Day Fifty: Sarria to Palas de Rei: A Very Tough Day

May 16, 2017

It was really convenient to have our bikes just downstairs and not in a place where we had to deal with anyone to get them out and loaded. So we got up when we felt like it (5:30), ate our bread, cheese, and flan, added coffee and hot chocolate from our gas stove, and were set to go at about the same time as the walkers.

We joined a selection of walkers in progressing up Rua Meior, the main street of the old town and the one through which pilgrims have passed for ages. At the end of the street we at first continued to follow the walkers, kind of swept along with the flow. Very soon, but not before we had descended a rather steep street, we realized that we needed instead to go find the road. So we turned around, and left the walkers to it, at least until our paths would rejoin down the line.

Back at the top where the walkers had gone one way and where we needed to go the other, a lone walker was staring at a map. "That way", we chimed, indicating not only the direction of the yellow arrows, but the way we had just accompanied twenty people. But this lone walker was fixated on the map in his hand, and told us we were wrong.

Fine then, if you think we're wrong suit yourself we thought. We left the man to trail after us on the bike route until he finally wised up and turned back. What can you do?

Last night on TV there was a special on gipsies, with extensive coverage of the convention that happens at Les Saintes Maries in France. That's where they drag our that strange statue of a black sarah and take it to the sea. Remember - from our Day Twenty One?

Here are tons of people at the sea in the gipsie convention in France

The scene outside the front door of our hostal this morning

A pilgrim shown in a mural in a town along the way. Note how he has the same functional hat as the Grampies!

We are probably not the first pilgrims to wrongly think that having climbed to O Cebriero it is all over save for an easy cruise into Santiago. In fact, there are brutal hills all the way in, its just that the road goes up for about 2 km and then descends only to go up again. Had we carefully read the Cicerone guidebook, we would have known that. Or maybe it was better not to know.

Neither of us was going particularly strongly today in any event, and the sun came out to broil the often shadeless road up to the 40 degree mark. By the time we reached Paradela, 15 km on, Dodie realized we were going to need some extra power. Paradela starts with a gas station, and Dodie sent me in to get some chocolate bars. I asked the gas station lady for chocolate and she indicated a selection of what were standard American products, like Mars bar. I knew that what I needed was a fat slab of real Spanish chocolate bar (even if maybe made by Nestle), not these little American toy bars. So I drew on my stock of Spanish for the situation, learned from Danny DeVito in the film Romancing the Stone, and said some variant of his "I hate Americano! I spit on 'em! Ptui! American scum-o! Scum-o!". The lady looked at me and replied "Vale!" (OK!)

We found that Nestle bar a little later, at the Supermercado in town.

But first, we came to a Panaderia (bakery). Dodie said "Look I am so much slower, that why don't I carry on and you go in and get some stuff?. "You are sending me and my wallet into a bakery alone?", I asked incredulously. "Yes". clearly the sun was already making her delirious!

As it happened, the bakery was only making bread for the wholesale market, so my wallet and I came out unscathed. Then Dodie secured some sensible packaged cookies, at the same supermercado as the chocolate.

Temporarily buoyed by chocolate, we pushed on a further 9 km to Portomarin. This is a town resting above a reservoir, that in the 1960's had been moved to escape the reservoir flooding. This included the moving of three churches, stone by stone.

We had the option of bypassing the town or of climbing up to it to have a look. We opted for the climb. since Portomarin is 109 km from Santiago, it is in a good position as a starting point for walkers who need a minimum of a 100 km walk to earn their "compostella". Perhaps that explains th epresence of an actual person in the main church, set up to sell creanciales and to stamp them. We took advantage of that, and sat on the cool and shady church steps to eat some lunch.

Getting a stamp in the church at Portomarin

At Portomarin church. This is said to be the 24 old men of the "Revelations Book" playing their instruments. But actually the carving is too weathered to see much.

Then we descended back almost to the level of the reservoir, and the "fun" began. The road sloped sharply upwards, so pushing was the only way to do it. At the top of the slope was another slope, and then another, and another. At each stage I would optimistically declare that the top was surely in reach. Not likely. although the road did go down occasionally, the main story was up.

Since I can usually pedal where Dodie is pushing, I took to cycling up ahead to see if truly the road would continue up, or if (as I always hoped) it would now turn down. Then I would possibly cycle down or maybe walk down, bearing the bad news.

Dodie steadfastly refused any help, either by a push or by my taking her bike up. Everything she has achieved on this ride and on this day she has done absolutely on her own!

Despite having 2 1/2 litres of liquid on board each, we quickly realized that we were going to run out quite quickly.When we each were on our last bottle, I noticed Dodie was no longer drinking, and I of course was not drinking either. Each of us was conserving water so as to be able to help out the other when the need would become extreme.

Finally I got the idea of cycling on ahead to find water and returning with it. We sent me off with a solid 1/2 bottle on board, to make sure I would make it to somewhere and be able to return. In fact, it turned out the hamlet of Ventas was very close and had a cafe right on the path. So close, that by the time I had filled up water bottles, Dodie rolled in on her own steam.

Then we also downed some fresh orange juice, which helped a lot for the rest of the journey.

The rest of the journey, though, was really no piece of cake. It seemed to go on forever, because we were continually grinding or pushing up hills. Around 5 we tried phoning the hostal we had booked in Palas de Rei, to assure them that we would be there, sometime. But the call would not go through.

At this late hour all walking pilgrims are long ago in their albergues. Yet we encountered a lot of them on the trail. These were one who, like us, had booked places quite further on, and who had not realized how much of a chore it could be to reach those spots.

Pushing up endless hills after Portomarin

At least this cyclist whimped out and called a taxi.

Eventually, of course, we did make it, and climbed to the second story of the Pension Barcelona and temporarily collapsed. It was tempting to forget about food and forget about the blog and to stay collapsed. But we did rally and crossed the street to a pilgrim restaurant. The offerings are quite standard, we have learned. and our choices are now quite standard too - the mixed salad, then salmon for Dodie and pork chops for me, always served with fries. It's quite good, even if getting a little boring.

We tried to plot out our strategy for getting to/arriving in Santiago, but decided the road conditions are too variable for much effective plotting, except to know that even with Santiago so close it's going to take jut a while to get here. So tomorrow we will sleep in just a bit, go for some bacon and eggs at our now favourite restaurant across the street, set off and just see what happens.

Today's ride: 52 km (32 miles)
Total: 2,213 km (1,374 miles)

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