Golf’s most famous bridge is the Swilcan on the 18th hole at St Andrews Old Course. Here I was crossing the Ponte Romana on the last day of the Camino Primitivo. The bridge is located about 50 meters from the Casa da Ponte hotel. Although the CP will continue to Santiago after merging with the French Way in Melide, we have made it through the gauntlet of several hard days. We could relax on these final miles.

The “we” was a band of five, four of us completing the CP (Bart from Belgium, Sam and Margot from Salt Lake City, and moi) and a newcomer Laura from Lugo. Laura was a biology graduate of the University of Santiago de Compestella (the other USC) with a teaching Masters degree. She found that teaching wasn’t for her. At the moment, she is scooping helados. She has applied for a Masters program in bioinformatics. She wanted to complete a Camino during this lull in her life. We hiked up to our last CP mountain with what else on top, wind generators.

On the way, we stopped for some cafe at Casa Camino, a three room albergue that is luxuriously appointed. A German couple who love Spain bought this 800 year old building and completely redesigned the interior. I recommend this place to everyone! We took a group photo in the lounge area.

We walked on mostly on paved roads. We passed a happy door, appreciated the sign warning drivers that pilgrims were on the road, smiled at the small statue of St James at a fork in the path, and we were surprised by the iconic American symbol of Route 66.

Another two hours passed and the comida call came to our bellies. We stopped for cerveza (Bart and I) and agua con gas (Laura). We polished off our boccadillos (sandwiches) of chorizo and huevos with real crusty bread. Sonia was our gracious host.

A few miles more and we were in Melide. The time had come to say good-bye to Bart and Laura. We already said our farewells to Sam and Margot at our lunch stop. They had eaten at a cafe before ours and were staying at an albergue six km beyond Melide. The chances of seeing them all are slim because we will be reaching Santiago on different days, Thursday for them and Friday for me. So, our travel times won’t be in synch. It was sad to depart from those whom you shared the challenges and stories of the CP.

BUT I met up with Cristina and Jamie from Canary Islands. They were staying at an albergue right around corner. They will be arriving on Santiago on Friday, the same day as I. Over what else, cervezas, we planned meeting for a last supper st a restaurant Cris’s brother recommended — excellent food for the price. Until then, I will most likely be on my own surrounded by pilgrims from the French Way.

I end this entry with a photo that Bart took and sent me. I am up the road with Sam and Margot. The shadow in the foreground is Bart whose form looks like St James with a staff. Perhaps St James like Kobo Daishi was watching over us all along.

Today’s ups and downs felt like mere moguls in comparison to the elevation changes in the Asturian and Galician mountains. I departed Lugo by 8 AM through the Porta de Santiago next to the cathedral. After I crossed the Rio Minho, I had my last look at Lugo with the two towers of the cathedral in the distance.

I was far more relaxed about this day. The distance was long but no high mountains were noted on the map. The route was almost 75% paved as opposed to some previous days of less that 25%. I made good time on average — about 21 minutes per mile. In the mountains, the average was 27-30 minutes. I missed the rough and raw nature of the mountains. However, this terrain expressed its own beauty.

Another hour passed until I reached my hotel for the night: Casa da Ponte. Indeed, it is right next to a bridge if one uses a broad definition for a bridge. Cows could be seen across the street. Unlike any other hotel in Spain, I was asked my preferred time for dinner; 7 PM, I said. No problem. In the meantime, I sat writing this post while sipping a glass of Albariño.

Dinner at the Casa da Ponte was simple and delicious. I shared my table with Bart from Belgium with whom I walked several times on this Camino. I had the vegetable soup while Bart chose the rice with mushrooms. For the mains, Bart had the chicken and I, the calamari. Given that Bart is Belgium, we asked for mayonesa for our papas fritas. Thumbs up to the kitchen staff.

Breakfast at 8 tomorrow which will be the last day before the CP merges with the French Camino. More changes are in the offing.

