Camino Day 4: Cold Start, Warmer Finish

I´ve started to fall into a routine that I will briefly describe. I am usually one of the very last to leave the albergue, even though it is still dark. After a brief period of disorientation while trying to rejoin the trail in the darkness, I start off at a brisk pace that slackens considerably by day´s end. After 2-3 hours I stop at a bar for coffee with milk and a slice of empanada (I also have some bread and cheese before leaving the albergue). Some more walking, usually with periods of rain, brings me to a town where I have a late lunch. I also tend to get a stamp for my Credential at the local albergue as a souvenir. I then continue walking and arrive at the albergue around 6pm, shower, make a simple dinner, and socialize with other walkers in the dining area.

Day 4 on the Camino generally followed the pattern. I had my usual coffee in a bar with a sign that read: "We open when we get here, we close when we leave, and if you come and we´re not here, well, that just means we missed each other."

The rain stopped for a few hours in the afternoon, but the morning was very cold, windy, and rainy. An overnight storm apparently dumped snow in Cebreiro, a town I passed on Day 2, and killed 9 residents in Finisterre, a coastal town where many walkers continue after reaching Santiago (in medieval times many thought it to be the western edge of the world). As I shivered of cold in my still-dry boots and pant, I passed a pilgrim walking in shorts and sandals, apparently immune to hypothermia that affects lesser mortals.

The lunch I had in a restaurant recommended by the LP guide was indeed excellent, with portions so large I was unable to clean my plate for probably the first time during the entire trip. As my mood and the weather brightened after lunch, I was able to remove my hood and observe various gritty scenes of rural life around me. In one village, a farmer was beheading chickens with a bloody axe, their bodies jerking long after the head was severed. In anothre village near a small Romanesque chapel, I encountered a crowd headed to a funeral (presumably not for the chickens).

Melide, a sizeable town with an albergue and several octopus-serving establishments (a Galician specialty) was my stop for the night. My Brazilian and Austrian acquaintances were already there, along with many other familiar and unfamiliar folk. I sat around the dining table with several walkers my own age: one woman from Germany, another from Japan, a guy from Israel, and a few Spaniards. They were a good crowd, and we enjoyed sharing stories and each other´s food. Santiago was within reach, only 55 km away, and everyone talked excitedly about what they would do after they got there.