< Norte Day 27 — Norte Day 29 > < Norte Index >
32 kilometers, 8 hours, passing through Seixón, Miraz, A Roxica, and O Mesón.
As mentioned earlier, the preceding night we stayed in a very quiet albergue run by a lady named Helena. It was in the middle of nowhere. But she had all the bases covered: bed, laundry, beer and wine, dinner and breakfast. I also had a slice of Santiago cake. It all came to €29.
Helena reminded us that the time would change this night, falling back, so we decided to get up an hour earlier than normal. She had breakfast ready for us when we went to the café next to the albergue.
This would be a longer-than-average day, but with little climbing, and none of it difficult. The route took us over the highest elevation, at 710 meters (2,340 feet), as we made our way toward Santiago. Alders, oaks and chestnut trees were sporting their new shades of yellow. Alder leaves coated and softened the trail for long stretches.
Long bucolic views dotted with ridgetop wind turbines filled much of the day as we wound south, east, west, south again, before turning west toward Sobrados. We met older people out gathering nuts and mushrooms.
And we ran into Kazumi, from Tokyo, and Guy Sallet, a French man from the Loire Valley. Guy was a writer. He had written ten books on various subjects—including one about the Camino. Unfortunately, they were only available in French.
The pull of Santiago had started. Until this day, it had been too far away to consider. Suddenly, though, the city and its iconic cathedral were only three days away.
The monastery at Sobrados dos Monxes was the last of the key places I had wanted to visit during this Camino. The old, large monastery which drew many daily visitors could be seen as we came into town. The tourists came, then they left. After 4:30 p.m. we could check into the albergue at the monastery. But only six pilgrims at a time. You had to knock on a large wooden door and wait until the previous group had been processed.
The next group, Hendrik and I, waited. The monk, in full monk outfit, started asking for our credentials and travel docs. His accent obviously not from around there, I asked where he came from originally. He was a jolly sort, his zucchetto skullcap slightly askew. He started listing all the places he might sound like he came from but had not. In short order he had listed the entire once-upon-a-time commonwealth of England, but not England. Et voila.
Unfortunately, much of the old monastery was under renovation and the tower was surrounded by scaffolding. The available tour of the place quite limited.