This day promised to be mostly downhill as we exited the mountains to the east. But first, one last serious climb over the ridge with wind generators that were in the background of yesterday’s last photo.

Today was the easiest and for some the last true day of the Primitivo because the challenging walks were behind us. Here’s Bernard, the carpenter, who is leaving the CP in Lugo. He was so pleased to have walked the CP. A dream fulfilled.

In two days, the Primitivo meets the French Way in Melide. The elevation changes are not as dramatic and the distances covered shorter. We’ll see what lies ahead. But let’s enjoy the moment.

Indeed, today was almost a walk in the park except we stilled covered 21 miles. The church in Vilabade was the most impressive since Grandes de Salime.

At the halfway point at Vilar, we stopped for coffee and Tortas Asturianos (similar to a pound cake) at the Pocina Muniz Albergue — highly recommended and a superb stopping point for those not heading directly to Lugo. I finally got a dose of puppy love. As Laird and I discovered on our Portuguese Camino last year, the dogs in Portugal and Spain do not understand English. They are really well trained and are often off leash. However, their owners must have told them to avoid strangers especially English speaking pilgrims.

Three hours later, we descended our final hill, crossed a bridge, and then made the steep ascent into Lugo. The city is the only one in the world that is completely enclosed by an intact Roman wall — a World Heritage site. There are 10 gates and 71 towers. The wall’s perimeter can be walked — about 2.5 km. One of the entry points is in front of the Lugo Cathedral.

The day concluded with a dinner with Gabriel. Our walking duo began in front of the San Salvador Monestery in Cornellana on Day 2. We were both tired and were sitting on park benches with our shoes off. He asked me the direction of the Camino. I soon followed and we began walking together. Serendipity. Who knew ahead of time.

We ate two preparations of Galician pulpo (octopus), one grilled and the other braised in garlic. With dessert, that was enough given how many pilgrim menus we enjoyed during the past week. No bottle of wine was included. The price? We were definitely back in the big city.

As I pass through the Gates of San Pedro, I will be less than 100km, the distance required to obtain a Compestella. Who knows what will happen in the final days of this Camino. We shall see.

You may have noticed that images of wind generators often appear in the blogs. Not surprising because they are located at the top of the mountain passes that the CP seems to draw a beeline to. They are the easiest access points those spots. Too bad King Alfonso’s scouts can’t collect royalties for having identified some of the best spots for these white towers.

From my hotel in A Fonsagrada, the fog briefly opened up and the sun shown on a long row of wind towers. I thought that here was the first target of our walk. They were 10 miles away. Sure enough in about 3.5 hours, we were climbing up towards them. We had an added show of seeing a dairy farmer move a calf and her mother to another corral.

After cresting the mountain, we came upon a very small chapel. Inside was a statue of St James aka Santiago in the garb of a pilgrim. Periodically, statues of Santiago will appear by the Camino route — large and small. A wonderful reminder of why the Camino started and its enduring attraction to thousands.

We had not encountered our fellow pilgrims en masse on the route. Today, for whatever reason, it happened. The solo photo is of Pieter from the Netherlands. Married with three children, he seems to be constantly on the road. He’s walked nine Caminos. He has walked from his home in Utrecht, Netherlands to Rome on the Via Francigena (VF) and beyond to Sicily. He felt that he has completed the VF because the distance from Utrecht to Rome is equivalent from Canterbury to Rome (more than 2,000 km). He did mention that his wife accompanied him for some segments of these walks.

While taking Pieter’s photo, other Caminoites came along. We have walkers from left to right: Latvia, Chile, US (PA), Germany, US (Utah) and Spain.

At Cafe Meson, a walker’s rest stop was a table of often seen walkers from left to right: Pieter — Netherlands, Ramona — Germany, Mick — US, Yoshiko — Japan, and Ilena — US.

