Triacastela to Sarria (Oct 4)

Being in a valley, our room at Triacastela was cold and damp and it was too early in the season for the heating to come on. When we started out nearly 9am the sun had yet to appear above the surrounding mounains, it was freezing cold and the ground around looked frosty.

We climbed out of the valley through a rain forest and then cow pastures. The village of San Xil was not unlike the dung coated Fonfria of the previous day only that the path was steeper, and with a careless slip one would end up covered in cow excrement! Needless to say we were pleased to move on to still higher grounds, once more into forests of oak, chestnut and birch trees.

Birch forest near Triacastela.

The rest of the walk was through similar landscape of forests and pastures, a scenery of beauty except that one had to constantly watch one's feet from stepping on the even ground or cow dung!

Walking towards Sarria we were joined by a Dutch lady we met several times after Cebreiro, over the past couple of days. While chatting as we walked we discoveded we had some common background. She actually went to school in Singapore while her father was working in Java. What's more her father was working in Batu near Malang, a very little known hill resort outside of Dad´s home town of Surabaya in East Java, where we happened to stay in some years ago.

After Triacastela, we were determined to be comfortable at Sarria so we stayed at a 3-star hotel. The hotel had a "3-fork" restaurant, which we eagerly dined in. K had their pork dish in the "menu del diaz", which was always good value, and I had turbot and clams casserole even though I had never heard of the fish before. Quite a change from a diet of jamon and tortillas.

Sarria was a prosperous looking small city. We took a walk through the new part of town and topped up on our shopping needs.

Cebriero to Triacastela (Oct 3)

Morning fog at Cebreiro.

 The casa rurale we stayed in at Cebreiro was very comfortable; though the room was small, it was
well heated.


In the morning there was just one place open for breakfast and it was served by just a single tender. The queue was long and once again we expressed surprise at the lack of interest in the service industry in
a country with 25% unemployment!

The winds from across the Atlantic hits land at Galicia making its weather wet and unstable throughout the year. True to form the weather changed that night and when we left in the morning Cebreiro was shrouded in fog and drizzling. Out came the ponchos for the first time, as well as oil-skin gaiters.

The downhill walk was not as difficult as expected but we were still cautious, taking the road in parts in preference over the designated path now wet and slippery,  Throughout the descent the scenery, whenever it emerged from the fog, was stunning, the green lushness not seen earlier on the Camino. For contrast though, we also had to trod through the village of Fonfria which could be best remembered as one with its main street largely coated with a centimetre of wet cow dung such that we could not but step on it. It
was such a put off that we decided to walk another 2.5 km for our coffee break.

The weather eventually fined up but we decided to skip the last few kilometre of the descent to Triacastella where it was the steepest.

Fonfria village.

Triacastela at the foot of the range had many accommodation for peregrinos. We stayed in a room at a casa rurale but unlike the one at the top of Cebreiro it was uncomfortably cold and damp, and the heaters had yet to be turned on at that time of the year. With the humidity of Galicia and the recent rains, it meant that this was one of few times when our washings would not dry.

We had a bit of time to wander around. The church was dedicated to St James (ie Santiago) and the statue of the saint was given the most prominence. It was always good to have the time to look around the
town or village we were staying in. The gentle stroll seemed to relieve the physical stress, and in a sense the walk would not dominate the mission.

Coincidentally, there were many Aussies at the pub restaurant where we had dinner. Other pilgrims we talked to always mentioned that they had met many Aussies but until then we had not. I took pride in introducing the pulpo dish to others in the bar, and was very glad that several followed me in trying out the dish.

La Portela to O Cebreiro (Oct 2)

From La Postela our next objective was O'Cebreiro a peak on the next mountain range that marked the border with the next and final province, Galicia. The Camino path ran alongside the main road, passing through a series of villages most of which had holiday type accommodation for tourists and pilgrims as accommodation at Cebreilo can be hard to come by durring peak season.

