Day 22, September 15: O Cebreiro to Sarria (39 km; 9:35)
Not only would this be a long day, but I would also have to deal with the steep descent of almost 700 metres between Alto du Poio and Triacastela (an average gradient of about 6%).
Photo 705: View of the descent to Triacastella.
During the two and a half hour descent my leg and ankle swelled up again. It was hard to concentrate on the scenery, as it was all I could do to put one leg in front of the other. Shortly afterwards, I met Mark (he of the boots left in the rafters of the shelter near Arcahueja). The double-dose of powdered Ibuprofen he gave me miraculously dulled the pain – I had been judiciously self-medicating with wine in the evenings, but that day I came to the conclusion that wine is good but drugs are better!
At Triacastela (Three Castles) we would have preferred to go to Sarria via Samos to view the monastery that was founded in the 6th century, but instead decided to take the less-interesting but significantly shorter route via San Xil. Pain management trumped history.
We took advantage of this beautiful fountain to rest.
Photo 708: A serene spot in the forest.
It was after 4:00 pm when we arrived at the municipal albergue and we were concerned that it might be full – fortunately we got the last two beds.
Later we shared a meal of sausage, sardines, bread, yogurt and apples with a young lady from Fontainebleau near Paris. Marie, who was only seventeen, had been walking the Camino Nord along the Bay of Biscayne but had switched to the Camino France by taking a bus to Astorga. Apparently there were so few people that she had gotten lonely.
Afterward, we walked along some of the narrow streets where hordes of locals were eating, drinking and socializing on the patios of the local cafes and bars – in this respect they are so much more civilized than North Americas.
I had the misfortune of having been assigned a bed right across from a man who snored loudly all night. I woke up constantly despite my earplugs and a pillow over my head. It was obvious from some of the muttering from others around me that he was not popular. There was nothing to do but to bear it! Ah, a pilgrim`s life is one of sacrifice – in my case, sleep.
Photo 705: View of the descent to Triacastella.During the two and a half hour descent my leg and ankle swelled up again. It was hard to concentrate on the scenery, as it was all I could do to put one leg in front of the other. Shortly afterwards, I met Mark (he of the boots left in the rafters of the shelter near Arcahueja). The double-dose of powdered Ibuprofen he gave me miraculously dulled the pain – I had been judiciously self-medicating with wine in the evenings, but that day I came to the conclusion that wine is good but drugs are better!
At Triacastela (Three Castles) we would have preferred to go to Sarria via Samos to view the monastery that was founded in the 6th century, but instead decided to take the less-interesting but significantly shorter route via San Xil. Pain management trumped history.
We took advantage of this beautiful fountain to rest.
Photo 708: A serene spot in the forest. It was after 4:00 pm when we arrived at the municipal albergue and we were concerned that it might be full – fortunately we got the last two beds.
Later we shared a meal of sausage, sardines, bread, yogurt and apples with a young lady from Fontainebleau near Paris. Marie, who was only seventeen, had been walking the Camino Nord along the Bay of Biscayne but had switched to the Camino France by taking a bus to Astorga. Apparently there were so few people that she had gotten lonely.
Afterward, we walked along some of the narrow streets where hordes of locals were eating, drinking and socializing on the patios of the local cafes and bars – in this respect they are so much more civilized than North Americas.
I had the misfortune of having been assigned a bed right across from a man who snored loudly all night. I woke up constantly despite my earplugs and a pillow over my head. It was obvious from some of the muttering from others around me that he was not popular. There was nothing to do but to bear it! Ah, a pilgrim`s life is one of sacrifice – in my case, sleep.
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