< Norte Day 20 — Norte Day 22 > < Norte Index >
35 kilometers, 8.5 hours, passing through Novellana, Santa Marina, Ballota, Cadavedo, Canero, and Barcia.
Stepping out into the rain is never truly inviting to a pilgrim. But it’s part of the gig. The night before, the weather report looked really ugly: 80-100% rain all day. But other than a few heavy downpours, this wasn’t a bad day. We saw some nice scenery: babbling streams, secluded beaches, dripping and incredibly dark-green mosses.
Description of the albergue the previous night: It had been fashioned inside an old schoolhouse, 80% funded by the European Union. It had modern bathrooms with fantastic showers and lots of hot water. The bedroom held 12 bunk beds, 24 beds in all. They were welded stainless steel frames and decent mattresses; solid enough they didn’t squeak whenever you moved. There were even vending machines. Everything from microwave meals to beer.
If you are wondering, the European Union considers the Camino de Santiago to be a cultural treasure and funds a variety of supporting facilities and programs throughout Europe.
After the first kilometer out of town, we hit a thin, steep trail leading out of the valley and into a river of the previous night’s rains. Dodging from side to side and hopping puddles got old and our feet got wet anyway. So, they would be wet for eight hours: no big deal.
Mid-morning, we came to a stream crossing too wide for jumping and the water much too high for rock hopping. Wet but not soaked, we took off shoes and socks and roll up the pant legs. Ain’t no thing. The water wasn’t too cold.
While walking a portion of a roadway, we were stopped by a lady who turned out to be the presidente of the local Camino de Santiago group. They keep all things related to a portion of the Camino in order. She was sweet and encouraged us to always, always walk on the left side of the road. (We had switched over on a blind corner just before she came upon us.) Not to mention that is was a quiet Sunday morning. We only saw one or two other cars the whole day.
Later, Hendrik and I stopped in a busy place called Bar Las Vegas. Sundays are always the social event of the week in the small villages along the way. Even though I don’t speak the language so well, it was obvious to me that friends were meeting up for a drink and a chat, families were out in total, and business was being discussed by gentlemen farmers. It was—and always is—a delight to watch.
Looking back at my photos, I am reminded that I had a huge plate of marinated mussels for lunch that day. Hendrik wouldn’t help me too much. He had his own meal to contend with. I don’t remember what he ate. The mussels were outstanding.
The bayside town of Luarca had only one albergue, and we were pleased they still had vacancies by the time we got there. It had been a long day. There were many familiar faces, but no one from our Camino family. Tired, I dined on whatever food I had in my pack. Later, I went out into the on-again-off-again rain showers to see some more of the beautiful little port city and to find a glass of wine. I ended up in the busiest place on the plaza by the harbor.
It was the usual scene: old men watching fútbol (soccer); well-dressed, dare I say affluent, women during a lady’s night out, and young families. The only person working the bar was a strikingly beautiful young woman who managed it all quite efficiently. With apparent ease, she handled the bar, the tables inside, and a few tables in use under an awning outside. At any moment for a breath, she sipped on a glass of water and considered what most needed her attention next.