Castroverde to Lugo

The hope was for the swelling and pain in Olga’s ankle/shin to subside enough for her to resume walking. We would have four days of down time and skip the mountains to allow for the possibility. Castroverde would be an excellent place to start again as the path is mostly flat and the inevitable inclines and declines would be manageable.

We could not find a place for two nights in Castroverde, so we booked a room in A Fonsegrada, 32 km away. It was the best we could find on short notice. We arranged for a taxi; Estevo picked us up at the Palacio de Merás to begin the two hour, 80 km ride. It was rainy and miserable; good day to be driving.

All along the route, Estevo pointed out key spots of the Primitivo as I followed along with my guide book. The taxi ride skipped four stages and a minimum of 34.5 hours of walking, along with sparing our bodies. The mountainous ride delivered us to the highest point on the trail, Puerto del Pala at 1147m. There were pilgrims draped in ponchos flattened against their bodies from the extensive rain, heads bent trudging against the wind. The ruggedness of the terrain and the difficulty of the route confirmed our decision. The beauty had me imagining what might have been and what might be.

After a stop at the dam in Grandas de Salime, the van was climbing up a winding hill when Olga laughed, “Wouldn’t it be hilarious if we saw Izzy, she would be on this leg of the Primitivo. ” At that moment, ahead on the next curve, there she was standing in the sun amongst other young pilgrims sipping from a juice box, smiling, as we did. The Tortoise had now passed the Hare.

By the time we arrived at Casa de Lambranza, the weather had improved. Yanire, the 31 year old owner was cheery and talkative and spoke fluent English. The little enclave boasted a tiny church. When Yanire acquired the keys for a requested tour, it would be her very first time inside. It was a sweet conversation about religion and politics and family. The Plan B place turned out to be A delight.

Another day of rain as we entered Castroverde, skipping another stage. The Pension Roma is on the main drag, a natural stop and the perfect style of rooms for those one night peregrinos. The staff were delightful, Sylvia in particular. Mario, the owner, was a true gentleman; explaining in rapid Spanish into his phone for an English translation, helping out with a taxi, even trying to influence the local physiotherapist to squeeze in Olga for an appointment.

By this time thoughts of Olga resuming proved premature. The healing needs more time. “You can walk the Camino, Henry. We don’t need to do everything together. I will  move ahead to Lugo and meet you there.” And so it would be.

I left at 8:00 am, smaller backpack in tow, for the 22 km trek through rural farmland and agricultural villages. Overcast, cool, foggy, quiet. The four days of rest helped me as well, the pace a touch faster along the well trodden path of a flatter terrain. A pilgrim who I spotted in town caught up to me at a church in one of many tiny villages. James from New Zealand was scouting for a passport stamp; instead, we each rang the bell, one chime to mark our presence.

His wife had also injured herself approaching Tineo but decided to return to Oviedo, hang out with a friend while he carried on. They would meet up again in Santiago. James was on his first Camino. I admire him for his tenacity. We did not see each other again. My pace obviously slower. Indeed all 15 people I encountered motored past. I was alone for 98% of the time.

True to the guide book, the walk was considerably easier than the first three legs of the Primitivo. No longer in the mountains, the ascents and descents were gentle by comparison. The relative ease meant more time to think.

The previous evening, we were listening to an address by Father Richard Rohr, the Franciscan priest who I had been reading prior to our trip. He spoke of our minds spending 93% of the time thinking about the past, the future, current matters, latest issue; our minds racing around rather than being still, because it is in stillness we see God. In my walking today, I found myself thinking back on earlier posts, toward a future post, about plans changing, about future decisions, about scheduling the next stays. My mind was never still even with the ideal conditions of the morning walk. Peacefulness but not stillness. The moment for stillness would have been in those first few hours before the afternoon when I grew tired and kept thinking about the kilometres left.

We are scheduled to spend two nights here in Lugo, visit the cathedral, tour the heart of the old centre, embrace the atmosphere of the old world. The next stage is 27 km, too much for Olga to attempt. She will meet me in the next town; I will walk again, perhaps with moments of stillness.

Buen Camino