The weatherman on the TV with Granada in the top right and 8.31 in the bottom right of the screen and a big picture behind him of swirling cloud patterns, which he turns halfway and points at, explaining what is usual for the region at this time of year as the northern hemisphere tilts away from the sun. Then he gets on to today's weather; pictures of clouds dripping rain along the north west coast of Spain and snowflakes floating down on high ground, yellow discs inland. The rain perhaps, I hope won't reach as far down where I'm going. The outlook for Wednesday and Thursday is the same.

I discard the cornflake box and twist the internal satchual closed of what cornflakes remain and I forgot about the eggs I put on to boil, but the cleaner has kindly taken them off; they are now cool enough to pack.

Upstairs in the dorm I make no effort at being quiet even though the three guys there are supposedly asleep. They came in during the night talking as if it were the middle of the day for almost an hour. Now its time for retribution. They are soon awake, seemingly not to mind the racket I'm making. One with a Danish accent sits up in bed talking to the others about an elephant salesman in the bar the evening before trying to sell him an elephant, in a fit of laughter saying "What use would I have for an elephant?"

I check out and wave goodbye. I make a stop at the café along the street to use the wifi, the hostel wifi hasn't been working lately.

I know the direction I must take and it takes me via a long narrow one-way street with buses trawling along behind, then left steeply uphill and over the hill to a roundabout where I follow signs for Lugo. This leads to motorway, but with a "via de servicio" alongside which I ride upon. The service road goes as far as a Dia and Lidl. I need to stock-up on food and fuel for the stove.

On the way into Lidl, a young African migrant asks politely for money. A usually sight also with indigenous these days. I believe if you become unemployed in Spain, you get state-help for a limited time only, then nothing.

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Once I've packed the shopping in the rear pannier, I ride uphill away from the motorway along a road servicing industrial units. The only traffic a truck passing, turns into a warehouse yard at the end from where the way ahead isn't clear. I descend a slope and turn left along a totally empty recently laid road skirting around large plots of wasteland; with no traffic and open country, though not agricultural land as it has all been stirred up by what looks like bulldozers; devoid of human presents save for a construction site, with rattling roll of a cement mixer and bricklayers on scaffolding laying blocks therein. It dons on me this must've been zoned developing land, but since the economic downturn nothing mush has happened.

I continue and find the way into a residencial street leading out to N-547, a highway with vehicle-wide shoulder, but which joins the motorway in this direct for a short stretch under a kilometre to the following exit. At this point the cloud closes in and it spits with rain so I stop to put on the rain-jacket. Usually when I put on the rain jacket it stops raining and this time it doesn't fail either, as the rain shortly eases having barely wet the road.

The road ahead undulates up and down and I meet many "Camino" groups coming to the end of their long walk. I pass through Meide around three. More walkers sat having a rest. There are lots of walkers' accommodation here and I'm almost tempted to stop early as I pause looking at the map contemplating a turnoff, but decide I want to reach Pala de Rei for my first day onward from Santiago, from which there's a turnoff, a white road on the Michelin map in the direction of the Sil valley.

I make it to the aforementioned town by dusk and find the turnoff in the centre. It is as well I've lights as there is a Guard Civil patrol leaving town. I ride on beyond the last house until a plot of woodland with easy access and a good level spot for the tent about fifty metres in.

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