Americans see it as a minor holiday with furniture stores and car dealerships using it as an excuse to hold a ‘Columbus Day’ sale to increase their fall revenue.
But the Spanish were on the flip side of the proverbial coin. Christopher Columbus *might* be a national hero to them. They were the colonizers, not the colonized, in this equation. Did they celebrate this day with far more gusto than we did in North America??
PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS
When I finally departed the albergue, it was crisp outside, and a low fog hung over the countryside. It didn’t just look like fall now; it was beginning to feel like it in the air.
I stopped at the small bar in Miraz, just two kilometers down the road, and I was pleasantly surprised to discover they were open this morning. But I suspect that had nothing to do with the holiday observance. It was almost certainly due to the fact that a private albergue was located right next door. And pilgrims provide an opportunity to make money.
I didn’t need to take a break this early, but the bar was a good excuse to enjoy a proper café con leche. Plus, a napolitana, which my host offered to heat up for me – melting the chocolate inside its center to a warm, gooey deliciousness.
As I waited for her to make my coffee, I took a gander around the empty establishment. The walls were made of stone and mortar. And in each of the thick mortar joints, prior patrons balanced their smaller coins on the the narrow stone edges protruding from the walls.
This ‘game’ allowed me to rid myself of my (essentially worthless) one and two Euro cent coins. But getting the coins to stay put was a bit of a challenge. None of the stone edges were actually horizontal. So sometimes I’d think my coin was balanced, only to watch it drop to the ground, knocking two other coins off their ledges in the process.
I departed the bar a half hour later with a full and caffeinated belly, but several coins lighter.
GAMBLING WITH A BED
When I wandered back to the Camino, a delightful new sight unfolded ahead of me. The morning’s route wound through the boulders and hills of the Miraz Area de Recreativo, which was akin to a state park or designated wilderness area.
Heavy clouds still hung low in the sky, but you could see the sun trying its best to break through in small openings here and there as I walked past this unique scenery.
Eventually, I got lost in my own thoughts, though. My one goal for the day was getting to the monastery in Sobrado de Monxes, where I hoped to stay for the night in their albergue.
I was gambling a bit today. The monastery’s albergue didn’t take reservations, so I didn’t have a guaranteed spot to lay my head. I haven’t taken a risk like this since my second day on the Camino del Norte (which, as I recall, didn’t work out great for me. I’d ended up drastically overpaying for that triple room at the pension in Getaria).
However, according to my guidebook and the navigation app on my phone, the monastery ran an albergue with more than 100 beds for pilgrims to stay in. Surely there would be room, right?? I hadn’t seen a huge surge in pilgrims recently, and I doubted the Spanish locals took to staying in monasterios for their vacations.
POP-UP CAFE
The remainder of the morning was quiet. Sometimes the Camino took me on dirt trails, and other times it sent me on paved roads over rolling hills and past pastures of grazing cows. The low clouds finally burned off, it was nothing but blue skies & sunshine by 11 am.
Despite the appearance of being a warm day, it never really got hot. The temperature stayed in the upper 60s (Fahrenheit), but I wasn’t complaining. I no longer had my trusty hat to protect me from the sun after the unfortunate laundry incident a few days ago. I’d take mild days anytime I could get them.
Around noon, I climbed a hill into a cluster of houses where the Camino took a sharp turn. But just before the turn sat an enterprising little home with a sandwich board outside advertising drinks and coffee. It was like a little pop-up cafe!
I was more than happy to take my pack off and sit a spell at one of the plastic tables and chairs set up outside the home’s kitchen door. And that’s where I met Nicole and Stacy – two sisters from Wisconsin who were already seated in the shade.
We got to talking and they seemed amazed to hear I’d walked the entire Camino del Norte route from the Spanish border. They only had two weeks to spend in Spain, so they started near Irun and walked to a Bilbao before jumping ahead to walk their last few days in Galicia.
They’d read that public transportation was so much easier in Europe compared to the U.S., so they’d assumed they’d have no problem getting a train or bus between Bilbao and their jumping-off point to the west.
Unfortunately, things weren’t as easy as they’d hoped. They said they couldn’t find any public transit route that fit their timeline, so they decided to get a one-way rental car in Bilbao to drive to in Lugo, before making their way back to Camino.
If you ask me, that was way more gutsy than merely walking across Spain! I don’t think I’d have the courage to rent a car in a foreign country on a whim. I would have just holed up in a hotel or albergue, or asked a local, and figured out a way on public transit!
COW CROSSING
As we swapped stories, the smoke from a small fire burning between our little pop-up cafe and Camino started to impact the conversation. The little old lady running the place was burning her trash out back, and the wind shifted so that her smoke was now blowing right in our direction.
The thick smoke was my cue to leave. I bid Stacy and Nicole goodbye and returned to the trail. But I left the pop-up cafe smelling like a campfire, with noxious smoke permeating my nostrils, my hair, and the fabric of my clothing. I felt like I was back in Afghanistan, walking past the toxic burn pits, and I couldn’t get away fast enough.
I got the opportunity to air my clothes over the next few kilometers while climbing over rolling hills on a lovely, groomed trail that paralleled the nearby paved road. By the time I walked through the small town of Mesón, I could no longer smell the smoldering fire or smoke. Thank goodness!
