October 13, 2022
- Route: Sobrado de Monxes to Salceda
- Distance: 33.1 kilometers (20.5 miles)
- Cumulative Distance: 814.3 kilometers
Today will be my final day on the Camino Del Norte – at least technically. Once I walked into the town of Arzúa, just 22 kilometers into my day, the Camino del Norte would join the Camino Francés. The remainder of the way to Santiago would be walked with pilgrims from the Camino Francés and Camino Primitivo, as these routes merge for this final stretch.
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 longer. Instead of merging with the Camino Frances in Arzúa, I could have taken 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 Francés 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 for this evening in Salceda, one of the smaller towns on my route. If I were 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 this reservation 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.
I was rewarded for being an early riser this morning, too. 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 walking past an open field covered with a thin layer of wispy fog hovering 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-rich goodness, I wondered (not for the first time) how I was going to adjust to regular coffee when I got back home. I love European espresso so much. I may have to break down and purchase a real espresso machine back in the U.S.
As 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 during my break, 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 of walking, I reached a junction in the Camino and turned left toward Arzúa instead of taking the bypass to Lavacolla. It was only ten more kilometers farther until I’d reach the Camino Francés.
The Camino arrows sent me down a busy road. It was curvy and only one lane wide, but giant tractors pulling trailers whizzed up and down it as a surprisingly fast speed.
Perhaps it was just this busy during the peak harvest season, but I had to step onto the sloping road shoulder a few times to give the agricultural traffic the whole 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, along with 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 on foot exactly four weeks ago! 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.
A deep sadness washed over me when I joined up with the Camino Francés in the center of the town. At first, it felt like mild grief. I was sad that the journey would come to an end tomorrow. I don’t want to continue beyond Santiago this time around. But I also don’t want to see the journey end so soon.
Then my emotions shifted to a sense of wistful melancholy with the realization that I wouldn’t have the opportunity to walk another kilometer all alone. Every curve in the trail would bring more pilgrims into 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.
I initially thought this was just a group of 30 or so kids on a field trip, goofing off and rough-housing. But it was 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 questions at me. I picked up my pace to try to break contact politely, 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 almost every inch of its exterior was 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. The kids finally gave up when they realized they had new (slower) prey to engage with. 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 half an 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 to 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 caretaker was nowhere to be found. Figuring she might be in the bathroom, eating her 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 caretaker wasn’t in 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 caretaker on my behalf and let her know I was waiting at the front desk. And that’s when I learned she was off-site at a completely different location. What?!? How do you run an albergue from afar?
She showed up ten minutes later to check 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!
