I've been nervous about this day for aver a week now. I'm expecting a tough day back in the mountains I crossed the week before last. I've been psyching myself up for a tough climb up to 1,300m getting ready for a possible battering from wind and rain. When I wake up and look out its a gorgeous morning, clear skies overhead and the morning air chilled, sharp and dry. Perfect weather for climbing a mountain and I can't wait to get out onto the bike.
After breakfast as the walkers all troop out into the street in the direction of Santiago I slip off in the opposite direction, towards Leon. Out on the road the sun is still low in the sky and as the road dips into hollows between hills the air is frigid and soon my hands, despite my gloves, feel like blocks of ice forcing me stop every so often to try and shake some warmth into my hands. As I exhale my breath fogs. On higher ground the lush green fields are bathed in a warm golden sunshine that quickly melts last night's frost. But beneath the golden rays, in the shadows, pockets of mist blanket the low-lying ground. By the time I reach Samos my fingers and toes are so painful from the cold I have to stop and walk around to restore some warmth. The ancient monastery lies deep in a sheltered valley in the lee of the mountains and has yet to receive the first of the morning rays.
Pushing through the frigid air that sat freezing in the lee of the mountains I reached the village of Triacastela. Lying at the foot of the mountains it received the first of the sun's rays as it started to peep over the mountain tops, spilling down the slopes with a welcome warmth. As I began the slow 15kms climb to the summit the rising slopes were transformed by bright sunshine. After building up this climb in my own mind for the past week the climb itself is less difficult than expected. I make slow progress, for sure, but the legs remained steady as I found a slow constant thythm. Lulled into a daydream it was actually a soothing climb, is stark contrast to the wild conditions the last time I was on this mountain. Half-way up the mountain the magnificent landscapes begin to spread out distracting attention from the slopes above. Gradually the bike slides up the mountain until the road levels off bringing a gentle few kilometres over the tops of the mountains.
Having stopped at a cafe at the mountain pass of Alto do Poio for a hot chocolate I was warm and reefreshed and couldn't wait to have a look around the beautiful mountain village of O Cebreiro. There was very little wind today which was a bonus as, when any gust of a breeze blew up here, it cut though you. Any patch of ground that still remained in shadow was crusted with white frost. Crowning the third of three summits in these mountains the small cluster of buildings that comprise O Cebreiro perch precariously on a narrow ridge over precipitous cliffs that drop away from the village wall on the south side of the village and the mountain road which creeps along a ledge to the north. The panoramic views on a clear day are magnificent extending 50-60 miles in either direction. The robust grey stone-built houses, many of which were rooved with thatch, huddle around a collection of twisting lanes. During the summer the place must buzz with walkers revelling in the cool moutain air after crossing the hot dusty plains of Castile for the previous two weeks. To spend a night up here at the height of summer after the long climb from Villa Franca del Bierzo must rank as a highlight of the Camino for many walkers. Every second building appeared to be a cafe or restaurant. In the depths of winter, however, when the peregrinos have gone and the wind and snow are howling it must be a lonely existence up here.
From O Cebreiro my days work was done. It was virtually all downhill from here for the best part of 40kms to Villa Franca. I left Gallicia behind and spun down the lightly wooded valleys on the Castillian side of the mountains. There's obviously no great love for Castile among Gallicians as the sign announcing entry to Castile has been pelted incessantly with paint bombs obscuring the sign behind a highly colourful collage. Descending through Autumnal browns, reds and golds the road dropped down into the low valleys before Villa Franca. Rounding a bend in the road I saw a couple of walkers aproaching. Not passing much notice of them until I got up close I glanced at the lead walker and realised I knew this pair. They were the Songs from Korea, the father and son I had met far back in Santo Domingo de la Calzada. Recognising them I broke into a wide smile and after a moment of puzzlement they recognised me and we greeted each other like long lost friends in a welter of handshakes, back slapping and loud exuberant 'Buen Camino's!'
I was delighted to meet these characters again. They had been great company when we first met and I was certainly taken by the idea of the father and son travelling together across half the globe to complete the Camino, not as catholics, but to follow this journey together. Of all the people I had met on the Cmino I was hoping to bump into these two once more. We spent 10-15 minutes chatting and telling of our experiences over the past fortnight before the need to keep moving brought a round of photos and some fond farewells. I think I didn't stop smiling for the next 10-15kms until hunger pangs forced me to stop for food at a truckers roadside restaurant. I freewheeld most of the last 10kms down to Villa Franca de Bierzo to stop for the night at this picturesque town in a refugio run by a Brazilian.
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