22.2km

A few of us go to the bar in Sarria for breakfast before walking. I get a café con leche and a bizcocho (sponge cake). We somehow start discussing Edoardo’s cooking, and so we decide to go to a private albergue in Portomarín tonight that has a kitchen.

At the edge of the city, there’s a fresh produce market being set up, and we go to the vegetable stall. Edoardo gets the idea to make a pumpkin risotto, so we get some quality ingredients, and split the weight between us.

It’s a pleasant day at 3°C, puffy clouds in the sky. There’s birdsong as we leave through grassy fields, trees spaced out along the path.

We enter a forest with old twisting trees converted in moss. Moist autumn leaves pad our footsteps as we gradually go uphill.

The uphill slope levels out to an open plain. We spread out as per our walking places.

I take calm, regular breaths with some gentle uphills. There’s the lingering smell of animal poop. I think about how the Camino is indeed a Camino of all things natural.

The sun comes out after Rente. There’s lots of birdsong accompanying us the whole way. With such environs for the past few days, I am starting to see why people love Galicia.

We catch up with Gerlinde, and Ingrid chats with her while I walk ahead. We pass through a series of countryside villages, most of them probably dedicated to the farms in the area.

There’s a drizzle which makes us put our rain jackets on, only to stop some minutes later. It’s a passing rain, apparently typical of Galicia.

At Míralos, we finally find a place to eat. It seems to be getting stormy and grey again, so it’s a good stop. Some of the others are already here. It’s a proper sit-down restaurant, but the selection seems few. I get an empañada (meat pastry) and a cortado. Enrique is having a yogur con miel (yogurt with honey) and strongly recommends it. As the rest leave, Ingrid and I stay back to try it—the yoghurt is superb. When we leave the restaurant, it is sunny again.

After passing through more villages and pastoral countryside, we reach a steady downhill, with a big river ahead of us. Portomarín is on the opposite side.

It seems like a modern holiday town, with a lot closed. I learn later than the old Portomarín disappeared under the water in 1963, and only important buildings like the church were moved to higher ground. Which explains the modern buildings. When the water is low, or if you dive, you can probably visit the old town.

Enrique, who has worked in a kitchen, is cooking with Edoardo today. There is also a plan for a queimada, a special Galician “witch” drink and ceremony, and the hostel happens to have the special vessel for it. I don’t know exactly what to expect, but it’s been mentioned a few times so I am looking forward to it.

Some go to get groceries while Ingrid, Jae, and I stay back to help chop the vegetables we bought this morning.

The kitchen is a whirl when they’re all back. Jamón serrano, chorizo, and salchichón is laid out to enjoy with bread for those waiting. The eventual courses are a mixed salad, potato with aioli, and pumpkin risotto, all to be enjoyed with wine.

Before we start, Ingrid says she wants to say a secular prayer for us all. We stand up and hold hands around the table. We are grateful for everyone here, no matter what reason brought us on the Camino. We came alone, and yet, we are all together at this table now, like a family.

All the dishes are amazing. Spanish food is the best, but my favourite meals on the Camino have definitely been the ones that are home-cooked.

When everyone is full up, the table is set up for the queimada. Antonio, our resident Galician, presides over the proceedings. Orujo is poured into the vessel, along with sugar and various cut fruit. We are offered banana slices to place in ourselves.

Antonio then sets fire to the mixture. He pours and tosses it to mix the alcohol upwards for the fire. Some of the moves are practical, some because he is such a showman. María recites the queimada spell as the fire is poured. It’s all great fun.

The drink is tasty. The fire takes some of the edge off the orujo, and caramelises the sugar and fruit. We do two more rounds of queimada for the rest of the orujo, paired with joyful conversation. Pleasantly inebriated, I go to bed at 12.30am, the latest I’ve slept in a while.