At seven the next morning, we trudge through the rain to the El Camino store and restaurant next to our hotel for breakfast. We order croissants and coffee and find a table by the window in an open and brightly-lit restaurant that provides a welcome contrast outside.
After breakfast, Nicola purchases a backpack to replace the one she's been carrying. Most of the pilgrims carry packs considerably lighter than our own and she wants to do the same. We return to our room at the hotel to repack our items. She moves her's into the new backpack. I move mine into her's which is actually mine. I've been carrying her older, heavier backpack. We take that down to the El Camino store where the clerk kindly tells us that she will find a new home for it.
Having shed ourselves of considerable weight, we are in high spirits despite the rain. We follow narrow lanes to the edge of town where a grouchy old German dude yells at us from behind. We'd missed a turn and were headed in the wrong direction. Who knows how far we'd have gone before realizing our mistake? We thank him profusely to which he responds with a dismissive wave.
We pass through farmer fields and see a mountain partially dismantled for its abundance of granite rock to our right.. A man fishes downstream from a large industrial plant and wondered about the wisdom of fishing a stream that smells so noxious.
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| Mural |
Just past the industrial plant, people wait outside the aubergue to
assure themselves a bed for the night. It's barely noon so we continue to
Mos, a small town between the larger metropolises of Porrino and Redondela. We
pass many new houses built with the same heavy granite blocks that allowed
their predecessors structures to survive for hundreds of years.
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| Granite mountain |
Fortune would shine upon us when the predicted heavy rains begin to fall and we
spot the sign for a café 50-metres up the road. We dash in that direction
instantly relieved to see that it's open. We join two other pilgrim couples
who’d arrived ahead of us. We sit on long benches behind tables that could
accommodate many more patrons. I order two beers and sandwiches plus get our
perigrino passports stamped by the owner. My chorizo sandwich tastes especially
good.
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| Dude fishing - picturesque but smelly |
While taking out rain coats and covers for our packs, I realize that I
can’t recall packing my down sweater this morning. I open my bag and, sure
enough, it's not there. Oh shit, where did I leave it? It
could be at the restaurant where we’d eaten the night before or at the hotel. I
contact the restaurant and Nicola contacts the hotel. Not until later, does Nicola remember that I’d had it at breakfast that morning and that I’d probably
left it at the el Camino restaurant and store. This proves correct and when
Nicola asks if they can send it to Canada, they kindly oblige. They are so
nice. We send them money for postage with the idea that they'll send us the coat.
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| Local industry further upstream |
After lunch, we climb about 100 metres over 7 kilometres through rain
and overcast skies. Suburbs give way to farms until we reach the village of
Mos. A lady cleaning the Café Flora registers us in the
albergue. We walk across the street and then climb a long flight of stairs to claim our bunk bed, me on the top and she on the bottom, a good two metres from the
next closest sleeper, a big relief after our experience in Barcela. We also
note the young age of the rest of the hostel guests making me most likely to
snore.
The size of the shower impresses me however my heart falls when I see the
push-button control. Then I press it and enjoy the most perfect temperature
I’ve experienced in showers with like controls. After the shower, I realize that we needed a towel.
Nicola has given me a hand-towel that hardly works and she used a uses t-shirt. So, we check the el Camino store at the bottom of the hill and find just what we seek at a very reasonable price. I suggest we get two but
Nicola will have none of that. The hand towel's fine with her. We go next door to the bar where we enjoy two large glasses of mediocre red wine plus
assorted nuts for a grand total of 2€.
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| Forestry techniques |
Café Flora has two sections, one open to the air and cold, the other enclosed and warm. We choose the
enclosed one where a young American girl invites us to sit down with her and
her boyfriend. I decline because I'm busy finishing a diary entry for a
bunch of days earlier. At the other table sits a couple about ten-years older
than ourselves from Holland wth woman who speaks English quite well. I don't learn where she was from.
Along with other tapas, I order the chorizo with
wine. This proves to be the same flaming chorizo we’d had in Porto earlier in the week. The lady serves us through a hole from the kitchen and from that location, with much bravado,
she lights the alcohol in the dish over which the chorizo is suspended by a skewer.
This causes much commotion and laughter in the restaurant as everyone watches while I burned my chorizo sausage to a crisp.
After eating, I turn around and initiated conversation with the
young American couple. (They'd be the only Americans would meet on the trail.) She says they live in New Jersey and started the pilgrimage
in Tui because they could only get two weeks holiday out of the year. She and
her boyfriend really believe the U.S. should incorporate the European
attitude of "working to live" rather than "living to work." Her mother had done the
el Camino and felt that they should do the same. Part of that sameness included
staying in the albergues. The Dutch couple were on their second el Camino. On
the first, the lady had simply walked out of her house in Amsterdam and started
her journey. We learned that she was the man's second wife and that he’d had to
commute from Amsterdam to his place of work some distance away before he got
transferred.
We
all enjoyed the evening and felt replenished with food and companionship when
we went to bed that night. This night, I actually slept.
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