We stopped as well for a coffee break. We met Marianne and H.A. from Fredericton, New Brunswick, Canada. They were on their fifth Camino. H.A. offhandedly told me that he was the oldest person walking the CP. “Really?” said I. “Yes, I’m 72,” said he. “Hum, I’m 75,” said I. I mentioned that Mick from Cincinnati with his back to us wearing a hat was 76. We all had a good laugh.

As an aside, I was told that I was the China guy (pronounced Chee-na generally applied to East Asians) who wore the green cap. Every person is described in shorthand and whether you walked alone, in a pair, or in a group.

After another two hours, we estimated that we were in the final few kilometers of reaching O Cadavo. You can’t see the town in the image below. I wanted you to see what we saw after 18 miles of walking. Remember stay in the present and don’t project what lies ahead. It is hard to do,!Luckily, it was just over the hill and not near the wind generators in the distance. We arrived at 4:30 PM.

You won’t believe the end to this day. After settling into my room, taking my shower, and preparing for the next day, I was awakened from a nap at 7 PM to the sounds of a band playing what seemed to be 50’s Spanish music whatever that really is. In the event space directly below my room, about a dozen couples were celebrating their 50th anniversaries. The sound was deafening and the drum had that low bass thump, thump, thump beat.

I had a voucher to eat the hotel’s menu. I asked if the voucher could be transferred to another restaurant because I like quiet or what passes for quiet in today’s restaurant. No sympathy from the management. So, I went elsewhere for dinner with my walking buddy Gabriel — guy from Chile. Not such a loss given how much dinner costs in this region.

I started with a large plate of peas as my first course. Peas? Yes, peas and they were delicious. Two steaks of grilled hake followed plus potatoes. I ended with strawberry ice cream. I can’t think of when I last had this flavor. Add in a full bottle of white vino (half taken) and there you have it for 12 Euros. Amazing.

Dinner ended at 9:30. I returned to the hotel shortly thereafter hoping that the anniversary event would have ended. No go so I sat with Cristina and Jamie recounting the last few days on the road. By 10:30, they left to return to their albergo while I went upstairs. The last notes were played at 11. I didn’t know that old people could stay up so late. I can’t, for sure. Finally, another day ended.

Rain started the day. Rain ended the day. It poured when we entered Galacia in the middle of the day.

Out of my hotel window, the backside of Grandes de Salime’s main church loomed in front of me. It was almost on top of me because the street was narrow. When I left my window open to cool my room, I heard the flat tone of the church’s clanging bell strike the hour and half hour throughout the night at the times when I was awake. I had to take a photo of this church that the many smaller churches seemed to have modeled on the Camino route.

The rain came down in a steady stream as Gabriel, my now “official” walking buddy, and I made our way through the surrounding fields carefully balancing ourselves with our hiking poles as we zigzagged and hopped over stride length mud puddles. We slogged along at a greatly reduced pace ever alert for Camino markers that sometimes seemed to pop up here and there.

Those of us who live in the Lehigh Valley are accustomed to seeing slate roofs or thicker pieces of slate used for sidewalk or patio paving. Sometimes, upright grave markers are slate. However, I have never seen a slate fence and in such a small hamlet as Castro — about five houses. The Castro Neolithic style hasn’t seem to have caught on anywhere else.

Our high point of the day was Puente de Arcebo at 3400 feet where the windmills are located in the next photo.

We had a slight break in the weather and took our raincoats off. Within minutes came the downpour that lasted for over an hour. During that time, we left Asturias for Galacia, the Spanish state located in the NW corner of the Iberian peninsula. Galacia’s Camino markers were recently installed. Unfortunately, the photo is a bit blurred because of the heavy rain and the fiercely blowing wind. We were in Galacia, the home of the Cathedral of Santiago de Compestella, pulpo (octopus) as its famous dish, and a world class white wine, Albariño.