Under normal circumstances, the hamlet of Mesón would have just been one more small, unremarkable cluster of homes. But as I followed the Camino up a side road, two loose cows were walking down the center of the paved street.
A young man in his 20s was in front of them. An older woman was behind them with a large stick, and the group was slowly heading in my direction.
I suspect they were transferring the two cows from one pasture to another. But it also looked like they were just casually taking them out for a walk, which made me chuckle to myself as I made my way past on the sidewalk.
A HUNGRY AFTERNOON
Once I was beyond the curious cow sighting, the Camino returned to dirt trail with sweeping views of the countryside. Boulders the size of my car sat beside the trail, and the scenery genuinely reminded me a bit of upstate South Carolina and western North Carolina.
Then, just a mere kilometer from Sobrado de Monxes, I trod past a large blue lake covered with lily pads along its banks. It was now nearing 2:30 p.m., and my stomach was grumbling.
The only thing I’d had to eat since my breakfast back in Miraz this morning was a carrot I’d been carrying in my pack. I was feeling famished and sincerely hoped there would be some options up ahead of me in town.
The bell towers of the Sobrado’s monastery were now within sight, and I merely needed to follow them to the town square, where several restaurants had tables set out to serve lunch.
Most of the stores, including the grocery store, were closed for the Spanish holiday, but the cafes were definitely open. So, I ordered off the menu del día, asking my waitress for two primeros (first courses) so that I could have a vegetarian meal of Russian salad and lentil soup.
Ensalada Rusa is a dish I haven’t ordered once on this Camino. It’s the generic name the Spanish people give to potato salad, but the exact combination of ingredients of the dish varies by restaurant.
In today’s case, my Russian salad was a combination of potato salad, egg salad, and tuna salad, with some peas added for good measure. It’s actually much tastier than it sounds. The dish is much drier than you might expect, as the Spanish use far less mayonnaise than most American versions of these three salads.
THE MONASTERY
As I sat eating my lunch outdoors at one of the cafes, a pair of pilgrims in their 60s wandered over to my table. We’d stayed in several of the same albergues this past week, so they must have recognized me as a fellow pilgrim before coming over to ask me (in Spanish) how to get to the monastery’s albergue.
I honestly had no clue. I hadn’t checked into the albergue yet. But I pointed toward the arched main entrance to the monastery, and shrugged as if to say, “In there, I think.”
This lack of certainty prompted them to immediately go over to a second table filled with, what I presume were locals, and ask them the same exact question. The folks at that table sent them in the direction that I’d pointed, so off they went.
Clearly the older pilgrims only trusted me so much, given our language barrier. They needed the affirmation that I wasn’t sending them on a wild goose chase, I suppose.
CHECKING IN
Immediately after their departure, I spotted Nicki (the German medical student) wandering through the square. So I invited her over to join me for lunch before we headed to the monastery’s albergue as well.
I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from this unusual albergue experience. I’d visited an active monastery (Monasterio de Samos) during my walk on the Camino Francés four years ago. But that was more of a guided historical tour of the monastery, and I wasn’t staying there.
I’d also walked through the Monasterio de Zenarruza near Bolívar during the first week of this current Camino, but I hadn’t stayed there either. The only information I had to go on was what Simon, Renato, and Charles told me about their own stays. This evening would be a completely novel experience for me.
As Nicki and I entered the monastery’s front office, we were met by an English-speaking monk – Brother Lawrence – who processed all our paperwork and collected our 8€ donation for the night and assigned us to a room. There were still plenty of beds available, but I was surprised at how many pilgrims were already there. At least 60 were already checked in!
A volunteer led us to a modern albergue inside the historical walls of the monastery. It was an absolutely beautiful building, and I genuinely looked forward to accepting Brother Lawrence’s invitation to join the monks for their vespers at 7 p.m.
VESPERS
After showering, I lay down on my bunk to rest until vespers. But then a searing pain rocked my abdomen. The center of my stomach, just below the middle of my ribcage, felt like I’d swallowed glass.
Sharp cramps came in waves, and I was suddenly freezing cold. Something I ate at lunch wasn’t agreeing with me. Was it a mistake to eat the Russian salad? Or was the lentil soup the issue? I wasn’t nauseated, but I was in real pain.
I lay in my bed half-heartedly trying to read for the next two hours, but the pain didn’t subside much. Perhaps getting up and moving would help. I took a slow walk around the monastery, snapping photos of the arched arcade surrounding the grass courtyard and the magnificent stone towers, which reflected the early evening sun. My stomach pain remained, but it seemed more manageable, and I hoped it would eventually fade away.
At 7 p.m., Brother Lawrence showed up to escort a group of approximately 25 pilgrims to the upstairs portion of the monastery to watch their evening vespers.
For the next 40 minutes, I watched with curiosity as the monks and nuns chanted, sang, and sat in silence during their evening ritual. I didn’t understand their words, or even the nuance of their traditions, but I enjoyed observing what was clearly an important part of their lives.
By the end of the service, my stomach pain had subsided almost completely. I wasn’t going to attribute its absence to divine intervention. But clearly sitting quietly through vespers was precisely what I’d needed in that moment.
.