Cacabelos to Valcarce, 14 miles
I woke early at 5:00, wasted time until 7:00 when I could get something to eat, and started walking around 7:30. The day began with an immediate climb uphill.
I walked alone for the first half hour until I came upon Sophie from Normandy. I'd never seen her before, but I could tell she was limping so I asked if she was okay. She explained that she had twisted her ankle yesterday and was having a hard time walking—she just needed to get to her next accommodations to rest.
Sophie will be 70 in September. At my estimation, she's 4'10" and 90 pounds, making me look tall by comparison. Her primary language is French, but her English was passable. She had no hiking poles, so I gave her mine and continued walking with her very slowly until we reached her accommodations, about 2.5 hours later.
The pharmacist in me tried to give her some ibuprofen, but she was afraid to take it. I explained what it was and how it would help. She finally gave in, but not until we stopped for food. She insisted on paying for my meal since "I was being so kind." Sophie was such a sweet woman and I felt so bad for her. We managed to have some laughs along the way, and she promised to stay put for two nights to rest and heal.
At that point I headed on with today's route. Every day there are alternative routes to the traditional route, and I'll happily take one if I'm with someone who knows what they're doing. Today I was alone, so I took the main route, which ran along an extremely busy two-lane highway. I was going uphill while endless huge big rigs flew downhill. It was pretty scary walking along the highway with just a cement barrier between me and the trucks and cars.
I finally decided to find an alternative route. Apparently I think I'm smarter than both Google Maps and the yellow arrow waymarker signs, because after about 30 minutes I decided I did NOT know what I was doing. I backtracked another 30 minutes to where I'd left the trail and just followed the highway route. Between walking slowly with Sophie and going off route, I think I added an extra 2-3 hours to my day.
The good news is that we had very little rain today. I put my poncho on once and took it off after about 15 minutes.
I think tomorrow I'll be entering the Province of Galicia. There are four distinct provinces on the Camino de Santiago—five if you continue past Santiago to Finisterre. Navarre features mountainous terrain in the Pyrenees, steep climbs and descents, Basque influence, and strong pilgrim energy since everyone is just starting out. La Rioja is known for its vineyards as far as the eye can see, soft rolling hills, and cozy small towns. Castile and León is the longest portion of the Camino, known for big historic cities like Burgos and León. The Meseta falls under this province—some people love it, some hate it—with strong medieval history and lots of wheat fields and open skies. Finally, Galicia: everything becomes green again, with rolling hills and vineyards. They say Galicia feels magical, and I'll let you know if that's true once I've experienced it.
I cannot believe that two weeks from today I'll be on a plane flying home. The time is going way too fast.
Fun fact: would you believe that with all my neurotic packing and unpacking, weighing every single thing over and over again, taking notes on every detail before I left, that I brought only one pair of pants? I have worn the same pants every single day, including on the flight here. I keep trying to buy another pair, but you have to wait until you get to a big city to shop and I keep being thwarted. Twice I've been in a big city on a Sunday—cerrado, everything is closed. Once I arrived in a big city on a national holiday—cerrado again. I do wash my pants every third day or so, more frequently if they get muddy, but still.
I've decided the Camino is trying to teach me a lesson and tell me that I do not need all those clothes in my closet, half of which I don't even wear.
Buen Camino
