I’m beginning to see why people rate this as a tricky camino. When I looked at it on my map of Spain, I could see the route as it followed the River Sil through mountainous countryside. For some reason I assumed that the way would therefore be a gentle amble alongside the river; I had visions of leisurely lunches at one of the many vineyards that can be found here.
Land of wine
What I hadn’t realised – and could have done with a bit more homework – is that the Way actually runs up and down the hills alongside the river valley. Great for the views, kind of rough on the knees. The railway line gets the premier position down by the river…then the N120 goes a bit above that…then the pilgrims are left with the hills. So one goes up, then back down, and then back up again. Today was a 1000m+ day of climbing (and descending) in 20Km.
So some amazing views. But actually I should return to my clothes of yesterday. When I got back from the tapas bar last night, the sweet receptionist was there and gave me the clothes. I asked how much and she refused to take payment – said it was a gift from the family. I paid all of 25 euros for the room so it is hardly that they felt they were making a fortune from my stay – it was just sheer human kindness. So rare to find that in England but a real camino experience.
The first village out of A Rua was O Alveredos. I liked it before i even got there due to the funky artwork that someone had pinned to many of the trees on the approach.
I did think however that the blue man was a bit of cultural appropriation of my bright blue pilgrim outfits; I have written to the Spanish authorities therefore to demand that my hurt feelings are soothed with hard cash and the artist responsible is to be sent to a state re-education camp. We must deal harshly with any threats to our liberal values of tolerance…err…
The walk down the valley was equally delightful. I have never seen so many foxgloves (or whatever these flowers are called, I can barely recognise a daisy).
And at the bottom of the hill next to a mill house was a box of the ripest, sweetest cherries. I have no idea what the sign means; I thought “coge” was quite a rude word but anyway I helped myself to a handful.
And then onto lunch in Monfurado. Monfurado has a railway station for its 20 or so inhabitants. The train times are a little odd too…one train in the morning and then 2 within 10 minutes of each other in the evening. It also had a colossal church (of course closed), clearly built for a time when these houses had inhabitants other than cats. No cafe of course – I sat on the steps of the church and ate some food I had bought in A Rua.
Some long miles – up and down – followed to the village of Bendillo where, as arranged, I called the owner of the place i was renting a couple of miles further on. She said she would meet me at the apartment.
I got there – no sign of landlady. Also the appearance of massive great overpass somewhat detracted from the rural idyll I had expected. Still, eventually a young guy on a motorbike turned up and made a big deal of telling me where the washing line was to dry out clothes. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that thanks to a delightful kind old lady in A Rua he was wasting his breath.
What I was expecting...
What I got.. :-)
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