Hospital del Cruze to Melide, 29km

Have to admit to starting the day in a bit of a grump this morning. I tried to psyche the rain out by just wearing my low level rain gear (light spray jacket) but it was all of two minutes before I had to admit defeat and don the full regalia with the addition of my poncho and the various layers of gaffa tape and plastic bags now required to actually keep it waterproof (note to future pilgrims: the poncho is not the place to pinch pennies!) 

Still, I made it to Palas de Rei in one slightly damp piece and settled in for a  later than usual breakfast, pleased with myself for having 13km under my belt already. 

I have decided that although I love the countryside in Galicia, I am not a fan of the villages. For one thing they are a lot more modern than the regions I have been through, though they don’t seem particularly well-off, which means any modernisation tends to lead with concrete – definitely function over form. The villages are populated with dairy farms which tends to mean the lanes through the centre are rich with sloppy green cow dung – not so easy on the nose and requiring that little bit of extra focus to avoid slipping gracefully through town. 

The main issues though are the dogs. Now I am very much a dog person and glad to see the dogs in this area have freedom to roam as opposed to the sad and sorry lot that were perpetually chained to a tiny kennel earlier in my walk.  But these are no chihuahuas. No, no, no. These are big mixed breeds that spend the entire time you are in line of sight either growling and barking or staring you down while they work out how to get the best grip on your jugular. 

A few days ago I was blissfully wandering along a country road when I saw Cujo and his German Shepherd sidekick belting down the road toward me about half a kilometre away. Hair standing on end and adrenalin racing I immediately started working out how best to turn my baton twirling walking sticks into defensive weapons. However, turned out I was lucky as they were actually chasing their owner’s car into the village at the bottom of the hill and only had time for a bottom-clenching growl on their way past.  

Of course the owner then drove back up the road a few minutes later and the two of them soon bolted past in hot pursuit. I spent the next five minutes as I approached their farm stressing out about what would happen as I passed through their turf and sure enough, there they were on guard in the centre of the road. I had a massive case of goosebumps and was convinced I was about to become a camino statistic. I approached them in a very cowed fashion, eyeing off all possible exit routes as I went … though in retrospect, the thought that I could actually climb a tree with backpack, poncho and walking boots was a bit ridiculous.  Still, they were eerily silent and it wasn’t until I was right in the middle of them (danger zone!) that the world’s friendliest looking Labrador suddenly burst from the cowshed barking his head off and setting them all off. Lordy lord I was out of there quickly. 

Anyway, have since been greeting every dog I come across with a slightly pitiful plea to ‘please be nice’. It seems to be working so far, so sticking with it for the moment. 

That aside, the rest of the day was pretty much head down walking as storm cloud after storm cloud passed overhead and dumped bucket loads of rain on me. Wetter than the wetter thing on planet wet is the phrase that comes to mind. 

I did find an interesting walking companion for a few hours this afternoon – a young Dutch guy who I have seen on and off for the last few days, usually asleep in a field or sitting on a fence spooning Nutella from family sized jars.  We seemed to fall straight into a very deep conversation about living in the moment and I have to say, this kid is wise beyond his years (though obviously not in nutritional terms).   It’s hard to summarise the conversation in a few sentences without trivialising it, but he did leave me with some interesting food for thought for my last hour into Melide – something around true contentment only coming when you can go beyond being hard on yourself, beyond being pleased with yourself and just be at one with yourself. Yep, doesn’t really translate, but am feeling all deep and meaningful as a result. 

On which note, off to the supermarket for a bottle of wine as another Italian (Franco who is travelling with his mentally disabled son, Renaldo) has offered to cook pasta for a group of us tonight  *happy dance*