The last 600m to the top was supposed to be quite steep and as Kay did not want to risk it so I
did it alone while she cruised up in a taxi from the village of Herrerias. The first 3 km was a steady uphill but the problem was that it was uncomfortably humid as it was through with a dense temperate rain forest. The track was unmarked and for a while I thought I was lost. Eventually I came to the village of La Faba, where I came face to face with three fat cows on a narrow path! The cowherd helped shoo the cows to one side but I ended up ducking behind him for security.

Beyond La Faba the land was cleared of trees and I had a spectacular view of the mountains an valley below. The climb was not too difficult but it was incessant and slow and I needed frequent rests, including having a soup break at a bar at Laguna, the last village before the peak.

Just before reaching the peak, I passed the maker stone that told I had entered Galicia.

The top of Cebreiro is a cluster of stone buildings all part of the tourist and pilgrimage industry. There were souvenir shops, bars and accommodation. Unlike most other places we passed through, it was not dominated by a church.  The historical link to the early pilgrims seemed tenuous.

Valtuille to La Portela - disaster management (Oct 1)

We were packing to leave in the morning when I discovered that my wallet was missing. I could have left it at the village bar when I was paying for the previous night's dinner or it could have fallen out on the way back, a distance of a couple of hundred metres. The bar had opened in the morning but the owner said he did not have it and we checked the path we took with no success. If it was dropped, it would have been picked up by any passer by. Contained in it were some cash, credit cards and a travel card specific for foreign currency withdrawals. Fortunately we had made sure we carried only our own credit cards and we have a second travel card. The landlady was helpful and quickly prepared a report for the police with our contact numbers in case it was found, but we held no hope for that.

We finally left Valtuille after 930am and at the next town Villafranca (yes another one of tbe same name as one we came across some weeks ago) 5 km away, thankfully  a large one, I was able to locate an internet cafe where I found contact information for the banks, deactivated the travel card. 

Villafranca #2

Then we were on our way again, on a route that followed the main road N6 and the new expressway A6, through villages with timber mills (oak, chestnut and pine trees galore). There was enough chestnuts on the ground for a roasted chestnut hawker to do a roaring business.

As the roads had been realigned following the guide maps was difficult but we eventually arrived at La Portela, our night stop.We stayed at a private albergue at La Portela. It was a truckstop but the reasonably decent looking hotel across the road did not want to serve us meals even though we were there in the advertised hour. Too early, the staff said. The albergue was very friendly and the manager, son-in-law of the owner, was most helpful in getting us booked into a place at the next stop in O Cebreiro. Most useful when our mobile phones did not work properly, which happened quite often in remote villages.

Ponferrada to Valtuille de Ariba (Sep 30)

Leaving the urban area of Ponferrada we first passed through small market gardens but but beyond the village of Fuente Nuevas where we stopped for a break, it became vineyard country again. It was Sunday and many vineyards were harvesting. Groups of itinerent workers were picking and carrying basket loads onto the back of trucks. The owner or supervisors handed out large bunches of grapes to us passsing walkers and wished us 'buen Camino'. He must be in a particularly good mood at harvest time, certainly quite a contrast to the reception the night before. Earlier at Fuente Nurevas  a villager handed out freshly picked peaches. It was a fruitful morning indeed.

At Fuente Nuevas we met up again with the NZ couple we had come across several times, first at Rabanal, then again at Ponferrada where we had dinner together.. We often make such short acquaintances with pilgrims walking roughly the same speed.

The day started cool but it warmed up rapidly and we were glad to take a break at the town of Cacabelos. The sign outside a crowded bar restaurant declared Pulperia Compostella. Of course we were nearing Galicia province and the Galician specialty pulpo or octopus was making its appearance. It was Sunday, and the restaurant was crowded with churchgoers and we were lucky to find a table, and most were ordering the pulpo sprinkled with bright red paprika. I could not wait for Galicia to taste the pulpo and had one serving all to myself because K could hardly bear the sight of tbe chopped tentacles let alone eat them!

