It is miserable outside. The autumn rains of Galicia have arrived with a vengeance and it’s blowing a gale. If seems appropriate, at the end of a cold and damp day, with the weather discouraging anything more than a brief visit to the pub for dinner, to quote Paul McCartney, because for the first time I am homesick.

The Long and Winding Road

The long and winding road
That leads to your door
Will never disappear
I’ve seen that road before
It always leads me here
Lead me to your door

The wild and windy night
That the rain washed away
Has left a pool of tears
Crying for the day
Why leave me standing here?
Let me know the way

Many times I’ve been alone
And many times I’ve cried
Anyway you’ve never know
The many ways I’ve tried

And still they lead me back
To the long winding road
You left me standing here
A long long time ago
Don’t leave me waiting here
Lead me to your door

But still they lead me back
To the long winding road
You left me standing here
A long long time ago
Don’t keep me waiting here
Lead me to your door.

There will be only one photo with this blog, and maybe few tomorrow, because I fear damaging the camera if I take it out I the rain. In any case, it has migrated from my pack’s belt to a pocket in my tech jacket, which is now really earning its keep. The rain is falling steadily now, and this will be it for the twenty or so kilometres to Sarria I’m the morning. Rain pants tomorrow.

Today was a bit dull, because the scenery was obscured by the mist, the driving drizzle and the gale-force winds. Sometimes I was reminded of the afternoon Paula and I spent in North Devon, driving up Porlock Hill. The green of Ireland? The smell of a South Coast dairy farm? It’s amazing what cattle can do with grass, for this is now rich dairy country.

Most of the day I walked and talked with Brun, the Australian-Croatian guy from Perth. He has been saving for the future by working in the Kimberleys, but he has kept in touch with his interests by listening to Richard Fidler. He was a good companion, but decided to keep going down to Samos, which was a shame for me, but you learn to say farewell with a light heart on the Way. Buon Camino, compadre.

I realised that I was tired at the end of the walk and decided to have a night on my own, so I have a warm single room in one the private albergues, attached to the pub. It is nice to be on one’s own for a while, so Complexo Xacobea is home for the night. Dinner was a hoot, starting the evening with Paige from Oregon, who introduced me to Claire from Cambridge, and then Dennis the Irish teacher walked in. I’ve met Dennis before, and the conversation rolled on and on, even unto the second bottle. So many stories…

I feel tired because I built everything up to the great pitch to the summit at Cebreiro, and now it looks like six days of dodgy weather to my goal. But I am in Galicia, less than one hundred miles from Santiago, and every day brings fresh conversations, cultures, sights and opportunity. I must write a bit about this Celtic part of Spain tomorrow, but for tonight, that is enough. Buenas noches, queridos.
Hasta lluego, mi amor.

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