October 13, 2022
- Route: Sobrado de Monxes to Salceda
- Distance: 33.1 kilometers (20.5 miles)
- Cumulative Distance: 814.3 kilometers
Today be my final day on the Camino Del Norte – as least technically. Once I walked into the town of Arzúa, just 22 kilometers into my day, the Camino del Norte would join the Camino Frances. The rest of the way would be walked with pilgrims from the Camino Frances and Camino Primativo as the various routes all merged together.
So, in essence, every step beyond Arzúa would be one I walked during my first Camino in 2018.
Of course, there was another option available to extend the Camino Del Norte just a little bit long. Instead of merging with the Camino Frances in Arzúa, I could have take a detour that didn’t join it until Lavacolla (near the airport on the outskirts of Santiago).
This Camino Del Norte alternate was about seven kilometers shorter than the main one, but it was new enough that it didn’t even have an albergues yet. So it honestly didn’t seem worth the effort. I would stick to the tried and true route. I’d merge with the Camino Frances in Arzúa and replicate my steps from 2018 for the final 40 kilometers into Santiago.
Knowing this would be the case, I decided to play it safe. I made a reservation in one of the smaller towns this evening called Salceda. If I was going to be in the thick of the hordes of pilgrims clamoring to get to Santiago, I didn’t want to be without a bed tonight. But that would would require me to walk 33 kilometers today.
SUNRISE
I left the monastery in Sobrado de Monxes this morning while it was still pitch black outside. It was barely after 7 am, and I wanted to get an early start for my last 20-mile day of walking.
The darkness was all consuming and the Camino was super quiet as I padded along the soft ground. The days were shorter now and it was a full hour and a half before it was light enough that I could shut off my headlamp for good.
Nonetheless, I was rewarded for being an early riser this morning. I got a pleasant little bit of sunrise across the farm fields off to my left side.
It wasn’t the most stunning sunrise of this entire Camino journey, but it was still noteworthy because of where I caught the best colors in the sky. I was just walking past an open field covered with a thin layer of wispy fog hoevering over it. And high above me, the sky was filled with red and coral.
TRACTOR RACING
I made my way into a small town called Boimirto around 9:30 a.m., feeling as if I was long overdue for my first coffee of the day. As I sipped the warm caffeine goodness, I wondered (not for the first time) how the heck I was going to adjust to regular coffee when I got back home. I just love European espresso so much. I may have to break down a buy a real espresso machine back in the U.S.
When I walked out of the cafe twenty minutes later, I swear it felt colder outside than it had when I’d entered. A low fog had descended, bringing a moist chill to the air. My hands were cold, and I nearly broke out the wool gloves I’ve been carrying for the past four weeks to keep them warm.
After just a few minutes, I reached a junction in the Camino and turned left toward Arzúa instead of taking the bypass to Lavacolla. Only ten more kilometers further until I’d reach to the Camino Frances.
The road the Camino arrow sent me down was actually quite busy though. It was curvy and only one lane wide, but giant tractors pulling trailers whizzed up and down it as a surprisingly fast speed.
Maybe it was just this busy during the peak harvest season, but I found myself needing to step onto the sloping road shoulder quite a few times to give this agricultural traffic the full lane. I was no dummy, I wasn’t playing chicken with tractors that had rear tires taller than me. Especially when they were traveling 60+ kilometers an hour.
800 KILOMETERS
Over the next hour or two, the fog slowly burned off, but the day still felt overcast and gloomy. Newly harvested corn fields appeared with nothing but 12-inch high stubby stalks left behind and a few random desiccated ears of corn that escaped the harvester.
Somewhere along this rural paved lane, just a few kilometers north of Arzúa, I passed the last major milestone of my journey. One that others couldn’t see or feel, because it had no special marker.
This milestone was the 800-kilometer mark on the Camino de Norte. I’d officially walked 800 kilometers since crossing into Spain by foot exactly four weeks ago! And in 42 short kilometers (the distance of a marathon), I’d be in the center of Santiago gazing up at the cathedral!!
LET THE CHAOS BEGIN
The final walk into Arzúa turned out to be a quiet one. But perhaps that was only because I was entering from the north, far away from the parade of peregrinos who were making their way into this major trail town from the east.
As I joined up with the Camino Frances in the center of the town though, a deep sadness washed over me. First, as heartbreak that the journey would be over tomorrow. I didn’t want to continue beyond Santiago this time around. And I didn’t to see the journey end so soon.
Then my emotions shifted to a sense of a melancholy with the realizationin that I wouldn’t have the opportunity to walk another kilometer all alone. Every curve in the trail would bring more pilgrims in sight – no matter how fast (or slow) I walked.
My sadness was soon replaced by frustration though when I encountered a bunch of 12 year old kids walking on the trail five and six abreast.
At first I though it was just a group of 30 or so kids on a field trip, goofing off and rough-housing, but it was probably closer to triple that number. As I walked past the initial cluster, I realized there were hordes of rowdy pre-teens everywhere. They were all over the trail and I couldn’t seem to get past them.
I excused myself and tried to make my way through the raucous throng, but then one boy named Paulo tried to keep pace with me while asking me questions in Spanish.
What was my name. Where was I from? How many days had I been walking?
I politely answered Paolo’s first few questions, but it soon became a free-for-all with the kids talking over each other and shouting their own questions at me. I picked up my pace to try to politely break contact, but Pablo kept right on my heels. He and his friends fired off more and more questions in rapid Spanish delaying my ability to break away from the rowdy, curious pre-teen crowd.
After nearly ten minutes of speedwalking and trying to outpace the kids, I saw a bar beside the road where nearly every inch of its exterior covered with beer bottles. This was my chance. The Camino narrowed here and the kids had to give way to new pilgrims exiting the bar and joining the road.
It was just enough of a distraction to allow me to break away, and I squeezed beside two large men and picked up my pace even more. They kids finally gave up when they realized they had new (slower) prey to engage. But I was sweating from the effort it took to lose them. It felt like a gauntlet of sheer madness.
ANYONE HOME?
On the positive side, trying to outpace the kids got me to Salceda just after 2 p.m., which was full half hour earlier than I’d expected to arrive this afternoon. With this extra time, I decided to stop and eat lunch at the first restaurant I spotted before heading my albergue just another 100 meters up the road. I was famished and I figured the albergue could wait.
Stopped to eat might have been a poor choice on my part though, because as soon as I finished and walked over to the albergue, their front door was closed and locked.
Another pilgrim saw me standing on the front porch and opened the door to let me inside, but the albergue’s proprietor was no where to be found. Figuring she might be in the bathroom, or eating her own lunch, or attending to some other chores, I waited patiently at the front desk for her to return.
Five minutes passed. Then ten more elapsed. I rang the bell on the desk several times. No response.
I began wandering around the albergue looking for some help. I just wanted to check in and get a bed to rest in. The proprietor wasn’t the kitchen. Or the laundry room. I wandered upstairs. Nothing. So I returned to the front desk and rang the bell again. Still nothing. What the heck was going on here?!? Where was this lady?
I found another pilgrim with a Spanish SIM card who was willing to call the proprietor on my behalf and let her know I was waiting at the front desk. And that when I learned she was off-site at a completely different location. What a way to run a business!!
She showed up ten minutes later and finally checked me in. And once I got settled and took my shower (which was delightfully warm and had great water pressure), I was in a good mood again.
It was time to focus on the rest of my journey. Only one more day left to go. Just 27.5 kilometers to Santiago. The end of this Camino is so very, very close!
