Camino Invierno: 5. A Rúa de Valdeorras to Quiroga. 29 kms

It was a hard, hard day, with lots of ups and downs.

I realized that to to get through this long day, I would have to fall into full Camino mode, that is, not consult my watch or my map to see how far I had to come and how far i had to go, but to drift on and take everything as it came. And so I did.

Half the time I was on a road which wound up and around the top of the valley, but always with the river and the railway line far below. Often, seemingly for no reason, I would take off up a steep dirt track, or a minor road, and then come plunging down again. But I believe there was a reason for this which I shall explain later.

Just out of town, I was passed by a couple of the pilgrims, an older couple but younger than I, their packs adorned with pilgrim paraphernalia, shells, gourds, labels of distances travelled on various previous Caminos. Between them they must’ve added up to 5000 km.

I crossed into the province of Lugo. At the peak of the climb, I entered the little stone village of Alvaredos, passing under some giant kale plants, more like trees, really, that reached over my head. But I was more interested in a fig tree ahead where I tasted three of the most delicious figs I’ve ever had in my life. Along the street was a little pilgrim stand with a stamp and some fruit.

It was a beautiful morning. Again, I sang a refrain from Oklahoma.

O what a beautiful morning

O what a beautiful day.

I’ve got a wonderful feeling,

Everything’s going my way.

Then I reached over and touched a tree trunk. 

I passed a Galician marker with the shell pointing in the right direction. I had 190 km to go but I will have to take gronze steps if I am to make it before a flight out on the 19th.

On a steep descent towards the road below. I walked past a stretch of newly erected railing, marking the edge of a drop. On the roads above there were no barriers or posts to prevent cars from plunging over the cliff, but here, was thoughtful railing, to prevent the staggering pilgrim from disappearing. European money perhaps. Oh, those silly Brits!

On one of the high roads, I looked across the valley at more evidence of Roman mining, this time, not by ruina montium, but by causing a landslide and washing out mud to retrieve the gold. They didn’t muck around, the Romans.

I was anxious to eat some lunch, and a little further on I ran into the couple with the decorated packs who had stopped at an old olive mill. The millstones remained, and so did the olive trees across the street. Despite the couple’s warning that you could eat the olives right off the tree, I tried one. Quite vile, and the taste remained with me for several kilometres.

Clearly the local inhabitants aren’t fed up with the pilgrims as I suspect they must be on some other caminos.  I often passed water bottles left out for pilgrims, and in the little village of Momtefurado, they were deposited at intervals along an entire street.

Towards the end of the day, I crossed what must have been a medieval, if not Roman, bridge, for a little later on I walked along (what I think was) a magnificent stretch of Roman road with the wheel ruts clearly evident. I had been thinking that we were leaving the road so often to follow up and down these things dirt trads and tracks, simply because they (whoever they are) wanted to keep us away from road traffic. But now I’m thinking that we were indeed following the path taken by medieval pilgrims, and they would have used the old Roman road.

Each day I walk through ancient villages with their crooked streets, for there were no surveyors then: houses and barns just popped up along the road. In some of the villages many of the houses have been restored, but some remain with collapsed beams and heaps of rubble where a family once lived. Some show evidence of a half-hearted attempt at restoration. Many of the houses have sagging balconies, supported by weathered beams anchored in the stone. The families would have sat out there and chatted with their friends in the street below. Not any more. Some were in danger of collapsing. Yesterday, I walked along a street of abandoned buildings, silent now, where once there would have been lively sounds of animals below and people above.

At last, I arrived at Quiroga, where I am staying at the Hostal Quimper. The most comfortable room so far. All the pilgrims on this stage are staying here: the Bragger (not such a bad fellow after all), his travelling companion, a Korean (but not his girl friend), Carlos, and the couple with the heavily heavily adorned backpack.

Incidentally, I have been referring to my route as the Camino Invierno, but on every sign I see, it’s the Camino de Invierno.