Day 18 – Tuesday 17th May – Melide to Arzua

May 17, 2022

Well, I think that today can be described as a “challenging and exciting opportunity”. Which of course, in the corporate world is a phrase that must be used in all conferences. The more wisened victims of the corporate world recognise it as something more along the lines of “it’ll be a be difficult crock of shit”. In fairness, it wasn’t that bad; but equally it could have been a lot better.

Knowing that we’d got a relatively short walk ahead, we had a slow relaxed start which included the rarity of breakfast at where we’d stayed. The predicted teeming rain had not arrived, but the clouds again looked very menacing.

Most of the walk was is rather lovely shaded woodland. The aromatic eucalyptus trees becoming more and more prominent. The rain spat a bit, but couldn’t get to us underneath the canopy of the trees. First stop was a German run Albergue/café, El Aleman. Another embarrassing conversation about our PM and Government, this time with a lovely Irish couple. The normally mellow Mrs N was already spitting feathers after reading that the Spineless Git in charge had dropped the soon to be launched “Child Obesity Strategy” due to pressure from backbenchers worrying about food manufacturers profits. Then she saw a comment on Bookface from a friend slaughtering the Govt for agreeing to 4 energy price cap amendments per year………………..more Muttleyesque muttering!

On we went. We crossed a nice little stepping stone bridge across a stream, and then the usual Puente Romano before stopping again in Ribadiso. We had a lovely chat with a group of c8 women, who shall be named as the Birmingham Belles. Just doing the 100k bit, they were enjoying themselves, but were disappointed by the dull weather.

By the time we left them they had even more disappointment, as the long predicted proper rain had arrived. Straight from the Catwalks of Milan, Paris and London we strode on in a blur of orange and blue. Poncho's blowing in the ever-strengthening wind. What little rain we’d had so far had been quite welcome, but this was just unpleasant. Within an hour we’d got to Arzua. I think that even in the most delightful conditions Arzua would not have been easy on the eye. But today, it was just a faceless carbuncle. Worse than that, it was a faceless, closed carbuncle. No supermarkets open to get bread, cheese and biscuits. Oh well, they’ll be open later.

Grizzle in the drizzle

Grizzle in the drizzle

Twinned with Swindon?

The afternoon was spent doing dire admin such as booking bus tickets from Santiago to Porto, trying to arrange baggage carriage into Santiago and beyond. Apart from the bus tickets, it was largely unsuccessful. Of the few who actually answered their phones, nobody spoke English. What was going on? Eventually I googled “public holidays in Galicia”, and all became clear. It was, of course “Galician Literature Day”. Silly old me, how on earth did I not know that!

Then came the thought…."what if the food places are closed too?" Out we skittled at just after 6pm. Closed, cerrado, geschlossen, ferme etc etc. Then a bar advertising food; but nope, “no comidas”. In fairness, the woman there was helpful. Obviously speaking no English, what said seemed like - “back down the road, right at the pharmacia, and just on the right”. Off we scuttled, and found the perceived location.There was a bar advertising food, but the signs were obvious that it wasn’t serving. Bugger! To its left a shabby looking Albergue also advertising food. A glance through the door, but no sign of anything but a reception desk. Double bugger! I glanced back in hope, and then saw the magic word on a small door beyond the desk “comidar”. I furtively approached the door, like a junkie looking for a score; miraculously recognised it as one of the sliding variety, slid it open a few inches and poked my head in. Four female faces in a brightly lit, sparse room stared at me! Had I interrupted a secret meeting of the Galician Revolutionary Sisterhood? I suddenly felt about as welcome as Travelling Pork Scratchings Salesman at a Synagogue. Then a stern looking woman appears from the far end of the room and moves swiftly towards me; she say something incomprehensible. I just responded with “comida?”. She smiles, and we’re in. Clearly her last customers for the day, we’re offered no menu whatsoever. But the Caldo Gallego arrives. A huge vat of it. Having not eaten since breakfast, we consume it with gusto. Vegetables had never tasted so good! Then the main course, beef. Huge lumps of tender meet. Delightful. But thank heavens we weren’t veggies! Sweet followed. All that, and a bottle of red between us for €30. What a great end to a distinctly mediocre day.