Day 32: Cruz de Ferro → Molinaseca (17.19 km)
As I walked away from the iron cross I felt lighter. I was able to let myself enjoy my surroundings again.The young rays of sunlight revealed mountains covered in beautiful yellow, purple, and white flowers with little butterflies flitting around them. For the first time in weeks I heard the gentle ringing of livestock bells and saw cows grazing freely on the hillside.
Around a bend I suddenly heard medieval music. It was emanating from a little bar on the mountainside. I had no idea when the next opportunity for food would be so I stopped for breakfast. Naturally I ordered a pincho de tortilla and zumo de naranja. The tortilla came with some bruschetta which was absolutely amazing.
I passed through the mountain town of El Acebo where I stopped for a second breakfast of cake and ran into Larry and Desi. The place was so beautiful and peaceful that I wanted to stay there, but it was still really early in the day, so it made sense to keep going.
The rest of the way was mostly a steep downhill descent, with rocks reminiscent of the dragon’s teeth on the descent to Zubiri but not quite as big. These were the baby dragon’s teeth. I felt tempted to send a warning message to some of my friends who I knew were a day behind, but ultimately decided not to spoil the surprise. It might have ruined their enjoyment of the top of the mountain to be anticipating the walk down. It was well worth the slow and steady baby steps and the second blister on my big toe to arrive in Molinaseca. There was a sign proclaiming it to be one of the prettiest towns in Spain, and, as someone who by this time had seen a significant number of towns, I feel qualified to agree.
My top priority was to soak my feet in the river, so I found an albergue nearby, threaded my blister and came out in shorts and sandals ready to be refreshed. The water was freshly melted snow from the mountaintop that was so cold it hurt after only a few seconds. I put my feet in again and again, a little longer each time, until eventually I could sit on the bank with the water flowing over my legs up to my knees. I probably spent over two hours like that, and it really helped my shin splints. Every Camino town needs a cold river.
As I was soaking, I saw Lori across the river. She joined me for a while and told me about her upcoming plans (she did a lot more research than I did). Later we met up for dinner and were also joined by Rob from Canada who I recognized from the singing circle with the nuns in Carrion. I regret that I didn’t get a picture of us that day, especially since more than one person surreptitiously asked me if Rob was a movie star. With his face, he could have been, but he became an expert on the medieval era instead, and told me we would see a medieval castle tomorrow in Ponferrada.
Throughout dinner my eyes became very itchy and Lori wisely insisted that I go to the pharmacy. I took her advice and picked up some drops for allergies. Another new addition to the ever-growing first aid kit.
The shower in the albergue was good, although as usual there could have been more hooks for hanging things. I tried to get comfortable on my top bunk, but there was a pilgrim on the other side of the room moaning loudly. I’m not sure if he was ill or drunk, but some of the men checked on him and dealt with whatever the issue was. When it was quiet I drifted to sleep anticipating the big city.
Day 33: Molinaseca → Camponaraya (16.99 km)
The morning was sunny and warm as I walked through the foothills and surrounding mountains to Ponferrada. When I arrived in the city it was still early by Spanish standards and not much was open. I stopped for a croissant and zumo de naranja for breakfast and then waited outside the tourist office until they opened. My pilgrim passport was almost full, so I wanted to get a second one in town lest I run out of room for stamps in the middle of nowhere. It turned out they didn’t sell pilgrim passports there, but they are available at most albergues, which I hadn’t realized. They directed me to the nearest albergue and I got one for a couple euros.
With my new passport in hand, I went straight to the castle. It was exactly what comes to mind when you hear the word “castle”, something I’d only seen in fairytales and Disneyland and until now hadn’t fully realized was real. I spent a couple of hours exploring. The highlight was sitting on the castle wall listening to an accordion player in the street below and watching random old ladies dance.
Next I went to a place my sister had recommended for churros con chocolate. The place was filled with fun, quirky decorations, but there was no one else there, the woman behind the counter was dead-eyed, and the food disappointing. I had thought I was going to stay in Ponferrada and even had some out-of-character dreams of city night life, but it was still early in the day and I was a pilgrim, not a tourist. Overall, I ended up spending two hours in the city before moving on. As I fled the city, I seemed to be always surrounded by children. There was a class of adorable kindergarteners holding hands on a field trip, kids at recess from school, and a toddler playing outside with her grandpa very sweetly wished me “buen camino”.
Outside of the city there were a couple of tiny towns lined with roses and then the path became blanketed in what looked almost like snow but was actually thick white cotton-like pollen falling from the trees. Nestled cozily among the pollen I found Sarah, Emma, Andrew, and Gillian having a picnic. They invited me to join them and I gladly finished off their scraps. We walked together for a while until I decided to stop, partly because it was a little late to find a place sans-reservation and partly because my allergies were flaring up from all the pollen. My friends continued on to make their reservation in the text town, but it wouldn’t be the last time I saw them.
