25.8km

Ingrid had a late night yesterday and needs more time, so I leave earlier, conscious that it’s 34km to Olveiroa. She’ll catch up anyway, as I stop often to take photos. She passes me some bread for the journey. I hug Antonio, por si acaso (just in case), as he’s planning to head to Muxía first, while Ingrid, Jae, and I are heading to Fisterra.

I leave to fog in 1°C air. There are weird bird sounds again, like when I was previously in fog. I ascend, leaving the fog behind, and visibility gets clearer. The bare branches of trees are yellow-tipped in sunlight.

I emerge to an amazing view of Negreira, shrouded in low clouds and morning light. After enjoying the view for a while, I continue into the forest, on a path with loose big rough stones, autumn leaves covering the sides. The tweeting of birds sound normal again.

I follow a forest gravel path, among young looking trees with trunks so thin that the sun shines between, casting alternate streaks of light and shadow on the path. Galicia sometimes makes me think of the part in The Lord of the Rings when the hobbits are leaving The Shire. Birds sing, and a couple fly above me. I think about my imminent return to Singapore.

The path goes uphill through the forest for quite a bit. I don’t think I’ve felt such a workout since leaving Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port. Getting warm, I take off my puffy. Out of the forest, I reach a level path. I must be relatively high because I see wind turbines to my left.

At A Pena, there is nothing open. I leave the road to a gravel path uphill. Emerging to a plateau, I see some towns in the distance. I’m starting to feel hungry. It’s getting even warmer, and I take off my fleece, leaving only my T-shirt.

Over a crest, I see the first vineyard I’ve seen in a long time. I walk next to a highway that’s not too busy, going downhill gently. Although I’m on the road, just seeing the space around me is beautiful, and I think of how I will miss such space in Singapore. I leave the road to a path among trees.

At Vilaserío, the 13km point, nothing is open, so next possible place to get food might be eight kilometres away at Santa Mariña, the 21km point. I take a break to finish the bread Ingrid gave me, together with chocolate.

As I walk, I start to feel really hungry. This might be the hardest day I’ve had on the Camino. For a 34km day, with the first possible break at 21km, I came unprepared calorically.

My stomach purrs as I enter As Maroñas, one kilometre from Santa Mariña, where I hope there’s food.

Santa Mariña, the 21km point, seems empty. There are benches at the edge of the town but I have no food save a bit of chocolate, so I continue on. But right outside the main town area opposite the road, I see a bar, with Antonio sitting in the sun having a beer. I surprise him from behind, and he’s happy to see me. I walk inside to see Jae paying at the counter. I’m so thankful that there’s a place open at this juncture. Jae tells me there’s also a panadería (bakery) open next door.

The bar sells bocadillos (baguette sandwiches). I get one with jamón serrano (cured ham) and tomato, together with a cortado. Jae comes back with pastries from the panadería, and sits with me in the sun with a beer. I’m not sure if I’m imagining things due to my hunger, but my jamón serrano is delicious, and I can taste the acorns in the fat.

I text Ingrid to inform her that this is the first place open along the walk today, and she sends me a picture of an abuela (grandmother) making pasta for her in a kitchen. I had walked past the same abuela working on a farm and said buenos días. Ingrid asked if she needed help when she walked past, and the abuela invited her in. Ingrid’s warmth always gives her the best experiences.

After my bocadillo, I go to the panadería and get a chocolate hojaldre (flaky pastry) and a glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice. The summer-esque weather also puts me in the mood for an ice cream, so I ask the owner the price of a Cornetto. She kindly insists on giving it to me. “¿Te gusta? Toma.” As I drink the orange juice, I tell her how grateful I am that this place and the bar next door are open, and that they are the first place with food on our walk today, at 21km. She says yeah, that’s far, and cheerfully points at the orange juice, “zumo natural para ánimo” (natural orange juice to cheer you on).

I return to the tables outside the bar. Jae stays on with me, reading in the sun, looking satisfied. He says it feels like summer, and he’s right. I ask him about his book. It’s titled “Wild”, which is a memoir about someone’s walk on the Pacific Crest Trail. He says it’s a dream of his—and we find something in common—I tell him it’s one of mine too.

Jae leaves earlier, and I finish my hojaldre. Applying sunscreen before I go, I set off in higher spirits, recharged, with 12km more to go.

We turn from the main road to a smaller car road. I pass through rolling fields, eyes focused on Jae’s blue backpack in the distance in front of me. Seeing it get gradually bigger gives me motivation to walk. I take a road through farms and barns, and I’m actually sweating through my T-shirt. My thermometer reads 20°C. I take a small sit-down at a shelter, and roll my pants up.

The road takes me uphill. I go past farms and farmhouses, getting used to the faint smell of cow poop permeating the atmosphere. I pass some men using a chainsaw on small trees. The incline brings me up a road, away from the farmhouses and smell.

When I near the top of the incline, it is about 4.30pm, and I reach a wooden platform where Jae and Antonio are resting. The wooden platform, “Miradoiro de Monte Aro”, is both a rest stop and a lookout. It has panoramic views of the land around the hill, and even binoculars on a stand for free public use. Antonio is excited to tell me his idea to potentially see the comet tonight. We’re on a hill, above and away from the light pollution of the towns, and the sky is clear, so we can try sleeping here and perhaps catch the comet, or at the very least, have a night under the stars. He has a tarp we can set up for our shelter. We can call Ingrid, who has yet to reach the bar, to help buy food for dinner. If by 8pm we realise things are not favourable, we can still walk to the albergue in Olveiroa within two hours before it closes at 10pm.

We set up Antonio’s tarp. Our makeshift square shelter is bordered by the platform’s wooden benches on two adjacent sides. For the side facing the wind, we line a makeshift wall of fir branches to disperse it.

Antonio goes higher to watch the sun set on the other side of the hill. The sky there is brilliant and orange. On the opposite side, in front of the lookout, the sky has a band of pink glow above the horizon, and the waxing gibbous moon rises slowly.

Ingrid calls us when she realises she doesn’t have cash on her. I will go back back in the opposite direction to meet her and buy food while Antonio takes care of the shelter. Jae decides to head to the albergue as it’s starting to get quite cold in the open and he’s not sure if his summer sleeping bag is sufficient. He leaves behind a bag of sunflower seeds.

It gets dark as I walk back to Ingrid for about five kilometeres. When I reach, the bar is closed, and only the panadería is open, so we get empanadillas (small meat pies), beer, and napolitanas chocolate for breakfast tomorrow. The abuela Ingrid was hanging out with had also gifted her a bottle of wine when she mentioned her plan for tonight. We walk back under moonlit paths for some time.

The three of us sit under the moon and the stars as we crack open the shells of sunflower seeds with our mouths. We don’t see the comet, but it’s still such a beautiful moment. It’s my first time under a tarp, and Antonio is excited that I get to try this. He says, welcome to our cabaña, and I say, no, it’s a palacio.

We pour the wine into my titanium cup and pass it around. It doesn’t get any better than this.