Harry and I woke this morning (boys sharing room this week, shared with Zoe last week) in the knowledge that we were the superior species, that we would walk to Valcarce while the soft, feminine women took a cab the prodigious distance of 16km to save their delicate frames from further damage in the impending mountains.
We dug out the guide book to see which of the two mountainous routes we would masculinely take on with lots of gruntin' and spittin'.
We realised that there was a third way, a flat way. We decided to take that. We walked, chests out to the girl's room to inform them of our manly intent and wish them well in the clutches of the local taxi services.
When we got there they looked fine. Monica's ailments were significantly better than the day before, Zoe looked a million bucks. When they heard of our plan to take a flat way, along a local creek and beside the road, thus avoiding either of the mountain stages they decided to join in.
And that's when it happened. We finished brekky and headed out the door and waved a final farewell to Villafranca. Monica took off like a rocket. Harry and I could scarcely keep up. Zoe, usually Miss Grumpy in the mornings, was all bells and whistles. She hummed and skipped and jogged and joked. The girls were on fire. Harry and I had had our day of masculine domination thwarted by the wonderful energy of the ladies in our lives. We weren't disappointed, it was great.
We headed quickly out of town and onto the Camino proper. It wound along a pretty creek and occasionally crossed a highway but essentially it was a really nice walk through deep, shaded valleys with the constant sound of the clear mountain water rushing over stones in our ears all day.
A couple of times we detoured through little villages that were just off the road. The were quite pleasant in shaded little vales. One had a sort of private cemetery with tombs as opposed to graves. The other was clearly a milling town, timber piled up for miles going in.
All in all it was a pretty nice day, the walk only took a few short hours, it was shady and reasonably flat. Everyone had a good opportunity to recharge, to heal, and to get a good afternoon's rest before the big climb the next day into O'Cebreiro. Famous. Huge.
As we get closer to our destination, to Santiago de Compostela, we are seeing more and more the image of St James. He is in pilgrim mode, sombrero turned up at the front, walking stick with the 'conch' shell dangling off it accompanied by his gourd, an old fashioned water container.
The shrines are becoming more and more common, the chapels more and more significant, we visited one on the way through one of the little villages and were amazed by the amount of stuff in it. As we were there a serious pilgrim in a heavy woolen robes came in, no words, kneeled at the altar, prayed silently, crossed himself and walked out with deliberate intent. He was on a mission. We haven't seen him since.
It is getting quite exciting.
Buen Camino Peregrinos
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