13. Villanova de Arousa to Pontecesures to O Faramello. (14 kms on foot)

“A cold coming we had of it”

Well, the boat trip was a bit of a disappointment. A pilgrims’ boat? I was kind of expecting a gentle chug, chug, chug, gently up the stream kind of boat, but no. Nor was it stone, or even wood, it was a fibre glass power boat racing along at 60 knots. Still, we did have to cover 25 kms. 

The “only fluvial maritime via crucis in the world” was a bit rich as well. It was not so much a “way” but a scattering of crosses on islands and headlands along the banks of the river. We stopped to look at some of them. They bore different configurations of the Holy Family, and I was amused by one I that would call “the leaning cross of Padron”.

I was glad to land at Pontecesures. To be fair, it was early morning, foggy, and cold, the one part of my Camino where I could have used a down jacket.

I walked a couple of kilometres into Padron. After a very nice omelet for breakfast, I walked beside a market staged between two rows of knobbly plane trees, one of which might have been the offspring of the cyclops and an ent.

And then one of those Camino moments. I was standing at a crossroads, in both senses, wondering whether to go on, when a smiling trio approached, two German girls (Sarah and Julia) and the mother (Martina) of one of them, whom I had met at the Albergue Alternativo, and then again the next night. They were going to an albergue, 12 kms on, so I decided to follow.

 

After leaving the highway the path passed through many windey villages. In one of them, a  millstone leaning against a wall made me appreciate the meaning of the saying. I wouldn’t want that around my neck.

My day ended with a lovely saunter through a traditional wood, oak and ash, creepers winding around every trunk, bracken ground cover, and then another stretch of the ancient road where the pilgrims trod. This is why I come back.

And here I must thank the German ladies. Dries, from the Alternativo, had recommended a private Albergue, €20, but they said no, the municipal Albergue looks better . And it was. And only €8.

It was managed by Brunhilda, or the Spanish equivalent. She was a big (can I say that?) woman, and formidable. Welcome, she said, all smiles and hugs. But you’d better obey orders. “Ladies, you can’t come up here until you’ve registered.” “Charles, you haven’t put your sheet on the bed!” But like all the Camino Brunhildas I’ve met, she had a big heart.

To misquote Kenneth Graham again, There is nothing – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing, as downing a bottle or two of Estrella Galicia at the end of a long walk on a hot day. It was quite a steep climb up to the bar from the albergue, but later I drifted down.