Mountain Towns

We stayed in villages that, seemingly overnight, went from adobe with tile rooves to stone with slate rooves. There is a lot of snow in these mountain villages in winter, and rain a common occurrence, so it was no surprise that the buildings all have rooves that are designed to move water off and into the middle of the narrow road. It was also lovely to go in and sit by a real fireplace with large logs glowing white.

Only one day of rain, and then a lovely walk down steep slippery slopes into the city below under a soft sky of clouds and sun in gold and pewter and blue.

At last we could see what we hadn't been able to yesterday while walking in the rain. Wind turbines still on windless tops of green mountains, with oak and chestnut (the edible kind) lining the paths, along with blackberry, rose hips, bracken and all sort of other wild plants and flowers that smelled sweet in the damp cool air of morning.

Pilgrims before us had woven crosses in the loose iron fencing, mostly from stick picked up but sometimes from ribbons, old socks, and other pilgrimage detritus.

There are stone walls again, crossing the fields in haphazard ways that reminded me of Wales. A few tiny villages clung to the steep slopes with seemingly no way of reaching them, as we ourselves moved through the landscape between villages as though hidden under bushes and steep tracks that have felt millions of footwear over them. The rock underfoot is slate, black and sometimes red with iron, risen above ground in slices just as they are worn down with trodding.

Down we moved, sure in the clear air, passing Riego de Ambros, Molinaseca and Campo, until we reached the town of Ponferrada where will we have the last rest day of our Camino, with two more weeks to go.