Joining the Camino Francés — Rising Son Travels

I was excited for my rest day in Lugo. Not only was it a beautiful city surrounded by ancient Roman Walls, but it had been a solid two weeks since my previous rest day in Laredo. Had I not found such a great group of people to walk with I might stopped to linger in some of the cool towns I walked through. I had gotten into a really good groove with my fellow pilgrims and it kept me walking each and every day.

In terms of things to do in Lugo, the only things on my list were to visit the cathedral and its famous Roman walls. After watching the truly shitty Game of Thrones series finale on my laptop, I ventured out of my hostel to visit the cathedral.

I took a moment to say some prayers in one of the pews. I still considered myself an avowed, even militant, atheist but fully understood how faith helps others dealing with grief. My reaction to my own grief was that it further hardened my attitude that the world is senseless and there’s no benevolent being looking out for us. I don’t understand how God can help someone accumulate Super Bowl rings while ignoring horrific atrocities around the world. Maybe my feelings about this will evolve; I’m only 30.

I walked up onto the walls of Lugo and looked out onto the city. I got the impression that for all the history of these Roman walls, people now see them as a convenient place to jog. Rumor has it that the only reason the city didn’t tear the walls down was because they didn’t have the budget.

Lugo to Ferreira

My rest day in Lugo didn’t pan out the way I intended. Instead of waking up feeling rested, my body turned on me and I slowly limped my way out of the walled city. I took a wrong turn and started walking up a hill but was quickly stopped by a local Spanish woman who instructed me to turn around. Spanish people who live by the Camino seemed pretty used to steering lost pilgrims in the correct direction. I ran into Henric, and we walked together for most of the day.

Henric was one of the pilgrims who had his phone stolen while we were in Güemes. I was really impressed with how he’s been managing. He couldn’t distract himself with music or podcasts the way I had for hours at a time. I told him he was walking the Camino like a real pilgrim.

I learned from my phone (See, they come in handy!) that there was a slight detour on the way to Ferreira to see one of the best preserved Roman temples in Spain, St. Eulalia of Bóveda. Henric and I decided to roll the dice and walk longer in order to see the temple.

We arrived in a tiny village full of buildings that appeared to be hundreds of years old. We looked for signs of a Roman Temple but instead spotted a visitor’s center. An old man sat at a table and had us sign into his guest book. He didn’t speak a single word of English but he knew why we were there. He pulled out some keys and led us to what appeared from the outside to be a church. When he opened the gate we saw that he was indeed taking us to the temple. It was small, but impressive. There were well-preserved drawings of birds on the wall. Whatever history the older man was attempting to impart was unfortunately lost on us with our poor Spanish comprehension.

Through some Wikipedia sleuthing I’ve learned that the temple is from the 3rd Century. It was converted to a church to honor St. Eulalia. There is a pool in the middle that was presumably used for baptisms one it was converted into a chapel. The experience was a real hidden gem and I’m glad that I was able to visit it.

When I arrived at the albergue in Ferreira I spotted Anja sunbathing in the backyard. The pilgrims from places like Germany or the UK tended to be the ones trying to soak up as much sun as possible. I, on the other hand, hid from the sun every chance I could get. The albergue had a large backyard and was run by an adorable older Dutch couple. They had an option of a communal vegetarian dinner so Anja, Henric, and I sat down to eat with the other pilgrims.

A young German girl sat at our dinner table with her father. They were walking Camino Primitivo together after doing a test run last year. She looked to be around the same age that I was when my family hiked The Chilkoot Trail, a 5-day backpacking trip from that traces the path of 1898 Gold Rush through Alaska to Canada. I knew exactly how my mom would have acted had she been with me so I attempted to channel her with my commentary and questions.

“It’s so great when you get kids so active at such a young age. When I was 9 years old my parents took my on a backpacking trip from Alaska to Canada.”

I also told her that she was the youngest pilgrim I had met, thinking I was being really clever. Her father translated back, saying that she’s “heard that a lot.”

Ferreira to Ribadiso

This was our last day on the Primitivo before our route converged with the French Way in Melide. I woke up early and had a strong pace, which was good because the day’s walk was going to be 33+ kilometers. I looked back at the path and was able to see the sun rising, which was absolutely gorgeous. Sunrises are so much more rewarding than a sunset because you’re almost always awake for a sunset but waking up for sunrise takes effort.

When I arrived in Melide the impact of the Camino truly hit me. The entire town was full of pilgrims with their scallop shell-laden packs and blistered feet. There was an extraordinary number of shops dedicated to physical ailments. After walking hundreds of kilometers with relatively few people it was quite jarring. Gone were my periods of going hours without seeing anyone but I didn’t let it stop me from singing along to Moana on occasion. I saw my first horse pilgrims, which was something I had been on the lookout for during the entire Camino. The reality was less exciting than it was in my head. They were essentially a group of Americans with extreme Horse Girl Energy.

Andrés told me the town was famous for its “pulpo,” which is an octopus dish. I found a place in town that did a pulpo burger. This seemed like the perfect way for me to try something local but also something that was familiar to my American palette.

Ribadiso was a tiny village with a river running through it. I started to feel as if I had shin splints so I waded in the freezing cold water. As I was wading the horse pilgrims arrived. I was surprised that they arrived so much later than me considering they were riding horses.

We ended the night with another fantastic home-cooked meal by Andrés. These bonds formed on the Camino have been the happiest surprise of the experience.