The albergue I ended up in was fairly quiet. I enjoyed paella for dinner and spent most of the evening on the bed with tissues and eye drops. My bunkmate was an 80-year-old Spanish man, and I admit I felt a push to make sure he didn’t beat me in walking distance the next day.
Day 34: Camponaraya → Trabadelo (24.56 km)
The day’s walk was pleasant and easy through a new wine country that looked so much like Temecula, California (about an hour north of where I live) that it didn’t make sense to take pictures to send home because everyone would think I hadn’t really left. It’s no wonder the Spanish colonized California—they probably thought they’d made a wrong turn and had landed back in Spain.
I stopped for a pincho de tortilla and some fresh zumo de naranja in Villafranca del Bierzo, a nice town down in a valley. My Italian friends joined me. I’m glad I got a picture with them because it ended up being the last time we saw each other. We’ll probably never see each other again, but I’ll always remember them for their kind encouragement on the meseta.
Somewhere in this valley was a fork where my sister had recommended taking the alternate route, but I missed it and continued on the road along the river.
I wasn’t disappointed though because pretty soon the adventuring Aussie family caught up to me (I don’t know how they ended up behind me) and invited me for a picnic lunch by the river. We found a nice secluded spot off the trail and sat down for a feast. Andrew told me about how he traveled all the way around the world in his twenties without ever getting on a plane. This is a family who has their priorities straight.
We arrived in town and I saw Larry and Desi again. They were staying at the same place as my picnic friends. I was tired, so I just beelined for the municipal, but I later wished I had tried to get a bed where my friends were. When I look back at my Camino, I try not to have regrets, but this is one that bugs me. I didn’t have to choose to be alone.
I got word that Eunseok had arrived in Santiago. He’d really picked up some serious speed, especially considering he walked the whole way. I still didn’t want to admit that we probably wouldn’t see each other again and I missed my first Camino friend a lot that night.
Day 35: Trabadelo → O Cebreiro (18.34 km)
I started out alone as usual, following the path along the road until the first place open for breakfast. It was a truck stop, something I was used to seeing back in the US but not in Spain. Halfway through the door I could see shiny plastic seats and tables. I froze for a second in revulsion before turning right around and continuing down the road. Maybe I’m a bit of a snob, but this wasn’t the Camino to me. Not much farther down the road was a quaint little place with a very good dog named Oreo who watched me eat chocolate con churros for breakfast. That’s more like it.
The terrain was hilly and I could hear cowbells echoing through the pastures like the wind chimes that echo through the canyon where I live. A herd of cows came up the path in the opposite direction. I moved to the side but apparently not far enough in the opinion of the woman who was herding them. She yelled and cursed at me in Spanish, probably assuming that I didn’t understand what she was saying. But I did understand and it was more upsetting than I’d like to admit. As I continued up the hill, the cowbell sounds transformed from peaceful windchimes to ominous threats, and I had to sit down in the shade for a while and calm down until they turned back to windchimes.
Some time later, another local came down the trail leading horses. There were three tethered horses and one untethered white one was following. I stayed well out of the way and, to my relief, he didn’t yell and curse at me at all—he wished me “buen camino”.
The final ascent that day brought me into the region of Galicia. The only thing I’d heard about Galicia was that it’s guaranteed to rain, but so far it was hot and sunny. My uninformed self was also surprised to learn that Galicia is Celtic. Pilgrims were welcomed into the cute little mountain town of O Cebreiro by a bagpipe player (who was greatly in need of practice) and the town was filled with Celtic symbols.
I lined up at the municipal albergue and got a bunk. It was one of the nicer municipals with a great view. After doing a little laundry by hand, I went into town to enjoy the atmosphere. I sat with a group that I would soon affectionately deem “the drinking gang” because pretty much every time I saw them they were enjoying a round at a bar. I opted for an Aquarius to rehydrate.
Someone said the church is the oldest on the Camino and I was inspired to go to mass until Sarah et al arrived and I went to dinner with them instead. No regrets this time. We had a good time, some great burgers, and met a cool Irish couple.
Day 36: O Cebreiro → Triacastela (20.83 km)
I set out at dawn on a short alternate path through the forest because it looked farther from the road. It wasn’t much more than a kilometer detour before it merged again with the main route.
My eyes feasted on beautiful views through the mountains but my nose was accosted by the stench of the cow patties. The road was practically paved with poop. A lot of cows crossed the path throughout the day, the highlight being when a herd surrounded a young Korean girl. She got scared and barreled through them slowly, with an arm in front of her, and a muffled scream to avoid frightening the animals. Her Spanish walking buddy couldn’t stop laughing and neither could I.