We were soaked. We were cold. Gabriel put on waterproof winter gloves from Sweden to protect his hands. Mine were red — no gloves. We had no choice but to walk on. The unmanly option would have been to call for a cab.

Our destination, A Fonsagarda, was 9 miles away. We looked for a bar or restaurant where we could warm up with some coffee and take our raincoats off. We passed none for 5 miles. But then a sign appeared with two forks in the right corner. Food and shelter!

It turned out that the restaurant was packed with mostly men who were truck drivers or locals, working guys or ROMEOS (retired old men eating out). The others, Camino walkers that included all of the women, were eating or waiting in line for a table. Even though dining is a longer term proposition in Spain than the US, the tables were turning over.

We could order a la carte or go with the three course menu. Surveying the scene, the obvious choice was the menu. Choices were given and we both agreed on the fabada, the Asturian bean soup that I had been trying to order since day 1 as our first course. I was glad to see cross border sharing especially of a regional dish that is a source of pride among Asturians. In a word, the fabada was fantastic. Those beans were as large if not larger than lima beans. The soup came in a serving tureen. We both enjoyed two bowls.

Our second was squid in a rich prawn tasting sauce. We could finish about half of what was served though the ever present papas fritas were consumed. They were hot, crispy, and crunchy. I didn’t ask for mayonesa. I ate them neat or with the seafood sauce.

We ended with fresh fruits. Gabriel drank a small bottle of Coke Zero while I was given an entire bottle of Albariño; I drank only half. What a loss to leave the remainder. The cost? Fourteen, yes, 14 Euros each.

We left dry and more than satisfied. Towards the end of our final 4 miles, it started to rain again while we climbed up the 300 foot hill to reach the town. “It is what it is,” we said to one another. Living in the moment, we were almost at our hotels where a hot shower awaited and with delightfully full bellies. No dinner tonight.

The morning started misty and colf. Breakfast was simply toast with butter and jam and an excellent pound cake, not sugary. To boost my energy level, I asked for cafe con leche (the Spanish version of cappuccino) but with two shots of espresso. I know that my Spanish is none too good. I saw that my host had raised eyebrows. She brought me my cafe con leche AND two separate cups of espresso. Did I have a buzz on when I walked outside.

Today’s walk required going over a mountain whose crest had rows of windmills followed by a lengthy descent to the crossing of a dam that created a major hydroelectric power station and reservoir and a final ascent to the town on the next mountain.

To reach the windmills, imagine walking up the equivalent of the Empire State Building that was covered in fog. About two thirds of the way up, an unexpected reminder appeared as graffiti written on the road — “the present is a gift.” I learned from my walks to try to live in the present. You can’t change the past and dwell in memories. Who knows what the future will hold. One can anticipate what may come but one should not expend energy on what may never happen. “It is what it is,” sums it up pretty well.

At the top, the fog rolled in and out. I caught a glimpse of the windmills. Most of what I experienced was hearing the swooshing sound of the blades at they cut through the air. I read an article last month that said the blades spin at a maximum speed of 120 mph. What an amazing feat of engineering and construction.

I was now on the descent towards the dam. The fog was still thick and created a visual drama.

The path snaked along the mountainside until I reached the dam. The midday heat had broken the fog with the sun behind the mountains. The resulting silhouette was a moment of beauty. The mountain in the far background was the one I had crested.

Six km remained of the walk with another 375 meters of ascent. A road side sign displayed the distance to Grandas de Salime where my hotel was located, the next major mountain pass for tomorrow’s walk, Puerto del Acebo, and Lugo. From Lugo, another 120 miles lay ahead to Santiago.

