< Norte Day 26 — Norte Day 28 > < Norte Index >
29 kilometers, 7 hours, passing through many tiny villages and Baamonde.
The breakfast buffet at the Parador Vilalba was all mine. With English Breakfast tea and toast with olive oil before me, I scanned the rest of the long buffet. It went for piles of fresh fruit next, then churros (though they were not the best).
Before long, it was time to get going. It would be another long day ahead of me. I left the hotel by 9:00. The Camino path continued on just around the corner from the hotel and in a few minutes, ventured out of town. Vilalba was not that big; there was nothing to see or do there. The Parador seemed an okay place, though the church nearby rings the time all night long: every fifteen minutes, clang, clang. But the food was good, and if there was any snoring, I didn’t hear it.
This day’s route had little elevation change and easy navigation. The markings on the Caminos in Galicia are great. You would have to have your head down and eyes closed to miss the makers.
And, this day . . . if there ever were a bluebird day in Spain, it was this day. Or, as I know there have been many, this was definitely one of them. The blue skies, perfect hiking temperatures, and a slight breeze made for a delightful day on Camino. Or, as Annie O’Neil says, “in Camino.” In the experience of it all. Stunning green pastures and oak and chestnut trees mixed with dairy ranches and tiny two-house villages with too-long names only added to the magic.
At Baamonde, the Camino route splits. The map app on my phone indicated a blue line (which I normally followed) and a new (red) line. Though the new route was shorter, we had been told there are few services on that path. We, as do most pilgrims at this decision point, stuck to the normal, blue-line route.
Quite often this part of the Camino Norte changes abruptly from farm track or busy highway to an enchanted setting conjuring chthonian beings lurking in dark crevices amongst the moss-covered trees. This particular day did not disappoint. After Baamonde and a long stretch of highway, the trail ducked back into the woods, into a mysterious and magical setting, and past a small, moss-coated old church built of local stone.
The albergue at Santa Leocadia, not in my guidebook, sat slightly off route. Hendrik had told me about this place. The app he used provided the location and description. It turned out to be a nice, clean place in a repurposed farm building. We were the only guests that night. Apparently, Helena, the owner, ran a café during the high season, but it was closed when we were there. Thankfully, she was happy to cook for the two of us that night. We also met her father who was eighty-two years young, and her mother who was a rootless ninety.