When I left Fisterra on New Year’s Day heading south to Portugal I was told by Franscesc and his wife that I might like to visit him instead and it took me less than four hours to throw over my plans for the Camino Portuguese and clueless follow the Camino sanabres.
As soon as I left Cee, I couldn’t ignore the coincidence of meeting two pilgrims on my first cigarette-break after only five kilometers, telling me about another social project like the one I had to leave this very day.
“The Camino provides”
The first night I slept in my tent somewhere in the hills north of Dumbría.
For the first of January it was surprisingly warm/not cold, but very moist.
It took me the whole next day to dry my tents and sleeping bags.
That was the main-reason why I chose to pay six euros for the albergue municipal in Negreira.
Wise choice as I realized the next morning.
It was fucking-cold until noon and I don’t want to imagine the temperatures of that night in my tent.
I thought that might be due to the time of the year and the combination of mountains and the nearby sea – now I know that’s just Galicia.
Getting to and out of Santiago was also a pain in the ass.
I wasn’t able to travel more than forty kilometers a day and as I already mentioned I had no ideas about how and where to find some warm shelters for the night.
Compared to Germany and Eastern Europe my off line map (mapy.cz) sucks, it shows not very much more than the roads and biking/hiking trails, maybe half of the albergues.
But I got very lucky when I found an abandoned house in the village-entrance of Puente Ulla. On the second floor I recognized a mattress and started to build myself a nice bed, hoping that up here it wouldn’t get that cold.
I was right but had to start the next day by going down into the valley of the Rio Ulla (shady, moist and very cold).
The hills after that weren’t that bad and when I got to Lalín in the afternoon, I had found an albergue municipal at O Castro de Dozón, ten maybe fifteen kilometers further “up the road” - very steep up the road.
So when I got to O Castro it was already dark and cold and I got myself a decent blister from pushing Rosinante steadily up the hill.
Luckily the hospitalera was so nice to allow me to stay another day to recover a little bit.
The offer to use the swimming-pool, I declined.
The road to Ourense was much better because mostly it went downhill.
The only problem to solve on that day was the mystery locating the relocated albergue.
A nice Spaniard told me at the old one that I should go into the city-center and ask there for further informations.
At the Plaza Mayor I got sent to a Café, they sent me back down the road and after a few wrong turns and steps backward I met a dutch, who guided me nearly inside to the reception-desk.
The albergue was nice and warm and I didn’t dare to open the window-shutters, which might have changed the temperature-situation.
But because of my newly reorganized bio-rythm and the lack of daylight usually shining through some open windows I overslept royally.
The hospitalero was not amused, told me something about the effort it takes to clean the places and continued to watch Hawaii 5-0 or what else.
This day the road was mainly downhill, but thanks to my late start I covered the great distance of twenty-seven k’s – great!!
I found an albergue in Xunqueira de Ambía run by the local bomberos and there I met the first pilgrim this year.
We talked a little bit, but only small and he spend most of the time in bed.
No problem for me I wanted to check for a train to Zamora from the nearby train-station anyway.
So after unpacking Rosinante and a nice hot shower, I took the bike to town on my holy quest for some wifi.
At the only open bar in the village I was given the password for the wifi of the mayor’s office across the street and got told that I could take a seat in the “beer-garden” right next to the office.
It took me a while in the fresh air to figure out that the above mentioned train-station is just some kind of tourist-attraction and that the best shot to catch a train to Zamora would be Ourense. For the first time this day I was happy about my long nap that night.
So I had to go back twenty-two kilometers on the much shorter scenic route, because neither was I willing to find out how uncomfortable the upcoming mountain-pass would be nor was my lust for adventures high enough to ride through the cold north of Portugal with less mountains and albergues.
After a uncomfortable cold night (the heaters weren’t really able to support a steady temperature above fifteen degrees) I turned back to Ourense.
I got there pretty early and found the time to ask at both train-stations.
The first one is by now some kind of museum and at the second, active one I was told that there is a train to Zamora, but without the possibility to transport my bike.
The guy send me to the bus-stop to try my chances over there.
When I found the bus-stop well hidden behind some bigger roads and roundabouts (a fucked up hell to pass with a fully loaded bike) it was around two o’clock.
The man at the counter told me that there might be a chance to get me and the bike to Zamora, but I’d had to wait until half past six and ask at one of the other counters. Great, FUBAR!!!
Now I had to wait at the freezing bus-stop for only four and a half hours to possibly catch a bus to Zamora – and if not?
At least a good reason to continue reading Don Quixote, the book I’m carrying with me for two years by now.
Also I had plenty of time to call the hospitalero in Zamora if he would be willing to wait until eleven o’clock in the night or more, to let me in after a four hours ride in a fully packed bus.
Everything looked so good this morning and it took only thirty minutes to go south fast forward.
In the end it wasn’t that bad: the hospitalero (Francisco) told me it would be no problem, the bus had enough space to store the bike even though I had to take it apart a little bit and it took only a little bit damage by the “careful” hands of the hectic bus-driver.
I reached the albergue before midnight, got a cup of coffee, was allowed to smoke a last cigarette, took a dump and a shower and went to sleep for at least five hours.
Conclusion: no more bus-tours!!!
When Francisco came to wake me around half past six, I was already awake and preparing my stuff – so much I owed him for his favor. After another cup of coffee and a cigarette I hit the road to Salamanca at half past seven
It was boring but flat and I started to hope I could make it to Fuenterroble on that very day.
Unluckily the landscape south of salamanca is a little bit more scenic, means hills – a lot – so I reached San Pedro de Rozados at around six without any chance of trying for the last thirty kilometers.
A woman showed me the way to a small “albergue” - beds and showers in a barracks-looking like building behind a closed bar.
Nobody there but the water got hot after five minutes.
Lots of blankets and an electric radiator promised a warm night and I began hoping that maybe nobody might show up to collect the extraordinary nine euros for this luxury.
My bad luck was at least very steady – I had to pay at about nine o’clock.
The last stage was equally scenic and I have to admit that it’s not always as bad as I write it.
Depends on if I think of the view or the road while writing and if I had to ride through the hills in the morning or afternoon.
But nevertheless it’s hard to describe how happy I was when I finally got to Fuenterroble de Salvatierra.
May the Force be with you
Michael