30.8km

I wake up at 7am when it’s still dark, so I write for a bit. Ingrid still sleeps soundly, only waking at 9am.

Eventually, we all get breakfast together. Between our fruit, bread, yoghurt, and Antonio’s bottle of honey, it feels plenty.

It’s the first time there’s a specific mid-point objective—pulpo (octopus), which Galicia is famous for. There’s a well-known restaurant called Pulpería Ezequiel in the town of Melide that we’re planning to go for lunch. It has Antonio’s approval as well, so it’s not just tourist hype.

We are aiming to reach A Calle de Ferreiros at 31km instead of Arzúa, a typical stop at 23km, because we are hoping to make it to Santiago de Compostela the next day, or perhaps the morning after that.

We leave at 10.30am to peaceful country forest paths. It’s a sunny 3°C day, and gentle wind rustles the branches of trees. We walk on soft earth, with the occasional padded crunch of leaves.

The wind gets stronger, but I hear the trees dispersing the gusts, protecting us from the brunt of it. I realise I’m not dreaming of coffee today.

At Melide, we pass by Pulpería A Garnacha, where two men are cooking octopus at a booth facing the street, and they invite us in. We like the feel of the place, but we say that we want to look around first, because we actually want to check out Pulpería Ezequiel which is ahead. We walk down and take a look. The vibe is different—a more modern interior, and it’s less busy and emptier. Trusting our feelings, we decide to head back to Pulpería A Garnacha, where they give us samples of octopus to try before we go in.

Ingrid, Antonio, and I settle down at a table near the window (which I wanted for the sunlight), and join a man already eating called Túbal, a Spanish pilgrim who’s walking with his beautiful husky.

The pulpo (octopus) comes served with olive oil and some paprika. The texture is amazing—it’s the best I’ve ever tasted. We sop up the olive oil with bread and take bites of our food between bowls of wine.

After Túbal leaves, we realise we are collectively still hungry, so we look for other special dishes on the menu. We get carne o caldeiro (cauldron-stewed meat) which comes with veal with melt-in-your-mouth fat, and orejas de cerdo (pig ears), which are crunchy, soft, and chewy at the same time. We end the meal with a shot of coffee liqueur, and a café con leche for energy.

We leave the restaurant full, tastebuds tickled, and slightly tipsy, walking purposefully to process everything.

A few kilometres away, we reach Boente, the halfway point for today. We greet an old man, who stops to converse more, taking an especial interest in Ingrid, asking for a hug. He seems nice, although I can’t understand the conversation in Spanish. For some reason he occasionally says things in English to her like “remember me”. Ingrid responds to what he says, smiling pleasantly.

They tell me later that he was telling Ingrid, “how seeing her, his penis cannot stand, even though his mind wants to.” It’s something I never would have guessed, and I’m not sure if it’s Spanish directness or just a man being an old pervert. Another character I won’t forget on the Camino. Antonio says the old man can talk like that because he’s at the age where “he has nothing to lose”.

It’s been getting warmer and sunnier, now 14°C, making for pleasant walking. There’s a constant upslope through the forest and I start sweating as I exert uphill. Halfway through, we take a break, sitting at an old fountain that’s dry.

Late in the afternoon at Ribadiso, two-thirds of the way there, we find an open bar for a last recharge, where we get coffees which come with free bizcocho (sponge cake). It’s so warm I take out my fleece as well, leaving my rain jacket as a windbreaker over my T-shirt.

We hit Arzúa, 7km from our place tonight, at 6.30pm. The sun is setting. Arzúa is a very urban setting, although there is one nice Camino street away from main road.

After Arzúa, we go through forest with the silhouette of grand trees around us. The setting sun emanates orange which graduates to violet higher in the sky. There are birds around, eucalyptus leaves on the ground, and I feel great peace.

I stop to put on layers and my headlamp in anticipation of the colder, darker night, and lose Ingrid and Antonio ahead of me. There’s the sound of distant traffic and cows as I walk dark paths between farms. I pick up my pace, feeling not the most settled alone in a dark forest.

I suddenly reach a bench where Ingrid and Antonio are waiting. They wanted to make sure I’m alright, and Ingrid asks me to try turning off my headlamp and using moonlight to see. I realise there’s much beauty to appreciate on my first walk out at night on the Camino. Stars all over above us, as we walk under a waxing gibbous moon.

We reach the hostel at 8.40pm. James is already there. The lady running the place only has tortilla left, which we get with Estrella beer. There’s not much variety, but it’s tasty and it fills us.