O'Cebreiro to Portomarín

Now we are three on the Camino--plus Ludwig, our new mascot.

Leaving O'Cebreiro

The first half of the walk to Triacastela follows the crest of the ridge, with alternating views into the valleys far below to the north and to the south. We crossed an asphalt road and were following a dirt track when a man came running up to us in the opposite direction. Hair dishevelled, panting and out of breath, he shouted at us to turn around and follow the road. The track would become intolerably steep, and our faces would be pressed into the dirt of the hill. It was not a climb to undertake. Ignoring him, we pushed on. At no point was the Camino ever that challenging. Yes, we did find a steep climb for a few hundred metres, but the track provided the appropriate zigzags to help us to the top, where there was a bar. As we rewarded ourselves with a beer, we wondered what could possibly have led to such a panicky reaction.

St. James on the Lookout

On the Way to Triacastela

On our way down to Triacastela we could see a major quarry on the other side of the valley. In the middle ages it had been a source of limestone which the pilgrims would carry to Santiago as a personal contribution to the building of the cathedral. We found our packs quite sufficient and we had no idea how the medieval pilgrim managed to carry a meaningful amount to his ultimate destination.

We debated which route we would follow from Triacastela to Sarria: the shorter, but higher San Gil path, or the longer, lower route that took the pilgrim through the monastery town of Samos. We opted for the latter, although eventually forged an even longer but thoroughly delightful itinerary which took us from Samos over to the San Gil path before reaching Sarria.

The Monastery at Samos

The monastery's existence goes back centuries and its role in the history of Spain is extensive. Its buildings, however, are of recent vintage as a result of serious fires. Only half the enormous library was saved.

Camino Village

Teresa and Encarnita

On the Camino six degrees of separation are more than needed. Most of the time only a couple are needed. Encarnita met Teresa from Zamora. Teresa lived in Oslo, Norway, and was friendly with the small Mexican community. She did not know John Anthony's sister-in-law Tanía, but I am certain she would within a few days of returning to her home.

Roadside Shrine

Sarria on a Saturday night is lively. The town sits on a hill that lies between two rivers that come together a short distance below the town. One of the rivers, Rio Sarria, parallels the main street and the promenade that follows its bank is lined with bars and restaurants. Across the river a wedding celebration underway. As Encarnita, Sara and I were enjoying dinner, the guests were between ceremony and reception and enjoying a stroll along the promenade. The dresses were lavish in colour, adornment and length. One could easily see the difficulties one has in satisfying the requirements of good taste in the shops of a relatively small city.

The walk from Sarria to Portomarín took us past farm field after farm field. Grain. Potatoes. Sometimes we were in the open, sometimes under the shelter of stately trees.


At Barbadelo we decided not to visit the farm where I had stayed five years before. Instead we visited with a neighbour of Carmen, an older gentleman who was tending to his cows. Or at least, who should have been tending to his cows, according to his wife who instructed him from a distance to get on with it.

Self-service Convenience Store for Twenty-first Century Pilgrims

On the Way to Portomarín

Only 100 kilometres more to go

Hórreo, or Raised Granary

At last one gains the view of Portomarín crowned by its Templar church on the other side of the Rio Miño, which at that point is dammed up to form a long, winding lake. The descent to the bridge across the lake is long, as is the climb up to the town on the far side. At this time of year the water level of the lake is high; by fall it will be down to a point where the foundations of homes that had to be abandoned when the dam was built can be seen.

Portomarín and the Church of San Nicolás

Our home for the night would be what is termed a Centro Turistico Rural, 800 metres outside town in the direction of the lake. A large stone building that had likely at one point been a combined home and barn, and now served as a lounge and restaurant drew us like a magnet. The main lodge with half a dozen bedrooms and separate cabins spread around the fields were all made of logs, North American in design. A few couples had pitched tents in the field. A variety of recreational activities were offered including horse back riding.

Centro Turistico Rural - Portomarín

My interest, however, was focused on my watch. The last surprise, surprise for Encarnita, was about to unfold. She knew that Kike, the son of a very good friend from her childhood in Granada was driving up from Madrid to join us for a few days on the Camino. The relationship goes back even further, as Kike's grandfather and Encarnita's father were best friends. What had been arranged, however, was a flight that would bring John Anthony from Mexico to Madrid. We had done our best to keep Encarnita unaware of this added touch.

Encarnita was suspicious about Kike's driving six hours to join us. There had to be more afoot than two days on the Camino. She remembered how John Anthony, with her help, had surprised me in Leon the first time I was on the Camino. A number of times during the past three weeks she had asked me if John Anthony would be joining us. I did the best I could to deflect the notion, but Encarnita intuitively was certain that at some point her son would appear. That intuitive foreknowledge, however, did not in any way diminish the embrace they gave each other when at midnight he appeared from Kike's car. Now we were four on the Camino, five for a few days.