Villafranca del Bierzo to La Faba, 26km

Brian asked me on Sunday how our day compared to others along the way in terms of how tough it was. I found it a really tough question to answer and have been pondering it for the last few days. 

I think the physical exertion that goes into any particular day is such a small part of how ‘tough’ the day pans out to be. The day I walked all of 10km along a relatively flat senda path stands out for me as one of the toughest, trumped only by the completely flat and straight 3.4km stretch from the day before and very possibly yesterday’s stretch out of Ponferrada.  In all cases, I was tired, my feet were in an awful state and – most importantly – there was nothing of interest to distract me from my internal moaning. 

Today has been the polar opposite.  I don’t remember climbing anything as long and steep since the first day into Roncesvalles. I have spent the last few hours huffing and puffing and moving at a snail’s pace but with spectacular views around every corner, I have breezed through it and – after a few minutes to regroup – am feeling fighting fit. 

I am definitely in alpine country today – surrounded on all sides by enormous hills that are covered in heather, making them a surreally intense purple. The valleys in between are picture perfect – mountain streams rushing through bright green meadows sporting a smattering of early season wild flowers – primroses, violets, daisies and dandelions all showing their faces to the sun.  Roaming amongst all this are herds of honey coloured cows, each with an alpine bell that gives each little valley a unique windchime effect. Think Sound of Music meets a Milka ad. Nice. 

Having said I have had no complaints today, the weight of my pack has still been bothering me. I spent the morning itemising its contents in my head (again) to try and work out what has changed so much since Ian’s supply drop.  When I stopped for an early afternoon picnic break (in a ridiculously cute field of flowers by a little river), it was bothering me so much that I unpacked everything there and then to assess it all for ditchability.  

In reality, I probably identified all of 300g of things that could go (half empty travel shampoo packs and a few excess first aid supplies etc, etc) and even though all I did was package these up separately ready for ditching at the appropriate point, the need to be in control of my ‘stuff’ was obviously the bigger issue at play as I realised an hour or so later that I had no further complaints. My pack and I are officially friends again. 

I have stopped tonight in a tiny hamlet called La Faba.  It comprises all of about ten houses including a shop, a bar and a delightfully quirky albergue called El Refugio (the refuge) that looks like something straight out of The Hobbit, though with Buddhas on every spare surface it has a decidedly ashram feel about it.

 The vast majority have continued on to the town at the finish of the climb, but after a very social (and slightly hectic) couple of days, I felt the need for a bit of quiet time and enjoyed a very chilled couple of hours before dinner.  I think this may go down as my favourite dinner so far – four of us at a table by an open fire as plate after plate of vegetarian deliciousness was piled in front of us … all straight from the garden beside the albergue. A little bit of Rosie popping up in Northern Spain!