Day 29 (Wednesday 5 June) 134 kilometres to Santiago. I had a slow afternoon and evening in Triacastela. There were several albergues in town, so the folks that I had been chatting with the day before had evidently stayed at another one. I did a recce of the route out of town that stood me in good stead this morning. I note that there is an abandoned apartment construction site. These are quite common across northern Spain, as a result of the recession. Indeed, I have noticed that many residences, including some that are of relatively new construction, are boarded up. There is also a dearth of people in the smaller villages, especially young people. Clearly, the economy is not doing well.
When I woke this morning, the thought struck me that not many people sleep really well in a communal albergue, given the close quarters and the noise. Mark Bucken would be an exception, but that only goes to prove that 4 hours of coma really are worth 8 hours of sleep. People are stirring by 05:45; flashlights coming on and the sounds of repacking. There is no point in trying to sleep any further, so I get up and get underway by 06:35. The route is steadily uphill at first and through forest. Once again, I am reminded of author Bill Bryson's expression: the tyranny of the trees. One looks very much like another as I plod along. They provide shade though, and that's a good thing as the temperature heads for the mid-20's. At one point, the trees fold over the trail to the extent that I'm reminded of the legend of Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman.
I had picked up a few supplies for an enroute breakfast, but choose to supplement these with a stop for coffee at a cafe in the village of Furela. It provides another unique Camino experience - the loos are equipped with a bog roll dispenser that is outside the toilet stalls. Presumably one is supposed to withdraw the standard 60 feet before entering? Instead, I use my own roll that I carry in my 5 litre shower/toilet kit. After leaving the cafe, I encounter a farmer with a small herd of cows transiting through the village. I can hear a dog at the back, so I move up a lane to one side and shorten one of my walking sticks. When the dog sees me he stops and favours me with a menacing glare. My "gladius" is at the en garde position, but he evidently does not consider me a threat to his charges and moves on. My impression is that most farms in the region are operated on a subsistence level - nothing large scale. I can't imagine that their profit margin is very large.
As I get closer to Sarria, I note the valley ahead is blanketed with radiation fog. Given the oblique angle of the early morning sun's rays, the fog persists as I walk towards it. It supports the illusion that I am walking toward a sea shore that has an inlet jutting well inland. I could be in Nova Scotia. As the sun gets higher though the fog gradually burns off, so that I am in bright sunshine when I enter Sarria. This was my original destination, but I am mindful of the advice of Galway Edward that this is the usual Camino start point for hordes of Spanish hooligans, I mean high school kids. I decide to go a few kilometres further to Barbadello and stop at a nice albergue there at about 12:15.
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