Pulpo for lunch.

 We contined through vineyards and stopped for the night at a casa rurale, in the tiny hamlet of Valtuille de Arriba. Like many such places we have been through the B&B was a nicely and quite newly renovated stone house. The owner was a very friendly (and entreprising) teacher of French af a nearby school.
For dinner we walked a few hundred metres to the only bar in the quiet hamlet, which must serve mainly by itinerant fruit pickers. By the time we got there, the bar was quiet and the only other customer were an Irish couple peregrinos staying at the same casa rurale.

Acebo to Ponferrada (Sep 29)

Acebo was only half way down the mountain range and after the previous day's experience we reassesed our management of the descent. We were not the only walkers feeling the stresses. A woman from Melbourne staying at the same hostal had a fall and another was nursing her injured knee at the bar. Expecting that the track down would be covered the same way with large loose stones, we decided to follow the asphalt road instead even though this was generally not recommended because the distance was greater and there were risks from passing traffic.

Nonetheless, we followed the LE241 that wound its way though the mountain valleys, carefully keeping to the narrow paths one side or the other, all the time with steep mountain face on one and deep valley on the other. Following the road we passed high above Riego de Ambros, a village in which all houses seemed to have a new slate roof. The view was breathtaking so was the thrill when cars come around the bend towards us. Fortunately it was a quiet road on a quiet Saturday.

Village of Riego de Ambros.

At the pretty town of Molinaseca we still had 8 km to go to reach our stopover town of Ponferrada where we also wanted to a walk around the well known Knight Templer medieval castle there. Something had to give, the walking did.

Medieval castle at Ponferrada.

Ponferrada did not have the same warm feeling as most other places we visited. Many walls around the old city was defaced with grafitis and the castle though massive, was no more impressive than others in Britain and Europe.

Perhaps worst of all the restaurant waiters at the main plaza were unfriendly even though the tapas dishes we had were among the best so far. We were told curtly by the waiter to speak Spainish even though the menu had an English version; we were supposed to look at the corresponding items in Spanish and order them that way. Fortunately by then, more than four weeks in the country, K had quite a repertoir in the language for ordering food and was able to revert promptly. If the waiter was impressed he did not show it!

Rabanal to Acebo via Cruz Ferro (Sep 28)

Leaving Rabanal we climbed gradually and after about 6 km we rested at a small mountain village of Foncebadon. We kept looking towards the top of the ridge for tbe Cruz de Ferro, the Iron Cross. Another  2 km on we finally came to it, a surprisingly small cross set ln top of a tall pole marking the highest elevation point of the entire Camino route, standing more than 1300m above sea level..

Many brought stones and other memorabilia from home to be placed on the base of the Cross. From us we placed a small local stone that K wrapped with a small piece of fabric that Yvonne used to wear. It was an emotional moment for us as the loss of Yvonne had so much contributed to our decision to make this journey.

Leaving the Cruz de Ferro we began the descent. There was nothing much in the 9km to El Acebo stop for tbe night apart from Manjarin, an abandoned village  populated by just one man (and a couple of cats at least) who ran a primitively constructed refuge and provided simple food and drinks on "donativo" (donation). Simple, but the shelter received mention in most guide books.

Manjarin with a population of one.

The steep descent was very difficult, made worse by the large loose stones tbat covered tbe track. Soon our knees and ankles were hurting, so at an opportunity a few kilometres from Acebo we switched to walking on an asphalt road that wound down the mountain at a more gentle slope for road traffic. Easier on the feet, not necessarily safer.

Acebo, a revived village of stone houses, is now a pilgrim village that has numerous accommodation and a bar restaurant tbat served more than the usual basic sandwiches and tapas. We had an enjoyable dinner sharing a local dish of sausages and pork leg stewed with paprika and chickpeas.