Today there were three options to take heading north-west up the Rio Pereje valley. There was the easy route, along the valley floor. There was the recommended route that meant climbing some 2000 feet out of the valley, known as “El Camino Duro” or the hard Camino. Then there was a further route to the south, badly way marked, which was just insane. I was tempted by the insane route but it involved climbing some 6-7 thousand feet over three mountains and while the climb wouldn’t have been an issue now, the descent would have been catastrophic for my toes. So I took the Camino Duro and had coffee a few hours later in a little village called Trabadelo. I was chatting to a German girl that I’ve met a few times and after the obligatory foot repair niceties, we compared guidebooks. I cannot describe the delight I felt when the German guidebook didn’t even mention the insane route. There she was – plus a fair few other Germans, including a couple who aren’t even carrying their rucksacks – congratulating herself on doing the hard route when they in fact had done the moderate route. The consensus at the coffee halt was that I should just stop talking and never mention this deadly secret again. Hah!
Coming out of Villafranca I was ambushed by the little chap below and his brothers. He wriggled a bit in the rucksack for the first couple of hours but now seems settled. I hope we can find a new home for Lucky because this little fellow is vastly nicer.
Now in my rucksack….
One of the advantages of course of climbing out of the valley is one gets the most stupendous views. This was looking back. Ever had the experience of looking at mountain ranges and not being sure whether one is looking at a bank of cloud or a mountain-line – and then realising that you are looking at very high mountains? Had that today – the mist cleared a bit and suddenly one saw the mountain ranges with snow-capped peaks.
Mountains looking East
Once I had come back down the valley floor, the road route became a little less exciting. The A6 motorway also runs up the same valley and so one passes underneath it a few times. At the end of the valley, there is a peak called Cebreiro (which I’ll hit tomorrow) for which there is a pretty steep 5 mile climb (hence I’ll do it in the morning). The climb has a bit of a reputation though – so I was delighted to see the below sign in a village on the valley floor advertising horses to take you up. Tempting but I think it would count as a cruel and unusual punishment to ask a horse to carry me up. I loved the cartoon of the horse.
Great sign
Now the motorway has taken away all the passing traffic, the valley villages have a lovely, down-at-heel air about them. The makeshift bridge below looked like it wouldn’t pass many Elf’n’safety inspections.
Door Bridge
So tonight I’m staying in a little village called Herrerias. The A6 motorway is nearby but about 400 feet above us so the noise is non-existent. So I look out upon a quiet valley as below. It’s actually quite a fancy little hotel – so nice I didn’t feel like washing my socks in the sink. They don’t have a laundry service but I did my helpless Englishman bit at reception – that’s not an act by the way, it’s just me being me – and they offered to do a bag of washing in their family washing machine. Drinks were with a woman who borrowed my phone to make a "short" call to her son in the States and dinner was with David, a nice American doctor. I saved both of us from a bad next day by sending back the pork steaks which were cooked to a Spanish taste, i.e. still pink.
View from my window
I did wonder why my rucksack is getting a bit heavy again. So I opened up the medicine bag and all became clear.
Feet, glorious feet
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