We rose before the alarm, as the anticipation of the day ahead stirred us awake in the still-dark hours. Our quiet movements echoed in the common room, where we packed our gear without disturbing the sleeping pilgrims. At 5:50 AM, we set out, eager to tackle the climb before the expected rain could turn our path into a treacherous journey.
The early morning air was crisp, and the forest around us was cloaked in a serene predawn light. Our footsteps echoed softly on the simple road that led us deeper into the woods. As we walked, the first light of dawn began to paint the sky in soft hues. Suddenly, an Ermita appeared before us, seemingly placed in the middle of nowhere. Its solitary presence in the wilderness was a poignant reminder of the solitary devotion that such hermitages represent.
Ermitas, or hermitages, are small chapels typically found in remote areas, often serving as places of worship and reflection for solitary hermits. These differ from iglesias, or churches, which are more common in towns and serve larger congregations. Basilicas are grander and hold a special religious significance, often designated by the Pope. We have passed all manners of these building along the way, but the Ermita has always been the one that popped up in the middle of nowhere, or at least in unexpected locations.
A kilometer past the Ermita, we came upon a church, its silhouette standing proudly as the sun’s rays cast "God Rays" down to the landscape below. These beams of light broke through the clouds, creating a celestial scene that felt like a divine blessing on our journey. Today, we were to be blessed with rain.
As we continued, the path began to ascend, leading us into the heart of a cloud. The wind turbine blades, which we could see spinning in the distance, gradually disappeared as the clouds enveloped us. The mist grew thicker, and soon the first drops of rain began to fall. We quickly donned our pack covers and ponchos, wrapping ourselves in layers of protection against the elements. The rain was not a downpour, but a persistent mist and light rain that soaked through slowly.
The climb was steady and demanding, but with each step, we moved closer to Galicia, the last autonomous community we would traverse in Spain. Reaching the top of the ridge, we were hoping to be greeted by a sign marking our entrance into Galicia, but perhaps on our haste we missed the transition point. The descent brought us swiftly down to a coffee shop, a welcoming sight where several other wet and cold hikers had taken refuge from the rain.
Inside, the warmth was immediate and comforting. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and we joined the other hikers in wrapping our hands around warm mugs of cafe con leche. The rain had passed by the time we finished our coffee, and we set out once more, our spirits lifted and bodies warmed.
The remainder of the day was unremarkable, as we walked along a dirt road parallel to the highway. The markers counting down the kilometers to Santiago de Compostela were placed with almost comical precision, showing the distance to the meter, despite being over 150 kilometers away.
The weather seemed to change with each passing kilometer. One moment, we were bathed in sunshine, and the next, shrouded in mist or pelted by wind and rain. The unpredictability was frustrating to face. Hiking in a poncho mostly handles these variations, but it can sometimes get too warm if the rain and wind stop on a climb.
As we approached A Fonsagrada, the final climb was steep and challenging, but the promise of rest spurred us on. The town, perched on a hill, welcomed us with narrow streets and a tranquil atmosphere. We sought refuge in our pension, relishing the privacy and comfort of a room to ourselves.
After settling in, we ventured out for a quick lunch and a grocery run, but the rest of the day was spent in quiet reflection and rest. It was a luxury to have a space where we could unwind and recharge away from the communal dormitories that had become our norm.
As we prepared for the next day, there was a sense of anxiety about the trail ahead. We had heard warnings that it would be tough, especially if the rain continued. The thought of navigating muddy, slippery paths was daunting, but we hoped for a clear morning.
I guess tomorrow will tell.
Each day a new challenge and reward... but a taxi sure does sound nice.
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