Day 6 Soldon to A Pobra

For the first time ever, I brought sun-cream on this camino. My normal model operandi is do the whole Englishman abroad thing and just burn in certain places, leaving some pale white skin for a nice contrast. However, my skill in applying sun-cream extended only to my arms, not my legs.  As I had trekked North-West yesterday, the sun had nicely toasted the South-East proportion of my calf muscles. Accordingly, I vowed to walk early today and also to wear the trouser parts that attach to my shorts. Inevitably that meant that the entire walk of 29km was under a cloudy sky.  I did think about stopping half-way to remove the zip-offs but a good place never materialised.

I stopped for breakfast in Quiroga – cafe con leche and croissant – and managed to get a sello (stamp) in my credencial from the rather bemused lady behind the counter. They are not quite as pilgrim-ready as some of the bars on the last stretch of the Camino Frances where a stamp and ink-pad is left out for a more d-i-y experience. And then the climb started.  The main road takes a level route of course but us pilgrims don’t want that; we want climbs, descents and climbs every few kilometres. The night before I had slept under the over pass of the N120; within a few km out of Quiroga I was looking down from on high at the same road.

Hi-tech Quiroga - colour televisions!

So having trundled along for a while and ignored the obligatory hostile barking by some fairly feeble loose dogs, I climbed out of the vineyards and entered the forest.

I guess that it is something about living in one of the most crowded countries on earth that being somewhere where one is completely isolated gives one a very heady sense of liberation.  So walking on tracks through a forest….

….I decided to sing.  I have my “Camino Route March” playlist which extends from “How Great Thou Art” from Spring Harvest to “England Will Never Change” by Booze and Glory via the inevitable 500 Miles by the Proclaimers.  So I sang my heart out, not really caring that I didn’t know the notes – or the words.  The odd lizard I passed appeared a little offended but I’d like to see those scaly little critters walk this far with a rucksack….

Anyway after a particularly loud rendition of Nick Lowe’s Cruel to be Kind I turned a corner on the path to very suddenly come across a village.  And, of course, there were two pilgrims there.  Who must have heard my caterwauling but were far too nice to mention it.  Today was a busy day on the Invierno – a little further on I met that rarest breed, another English pilgrim, a nice chap from Devon.

Anyway, after a pleasant 6 hours I arrived at my stop of the night, A Pobra. Except it wasn’t as the only place in town to rest – As Vinas – has sadly closed as the owners have retired. So I abandoned my medieval persona and hopped in a taxi to the nearest town with a hotel, Monforte. It is the feast of St Anthony at the moment which in this part of Spain means the place goes crazy for five days.  In town there was a wonderful band playing – a sort of a boy band (but with a girl singer too) who are obviously something amazing in Galicia.

Rocking Galicia

What was truly wonderful is that they got the crowd dancing – but this wasn’t a English crowd of millennials throwing bottles of urine at each other, taking drugs and trying to virtue-signal all at the same time. This was a crowd of mostly elderly couples dancing in pairs – wonderfully romantic and a delightfully friendly atmosphere.

Tomorrow I will taxi back out to the same bar I left from in A Pobra and walk from there.  No cheating  – England will never change.