On the road, I met a band of Lithuanians whom I had encountered two other times. They are long time friends and have traveled for years. Their next destination is Peru in 2024. I loved their exuberance — that’s youth. They left me in the dust,

I arrived early at the hotel — about 2:45. I had the opportunity to surprise Sharon with a morning call EST, do my laundry, and take a nap before dinner. I met up with my walking partner, Gabriel. We went to the recommended restaurant where we saw several fellow travelers. For our three course menu dinner, we both chose the garbanzo soup for the first; the pork ribs for Gabriel and the cachopo (an Asturian specialty of breaded chicken filet with ham and cheese like our cordon blue) for our mains; and dessert. I asked for red wine and a bottle was brought (only a third imbibed in the end); and for Gabriel, two small bottles of Coke Zero. The total cost — 12 Euros each— completo including tax and service.

We also loved that the Restaurante A Relgada because it was “local.” To be honest, everything outside of the cities is local. Here were men playing cards two tables down from us. Throughout the evening, men came and went to play cards or drink and socialize at the bar. The dining area appear to have only Camino walkers. Today was a Thursday. I would bet that the restaurant will be filled with locals over the weekend. I saw an open reservation book as we left.

A shorter day was in the offing but with a major climb to Puerto del Palo, 3600 feet. Indeed, fewer miles but more elevation changes. The sky was clear and Carolina blue.

We started off with a gentle rise on the road out of Pola de Allende. We were clearly on the CP when we saw a large sign displaying the scallop shell. The route took us off road along a narrow valley that eventually crossed the road leading to the Puerto del Palo. Note how quickly the sky changed.

Friends of mine who are experienced Appalachian Trail (AT) walkers clued me in that thru walkers refer to the Pennsylvania section as Rocksylvania. Having walked on the AT just west of Blue Mountain, I can attest that some parts of the AT have stretches of rocks waiting to sprain or break ankles. My fellow Caminoite, Gabriel, and I endured many miles of a rocky road as we ascended and descended the Puerto del Palo. But one feels the accomplishment of reaching the cold, misting, and windy pass.

On our way down, the earth was scorched black as far as we could see because of an enormous fire the year before. I later found out that the fire was deliberately set. The culprit has yet to be apprehended. Down our path, I took a photo of how the forest is starting to regenerate itself.

As we reached the end of our rocky road (about three quarters of the way to our destination), we encountered a young woman sitting on a rock. She told us that she was walking to Pola de Allende but had taken the wrong turn. Rather than choosing the rocky road up, she had walked straight on the flat road we were about to take. She was the first walker who was going in the opposite direction that I had encountered. She had been lost for three hours.

We pointed out the way that we had come from the pass at the top of the mountain. We estimated that she would need about an hour to get to the top and then another three and a half hours downhill to get to Pola. She had a forlorn look; she did learn a new American English idiom — she was “bummed out.” She was Johanna from Koln and had been on the road alone for two months. She had started from Lisbon. What gumption.

She slung on her backpack. We wished her well as she trudged up the path. We walked on and after a half mile looked back. We could see her and we could see how she could have missed the trail. My experience is that going in the opposite direction of a known trail is very difficult because directional signs at critical junctures are oriented in an intended direction. The problem was that no signs could be seen at this critical point but we could see a Camino sign up the road.

We walked another mile and the young woman caught up with us. She had decided that she did not have the motivation to make the final climb. She would return to her day’s starting point, our end point. She pondered whether to take transportation (bus, taxi) to Oviedo and start the CP from there to where she stopped or to continue walking over the Puerto del Palo the next day. We could feel her pain.

We eventually entered Berducedo. Johanna peeled off to find an albergue. Gabriel went on to La Mesa, the town down the road where he had a reservation, and I searched for Casa Araceli. Using Google Maps, I easily found my abode for the night. How did we survive on paper maps? I have learned a useful tactic in my older age — ask for directions. Somehow, women already have that in their survival repertoire. Sharon says males have the smaller Y chromosome.

Casa Araceli is adjacent to a pasture where cows were grazing. As you view the photo, look at the mountain crest in the far distance. That’s approximately where Puerto del Pola is located. I am always struck by looking back on some spot that I had just walked.

