Spain Pt. 3
The following morning, we woke slowly and later than we intended. The rest of the building had all but cleared out, leaving in darkness to take advantage of the cool, wet pre-dawn air that would quickly be replaced by another sweltering day. We retraced the last three miles of our previous day’s journey, walking the same roads, bridges, and fields to find ourselves back in Grado. The morning fog and some sparse cloud cover had protected us to this point, but as we finished our espresso at El Quintana Café, we started to feel the sun through the thin clouds and the saturated air that had initially cooled us down shifted muggy and hot.
The trail took a steep ascent for several miles, tracing the ridge of a small mountain that overlooked the town. The thin road was bordered on either side by fenced-off farmland and we occasionally needed to dodge tractors that snaked back and forth between the fields. We crested the mountain and turning back we could see the whole of the valley we had just come from, wisps of fog still clinging to the shadows of the hills where the sun had not yet dispelled them.
At the peak sat an imposing church, less gothic in style than the churches we had been seeing in the larger towns, it was large and blocky. The doors were closed to visitors that day, but we still stopped outside to rest. There we met a man named Gerhard, though we usually referred to him as the Barcelonan. After mentioning to him this was our first Camino, he imparted some wisdom he had acquired on his many trips, mostly tips about what to expect staying in certain towns along the way. In particular, he implored us to stop at a Pulpería in the town of Melide, which we would not reach for another 11 days. He informed us Melide was famous for its octopus, and that it was the only place in the world we could experience authentic Galician pulpo. And with that, we thanked him for his wisdom and continued on.
Where the first day had comprised of mostly trail walking with road segments interspersed, streets would be our primary thoroughfare for the next few days. Our previous hike had only brought us through a single small town in between Oviedo and Grado, but this second day would see one municipality blending seamless into the next, never more than a few hundred yards from a string of houses or a quarry.
The widespread but small industry in Spain surprised me. In the US, industry is generally cordoned off from the public, with dozens of factories and warehouses, hundreds of thousands of square feet each, compiled into massive, sprawling districts. Here, one might find a construction yard or slaughterhouse not much larger than the houses they lay adjacent to. But every one of these residential groupings had some kind of industry nearby.
We paced small roads that ran adjacent to a highway, sometimes crossing underneath or taking detours around obstacles (valleys, rivers), until we encountered the small town of Cornellana, marking our halfway point for the day. It was busier than the other small towns we had seen since Oviedo, with hundreds of pilgrims and locals darting between shops and having lunch. Not wanting to stop for too long, we passed over several sit-down restaurants and instead entered a bakery, Repostería Casino. We ordered tronco de chorizo y jamón, a thick, savory bread stuffed with meat, which they sold by the pound. After having more than we thought we could eat, we set out.
A few hours and twice as many miles passed before we came upon the small town of Salas. Having learned our lesson from the previous night, we had booked accommodations at another shared-room style dorm, Albergue La Campa, before setting out in the morning. We had kept a reasonable pace for the day and arrived at our beds on the far side of town with plenty of daylight left. After unpacking and a short rest, we decided we would take advantage of the kitchen our albergue supplied and make a nice dinner. On a quick supply run through the town, we picked up fresh chorizo from a local market and stopped by a general store for some knick-knacks, including an Asturian flag and an off-brand pair of “Adios” slides that bore a familiar three-stripe logo.
Our residence for the night was essentially a single large house that had been gutted to fit as many people inside as possible, bedrooms and common areas alike stripped of all furniture save plastic-coated bunk beds. Although crowded, it was still more private than even our previous room, and our semi-randomly selected room was on the third floor facing the street, hosting an incredible and lively view of a town square and gorgeous mountain backdrop.
While the building had been modified to sleep more people, there were still only bathrooms for a single house, and others had had the same dinner plans we had. The rest of the day became a game of negotiations and waiting as we all attempted to shower, do our laundry, and eat. We secured time at the kitchen later at night, so the rest of our chores came first. Even after our asynchronous and staggered turns taking showers and a couple delays in gaining access to the washing machine, there was plenty of sun left in the late summer sky. Adam began to prep the meal while Sean and I wandered, exploring the ancient castle that stood at the center of town, the local park, and the cathedral, meeting and feeding many stray cats on the way.
As the sun finally descended beneath the green hills that surrounded Salas, Sean and I returned to our home for the night just as Adam finished cooking. We took our meal outside and ate watching the streetlights turn on around the plaza. Exhausted and with nothing else to occupy our time, we silently washed our dishes and went to sleep.