My breakfast stop was at a little basement cafe where I couldn’t resist adding a piece of homemade chocolate cake to my regular order. Fantastic decision. This was also the place where I first noticed that Galician Spanish was a little different, although I couldn’t yet put my finger on why. (Spoiler alert: I figure it out embarrassingly late.)
The trail was busy and I walked on and off with friends, including Uwe from Germany who told me that the white horse symbolizes freedom, and Larry and Desi, who told me about what it was like in Australia during the pandemic. Desi also asked me about my heritage. At first my insides tensed up, but this was different from the disguised “why do you look like that?” question that I get all the time. She was genuinely trying to get to know me and told me about her own Greek heritage and how they were going there for a wedding right after the Camino. I must have sounded silly when I was shocked that she still visits as an adult, but a quick reflection later worked it out. I haven’t been able to go visit Venezuela where my dad is from since there has been a lot of political upheaval there, and I must have unconsciously compartmentalized visiting international relatives as belonging exclusively to that lost and irretrievable dimension known as childhood. Silly me. Not everyone’s experience is the same as mine. I listened with enthusiasm to Desi. Australia and Greece were both already high on my list of desired travel destinations, and her descriptions bumped them right up to the top.
We arrived in town and found a barbeque going on. I hung around there for a while before looking for an albergue. The one I chose was pretty nice, but I had a somewhat harrowing experience in the shower. At first I was delighted with the women’s shower room with large stalls and plenty of space outside them to put clothes and towels. The shower itself was hot with good water pressure. I happened to have the whole place to myself and had achieved a level of relaxation rarely found in my other albergue shower experiences. That is, until I stepped out of the stall in my birthday suit and saw two male pilgrims pass by. I jumped right back in the shower before my brain had time to fully process what was going on. What I hadn’t realized was that there was a full-length window, partly stained-glass, partly clear looking right out to the street. There was also a full length mirror on the wall directly across from the window. I’m pretty sure no one actually saw me, but I still take umbrage with whoever designed this place.
I had dinner with Desi and Larry and ordered a famous Galician dish that I had been looking forward to trying: pulpo (octopus). I wanted to like it. I tried to like it. I didn’t like it. Luckily Desi loves it, so she ate mine. I felt so bad, but she was really nice about it.
More fast walking friends, Anastasia, Alexa, and Dana arrived in Santiago. I wish I could walk into Santiago with all my new friends, but of course that’s not how it goes.
Day 37: Triacastela → Sarria (24.23 km)
The day started off with a fork in the Camino and the easy decision to choose the shorter path. I walked with Desi and Larry all day—I’m pretty sure they officially adopted me. There were many beautiful sights to admire. Mist and low clouds that covered the valley ahead making it look like we were moving toward the end of the earth; cows with cute calves dotting the hillsides; arches of luscious green trees.
Larry walked ahead and I talked to Desi about all kinds of things. She told me about her daughter and son-in-law’s boxing studio and about how her son did the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona (and I thought I was adventurous!). It was good to talk to someone while walking. It felt easier and faster and I got to know my friend better.
Almost everyone stopped at a beautiful bohemian-style donativo for snacks and they even had a ukulele.
In the outskirts of Sarria we saw octopus being boiled in a big pot. The sight did not increase its culinary appeal. Larry and Desi continued on to meet their reservation another kilometer along the Camino while I looked for an albergue. By now even I was aware that from Sarria on this was going to be a different game. The town is a little over 100 km from Santiago, the minimum distance required to get credit for walking the Camino, making it a popular starting location for pilgrims who don’t want to walk the full 800 km.
I was a little worried about finding accommodations, but I got a bed at a nice place right on the main path with no problem. It had real sheets and an excellent shower that finally had enough hooks! The owner didn’t speak English, so I ended up hanging around and translating for her and even made a sign. Pilgrims coming in started thinking I worked there. When the albergue rush was over I went outside to check out the area, but the work wasn’t done. I helped a couple of guys talk to their albergue on the phone and then helped a girl get directions to the grocery store. It felt awesome to be so useful.
Throughout the afternoon I saw various acquaintances pass through and chatted with the drinking gang, who naturally were having a round. After an early dinner of paella by myself, I got drinks with Sarah and her parents as well as Paula from Australia who was always a lot of fun to run into. We had a great time! Once again I’d intended to go to mass, but ended up staying and talking with Sarah for a long time. Both of us were on career breaks (I think that’s the PC way of saying having a quarter-life crisis) and trying to figure out how to make the most of life. It turns out being a young adult isn’t as easy as it looks. You’re trying to figure life out with the help of advice that’s invariably out of date, because by the time anyone has learned what they should have done it’s already too late. The game is constantly changing.
The Camino was constantly changing. By now we were surely well into the third phase. The first was physical, the second mental, and the third had seemed so far ahead for so long that I’d forgotten what it was supposed to be. I’d gotten a little reminder from my Italian friends. “Transformation”.
Victoria Castillo 