My inn had picnic tables outdoors. While relaxing with a cerveza, Bernard whom I met on Day 2 came up with a glass of wine and sat down. He is 58 and started in his family’s carpentry business when he was 14. Now that he is heading the company, he can set his own work schedule and has the money to travel. He is fulfilling a dream to walk the Camino.

Just then, I heard Rolando — my Spanish name. Down the steps came Christina and Jamie. They have appeared several times in my blogs starting from Day 1. They were staying at a albergue in town but heard about the food at my inn. We shared vino and dinner together.

I did solve a mystery from the Portuguese Camino. If you read those blogs, Laird had to keep asking for butter when bread was served. In Spain, the general eating custom is that butter is acceptable at breakfast. Thereafter, it is not at later meals similar to no cappuccino after breakfast. I was told that using butter on bread especially at dinner is counterproductive to the tasting experience. Bread is used to soak up sauces. Butter would interfere with the flavors of the dish.

The wonders of traveling.

The walk started at 8:15 AM and ended at 6:45 PM making it as long as some of the high mountain climbs I did in Japan. The morning started as rain but it was light. I wasn’t soaked and the large rocks on the paths were not slippery — the good news. The bad news was that mud was everywhere making Camino walkers dodge sideways to avoid our shoes getting wet. Nature was merciful today and a makeshift sign on the road out of Tineo expressed a wonderful sentiment — Here There I am by your side. I thought of Kobo Daishi from my 88 Temple walk.

The countryside was beautiful. However, photos can’t directly convey the sounds of birds, the earthy smells of farms, or the sensations of wind against one’s body. The air is fresh; cars and trucks are few. After four hours, I came upon route signs: Tineo to the left and Pola to right. Alas, I was still less than halfway to Pola.

Another 2 miles and I was ready for a cerveza. In a small hamlet, a cerveza and a chicken sandwich on a 4 inch baguette with a whole filet and lettuce was 4 euros. Imagine that in the US. Even better, was running into Gabriel from Chile. We were supposed to have walked Day 3 together from Salas but somehow misunderstood how we were to connect. We headed out together for the final half of the walk. At the end, we were glad to be a pair rather than walking solo.

Most of the way was straightforward. The signs were clear and we had stopped for what else, a cerveza, at an inn in Colinas de Arriba. When we left, we headed for Colinas de Abajo. Really.

Now for the thrilling part. Just down the road, we turned left following the Camino sign. We entered a primeval forest walking on a very muddy track. We met two women walking towards us. Odd because we encountered no one walking the Camino backwards. They were heading back to the highway because they got lost in the forest. No signs they said.

We were undecided what to do. After about a minute, we decided to plow on (literally) because surely signs must be ahead. No signs and for the next hour, we slowly climbed higher and higher. It was getting darker as the sun was heading below the crest of the mountains.

We eventually reached a T and using Google maps decided to go right or southwest. Another 30 minutes of no signs. Shortly, we broke out of the forest onto a wide path the led to the highway. Wouldn’t you know, we could make out a Camino sign in the distance.

We weren’t finished. We had a very steep downhill stretch to go. I took a photo at the beginning of the downhill and another from my hotel window looking back up at the power line structure from where we started our descent. We were glad it wasn’t raining because the downward path was rocky and it would have been very dangerous when wet. The trek down was exciting enough.

All’s well that ends well. I enjoyed another hearty meal; the first course was Asturian lentil soup while Manchester City and Real Madrid were competing in a Champions League semi- final match. Many locals were watching on a big screen behind me. I finished my dinner at halftime. Score: 1-0, Real Madrid. I needed to shower and sleep. I left. I could hear roars and groans from my room. No matter, I was down for the count. The final score that I read in the morning was 1-1.

The walk from Salas to Tineo was the easiest of the three days comparatively. The length was the shortest but the temperature went up into the mid70’s with full sun and no wind. It was still hard but as a veteran of the CP said, “Wait until tomorrow. The next few days will be the most challenging of the CP.”

