< Norte Day 22 — Norte Day 24 > < Norte Index >
33 kilometers, 8 hours, passing through Cartavio, La Caridad, Porcía, Tapia de Casariego, and Playa de Peñarronda.
Here’s a different albergue all together: Occupying the first floor of what was once an office building, Aurelio had installed modern fixtures and a contemporary color and art scheme to create a beautiful and very comfortable pilgrim environment. New bunk beds—that didn’t squeak—and shining new restrooms and shower facilities gave more of a homey than clinical feel. Yellow on white might not be your chosen home decor, but it worked at the Albergue San Roque in Navia.
A new chill bit the air after dinner the previous night. Hendrik and I ate at a quiet bar/café down from the albergue, near the plaza. When we left the bar, stepping out onto the street, the coolness set in quickly. We moved briskly back up to the San Roque.
The temps were even lower the next morning. It was 6 degrees C (43 degrees Fahrenheit) when I went looking for breakfast that morning. After toast with olive oil and a cup of tea, I followed a long bridge over the Rio Navia and turned onto country lanes which made up most of this day’s route.
There were many optional routes in this stage. As usual, I stayed right and as close to the ocean as possible. The only non-optional bits to the day were a long bridge at the start and an even longer one to finish.
This would be the last day along the sea and in Asturias. Thankfully, blue-sky perfect day woke as I stuck to the coastline where possible, walking along the cliff tops, through recently harvested cornfields, and down narrow lanes. The path seemed to meander more than usual. To get from one point to another that did not seem far away took longer because of the twists and turns. Very often, I looked down on another secluded little beach with no one there.
In Ribadeo, Hendrik sat on the front porch when I arrived at the Albergue Santa Cruz, another wonderful private hostel. It was run by a nice couple who were happy to help us.
As we were now in Galicia, I asked her where we could find a dinner of pulpo (octopus). We were sitting in the light of the setting sun in front of the albergue. She thought about my question for a moment, then started listing suggestions. About then, her husband came out and she asked for his opinion. Before long they were in this lighthearted argument about the directions to a restaurant they had settled upon. It was classic. They were saying the same thing but from slightly different perspectives. The couple argued in Spanish, but I was getting it all, and we all had a good laugh.
Hendrik and I managed to find the restaurant and some very fine pulpo. However, we, of course, had to wait until 8:00 when the chef came in and started cooking. By that time, we’d had too much wine—once again.
The next day we would climb into the mysterious mountains.