20.5km

I wake up at 8.45am, actually feeling a bit tired for once. Ingrid is still in bed, she doesn’t feel well. She puked four times last night, and thinks it’s the tortilla we ate.

After having a small breakfast with Antonio (mini packeted muffins, and Cola Cao, kinda Spain’s version of “Milo”), I make a cup of camomile tea for Ingrid and wait for her as she rests, wanting to make sure she’s ok. Antonio goes first.

As I wait, my stomach starts to feel a bit iffy. I might have mild diarrhoea. I’m beginning to think Ingrid is right about the tortilla.

Ingrid wakes at noon, seeming a lot better. Ironically, she’s probably in a better state than me, having expelled all the bad stuff and rested. We leave at 12.30pm.

It’s a sunny 7°C, with not a cloud in the sky. We walk alongside a canal, then a forest path with a farm on right. There are birds in the air. It’s another beautiful day in Galicia, but we are both feeling a bit weak. We walk steadily but at a slower clip. Dreaming of caldo gallego.

There’s a monument for a pilgrim that died before A Brea, 25km from Santiago de Compostela. I think about how it’s not a foregone conclusion that you’re reaching Santiago, even when you’re this close. Anything can still happen, like with us today. It’s good not to obsess over the destination, but be with the journey, and take each day as it comes.

At A Brea, we finally find an open bar. Spain’s “Wheel of Fortune” plays on the TV. We both get a caldo gallego, and I get a café solo and flan. We feel a lot better when we go.

As we walk, we joke about making a special credencial that you get stamps for fulfilling unique pilgrim experiences. “Walking at night”, “slipping on ice”, “making a Korean walking companion”, “losing a Korean walking companion”, and worse, “vomiting”, “getting diarrhoea”, and “stepping on cow shit”. It’s really these things that have been making my Camino, not the places I’ve been.

One unique experience Ingrid realises she has to teach me is the art of taking a siesta outdoors. With the wonderful weather, it does feel like the mood for one. At a bus stop, we see another pilgrim sleeping, which we take as a sign. At a hut at Santa Irene, we find a fountain opposite with lines of stone benches coming out of each side. We take a bench each, and I cover my face from the sun with my cap.

After an indeterminate period, we wake naturally. Apparently I snored, and Ingrid is pleased because it’s a sign I was having a good siesta. Just as we get up, another pilgrim called Asier walks up to us, curious about these other pilgrims casually sleeping in public.

Asier is from Basque Country, and he’s walking from Sarria, resuming where he ended on a previous Camino. He’s friendly, and we walk together. We go through a fragrant eucalyptus forest, which is nice for the nose. It feels like spring. At O Pedrouzo, Asier is staying at the Xunta albergue there, so we say goodbye.

Our original plan was to reach Monte do Gozo, one stop before Santiago, so we could walk into the city the first thing next morning. We heard that the first ten pilgrims to arrive get a free breakfast at the Parador, and we were hoping to game that. However with the sickness derailing our plan, we settle on reaching Lavacolla today instead, 10km from Santiago. We call to check for a place that is open there.

We walk through beautiful village roads and forests that feel enchanted. There are some birds, and one of the fields we go past has dogs chasing each other. At some points there are fallen yellow mimosas on the ground.

There’s a constant gradual incline up a path through a eucalyptus forest. At the top of the hill, we come level with Santiago de Compostela Airport. Brown leaves pepper the sides of the path. The trees are golden in the setting sun.

As we walk through San Paio, the sun sets, turning the sky to grey dusk. I hear the last birdsong in the distance behind us.

We reach the hostel at Lavacolla at 7pm, at a place that feels more like a motel. There’s an attached restaurant downstairs, so we decide to keep it simple and go there, instead of going out in the cold night hunting for restaurants that might not be open. I’m suddenly feeling weak and tired as well.

We both get caldo gallego, and I get muslo de pollo con arroz (stewed chicken thigh with rice), which tastes strangely familiar and comforting. Ingrid gets filete de merluza con arroz (hake fillet with rice) which tastes clean and good too. Ingrid spots a drink which might help me with my stomach, Aquarius, Spain’s version of an isotonic drink, like Pocari Sweat. It’s refreshing and soothing. After dinner, I freshen up and go straight to bed.