Stage 9: Lugo – Ferreira

kilometres

m. cumulative ascension

duration

Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.
Terry Pratchett

The relation between body and pain is very curious.

You start walking with a foot pain that you think that will be the last day you will walk (in life, not on the Camino), then suddenly it disappears, and when you have already arrived, it reappears so that you have to stay still and do not crush them anymore. It must be the survival instinct, that in a society where food is in the super, by somewhere it has to come out. And it comes out here, in Galicia, with more than 200 kilometres in the blisters, at 60 minutes of suffering.

Today, again, we’ve started in the rain.

Peregrinos bajo la llúvia

Rain and asphalt

Today’s day has been monotonous: rain and asphalt, until almost reaching Ferreira, only some stretch of forest path that gave false hope.

Lugo says goodbye to the pilgrims remembering their Roman origin, crossing the Minho, to end up wishing us a good trip. The truth is that all the graffiti / signs / plaques that you find along the way wishing good way to the pilgrims make you feel valued. I suppose it must be similar to what football players or musicians feel, but without the pocket full of money or panties or bras on your head. And total, just for walking and sleeping for €6 a night. It’s not that much either.

Dejando Lugo
Adiós Lugo
Día bajo la lluvia

Maybe it’s because I’m from a dry zone, but when it rains I take few pictures. It gives me like laziness. So today there are few photos to show. And since the route has been largely on asphalt, there’s not much worth telling either. Walk and endure the rain, which at times has fallen with desire.

To Ferreira

Total, that without haste but without pause, and under a drizzle that sometimes seemed something more, we have reached San Roman da Retorta. Firstly, it was a possible end of route. In fact, the group of Asturians stayed there, since one had a half-shelled foot or knee. We’ve only stopped halfway because if we stopped completely with the rain was a little annoying. So, we’ve eaten a little, bananas and those things that you eat when you play sports, and we’ve continued.

And from there, the journey has started to take interest. At the exit, the road forks. The northern road is called the Roman way, although never any road built by the Romans was there, and the southern one I do not remember what it is called, but it is what people recommend (I do not remember why). So, we’ve taken the one in the south.

We think. Because the road, unlike all the rest of Primitivo, was narrow, dirty, full of brambles, and in some sections in poor condition, compared to the rest of Camino. There has even been a time when we found ourselves in the middle of a field, crossing it where we could because it was all a kind of mud raft.

The last one

FLastly, and when we were exhausted of everything, we have arrived at Ferreira. The hostel was private, and offered paella for dinner, an offer that we have not rejected, after disbursement of 9 euros. A paella in Galicia is not too much of kilometre 0 that we say, but it turns out that the woman of the hospitalero is Valencian, and of course, now everything is right. Paella, by the way, was excellent. And while we were eating it, Joan has arrived.

Joan, peregrino del Camino Primitivo

El Joan is from Barcelona, he is 31 years old, and his favourite colour is black. And red. Like the Milan shirt, which everyone says is two colors, but no, it’s one. Black and red. It is the Kilian Jornet of the group, the last to leave the hostel, and the first to arrive at the next. Although that day he was entertained by Lugo, and came at night, when we all had dinner.

Together, again

At the table, there were Astrid and her father, Germán and Paco, a friend of him who had joined in Lugo, Víctor, Carmen, Enrique, Álvaro and Sandra, the Asturian women and the Asturian man, who at the end had changed their mind and had reached Ferreira, although by taxi, and a couple of other pilgrims. We were almost all there.

On the Camino, you never know if you’re having the last supper.

The track

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