· James Torr · Personal  · 2 min read

Today is the first day I get to take it easy for the entire trip. There's a convergence of factors that allow this. Firstly, there's no "beat the heat" early start, as the temperature in the hottest part of the day is early twenties. Secondly, I'm not racing to get a place in a municipal albergue. My French walking companion and I have a date with a mother/son from Utah to watch the sunrise from the mountain in O Cebreiro.

Day 22: O Cebreiro – Triacastela 21 km

Today is the first day I get to take it easy for the entire trip. There’s a convergence of factors that allow this. Firstly, there’s no “beat the heat” early start, as the temperature in the hottest part of the day is early twenties. Secondly, I’m not racing to get a place in a municipal albergue. My French walking companion and I have a date with a mother/son from Utah to watch the sunrise from the mountain in O Cebreiro. I’m of course, up before six, so I grab a coffee and wait around. We hike up the hill for a chilly but stunning sunrise.

We start the long, slow descent in the soft morning light. Galicia is green. The Atlantic exposure of this province gives is it this deep, Celtic verdancy. I could be in Cornwall or Wales with such similar vegetation. We will straddle the hillside all day today, passing through small villages with houses of slate, granite and even quartz, simple churches with open belfries. Many folks make a living from the land here. The farm machinery is that of decades ago, still in heavy use, lovingly maintained, until it finally gives up the ghost and finds a corner in a barn and becomes engulfed in wild clematis.

We make three stops today. Each time we bump into and chat with fellow pilgrims we’ve shared time with from previous days on our journey. The best stop we stay at for an hour after a climb that is higher than O Cebreiro. Our table overlooks the Galician hills. Roosters squawk and tumble into the briars. Huge dogs with baritone barks lazily pad around while they’re not sleeping. They’re guard dogs based on their size rather than their bark.

It’s such a relaxed and easy day. I’m happy to wind down the pace a notch. I inform the landlord of our accommodation we’ll be late. A few hours later than expected. When we finally arrive at Triacastela, a tiny, linear settlement, I get a call from my Italian friend. He’s jumped ahead and is in town. He stays in the hostel I’m in. We cook dinner together and eat as a quintet. It’s such a relaxing and easy day. My blister is even healing up.

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