Rather than dwell on the future, the walk out of Salas reacquainted me with the couple from the Canary Islands whom I met on the first day. We took a selfie before we left town — Cristina, 47, and Jamie, 32. I also photographed them while they were ahead of me. They are strong walkers.

Like Day 2 out of Grado, the first quarter of the walk was uphill, a 500 meter climb. Although the elevation map shows the rest of this leg as relatively flat, my fellow hikers can attest that the short 100 meter climbs and descents can take a lot of energy. Off the roads, the paths are very uneven and are tricky because of the long muddy ruts on the unpaved dirt roads. Below is an image of an uphill dirt path.

A few times on every walk, I miss a sign or two and end off trail. Outside of El Espin, I ended up walking on the highway with no Camino signs to be seen. I decided to turn into the next village. I found a couple and asked them where the CP was. After trying to explain several times, Luis walked me to the CP. I thanked him and went on my way. After climbing more hills, I had second thoughts about leaving the smooth highway that was closer to Tineo than the winding route of the CP. But then again, one must follow the prescribed route.

I finally started downhill into Tineo. Wouldn’t you know — there was Cristina and Jamie at a sidewalk cafe enjoying what else, cerveza cana, draft beer). I ran into more people on the CP than I had anticipated — Mick from Cincinnati, Ilya from Miami, Ms Okikawa from Tokyo, two French women from Bordeaux, a pack of five Spanish women who glided along, and two Dutch women (Wendy and Netti) whom I met at the sidewalk cafe. The less traveled route?

About 200 meters downhill was my hotel, the Palacio de Meras. My room was spacious and the towels were some of the fluffiest I had ever experienced. Dinner was superb. The salad was ample and so fresh; the fish was firm and the sauce had the right touch of garlic (note the fish knife); and the waiter poured me a glass of Albariño and the local Asturian white. What more can one ask to end the day.

I did choose to walk what most publications state to be the most difficult of the Camino routes. So far, from my perspective, the CP has lived up to its reputation. Yesterday was a tough 20 miles with more than half in the rain. Marta said that today would be easy in comparison. Hum.

After saying goodbye to Matteo, Marta dropped me off at the starting point to resume the CP at the end of Grado. “There’s the Camino,” she said, “Follow the sign to the right.” That started a climb of more than 350 meters over 5 km distance with several descents. I was glad to have practiced on the hill behind St. Luke’s. At the top of the climb, my heart rate was 130 bpm. Thank you Delia for sharing the practice climbs. They certainly helped here.

After toping the first climb, the descent was steep. During these two days, the steep descents jammed my toes against the front and sides of the toe box. I did not expect this. I had to use a few pads on my toes to reduce the chances of forming blisters. Otherwise, my usual foot treatment of applying Foot Glide has worked fine. I included an image of a downhill path. That same hill is behind the highway to the far right hand side of the second photo with Grado 5 km beyond it.

While resting about halfway through this stage (see Doriga sign), I met Gabriel from Santiago, Chile. He had recently quit his job working for a Japanese company. He said that he was always working and the stress had affected his health. He chose the CP in order to be alone — well, almost alone before he started his new job. He is 64 years old.

By mile 15, we were dragging. Where was Salas? I kept thinking about a cold cerveza at the end of the walk. Our wish was granted after a “long” hour and a half later just as we passed a funky sign pointing the way. We were both surprised that we were in the same hotel that is built into ramparts of the town. The hotel has been a home of the Valdes Salas family whose most famous ancestor was the founder of the University of Oviedo and Inquisitor General of Spain. What a twist of fate to have me as a guest. I was wondering what kind of university experience was had in the 17th Century given the founder’s position. Tenure?

I ended my day with the pilgrim’s menu at El Campo Bar near the hotel. The hotel dining room was closed; it was Sunday. My first course was chicken soup. I ate all of it. Just what the doctor ordered for my ailing toes.