Camino Ingles Day 2 – Pontedeume to Betanzos

Day 2 we woke up in Hotel Eumesa in Pontedeume and had a hearty breakfast of lukewarm coffee and toast. Rumour had it that a group of English pilgrims had arrived late last night while we were out exploring the town for food. They had gotten lost on route and it had taken them much longer than expected to reach the town. This route could bite!

Rain was threatening so we zipped up.  We passed through the narrow lanes and cobblestones of the main pedestrian route. Cafes and bars were open and we walked by them, mystified by the logic of Spanish opening hours after an evening spent scouring the town for a place that served food on a Sunday. Unsure of where exactly to go at one stage, James and Tony stopped a local who pointed to a bronze Camino sign set between their feet. A paved road followed us out of Pontedeume as we rose from sea level to 166m in a calf-stretching 1.6km. What a way to start the day, but at least the rain was holding off.

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Tony with his morning coke

Along the way, we passed giant hydrangeas that looked like old women’s swimming caps and a group of six Italian sisters that we named The Blue Ladies on account of the matching blue ponchos that they wore. Those of us in rain gear were sweating already and so began the Camino rain dance which involved stopping continuously and taking off or putting on layers depending on the movement of rain clouds and the possibility of precipitation in the distance.

After the climb out of Pontedeume, we headed through green countryside dotted with woodland, scattered houses and farms. You could be in Longford, apart from the hórreos. These are a distinctive type of rectangular farm building in Galicia which we incorrectly guessed as hen-houses, outdoor toilets, flood accommodation, medieval Airbnbs and makeshift coffins before checking Wikipedia. Turns out they were used for storing grain and are raised high on stilts with saddle stones making it impossible for vermin to access. Clever feckers, the Galicians.

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After saving a pair of father/son pilgrims from the Canaries who missed a turn we went off-road and walked in amazement under a pergola with grapes hanging off it. This was amazing as we could just reach out and grab a few. They tasted delicious! We marvelled at this throughout the route as most farmhouses had grapes hanging everywhere. The closest we get to grapes normally is in clear plastic bags stacked in baskets in supermarkets. We even discovered a farmyard with kiwi fruit hanging from vines and I have to admit, I assumed they grew on the ground. The things you learn when you travel!

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The trail took us beside a golf course with locals out walking their dogs. We crossed the motorway again and entered another Eucalyptus forest. From here to Mino we were on forest track, old lanes and quiet roads but we knew the motorway was close by as we walked under giant flyover columns.

Our first stop of the day is what is known forever as the “shit coffee shop”. We waited while the Blue Ladies get served and then attempted our order. Afterwards, we sat outside and discussed what sort of business logic lay behind the use of a microwave for boiling water and the random pricing of the biscuits. Georgia from Italy was already there so she must have left earlier. She told us that she was getting the bus to Betanzos as her feet were too bloody to walk any further.

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Mino was our stop for lunch. Arriving there it had a pretty decent Camino mural and the streets were paved like Ferrol which reminded us of civilisation. It reeled us in. Mino, like many small towns in Spain at midday, is dead. Even with the help of google maps it is hard to find a place to eat. A kind old lady saw us standing around in the street looking like we had just arrived on Earth and then she proceeded to give us directions to the next town, in English. No, I say, food, making the international gesture for “can I get something to put in my belly” by pointing to my mouth and my belly. What language you speak, she says. English I say, and she walks off shaking her head and saying I already gave you directions.

Eventually, we find some shops and cafes that are open. Or at least they have people sitting inside them busy talking to dogs and shouting at all their friends in cars that beep at each other as they go through the intersection. This is obviously the crazy part of town but when we ask for food they look at us like we are oddballs. Food? At this time (one o’clock)?  What follows is people who don’t understand each other saying random words and smiling for good effect and we get omelette sandwiches. Plain egg on big slabs of baguette. I was expecting an omelette with some bread, so I was happy with my language attempt. It was close. The coffee was hotter than the shit coffee shop but that is all we can say for it. Luckily there was a supermarket close by so we skipped dessert and hobbled across the road to stock up on snacks and fruit.

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Omelette Sandwich

After the supermarket, the trail took us down towards the Lambre river. Pilgrims often stop and swim at the beach here but the rain has finally decided to stop faffing around and pay us a visit. Being Irish, the rain was our big test and I, for one, was looking forward to it. On the Camino, especially in Galicia, along with a blister management plan, you also need a rain management plan. This depended a lot on personal comfort with water, inner body temperatures and a new measure called breathability which pilgrims swear by and which is considered the holy grail of outdoor clothing manufacturers.  I brought my heavy-duty waterproofs as a plan B and they stayed at the bottom of the rucksack while my new hiking jacket and shorts handled the water without any discomfort. Result!

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Rain Management Plans

The others went for ponchos and they were just as happy with them, although they looked like those Skeksis from the Jim Henson puppet movie Dark Crystal. This was the only real rain we got on the Camino and our damp Irish spirits felt at home that day with the water dripping off everything as we walked through the lush greenery. Later on, after getting caught in a storm in Santiago, I would convert to the joys of the Galician umbrella and wield it as naturally as a bogman with a turf-cutting spade. But that was many steps later. For now, we plodded uphill through the rain, delighted with how the rain was cooling us down until we found the afternoon stop, a dark little wood-panelled pub on the main road where we sucked lemon ice-pops to cool us down and check Tony’s blister which had grown considerably.

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Cafe Bar Navedo – best icepops in Spain

From there it was pretty much uphill for about 2km. The climb was so relentless and we were so happy to be at the top that Tina got a sudden urge to smoke a cigar to celebrate. She has not smoked in over 20 years and the chance of finding a cigar shop in the middle of nowhere that would supply one to her was pretty slim, so we weren’t worried. From the water well where we stopped, it was steeply downhill to sea-level at Betanzos. This, as we learned yesterday, is tougher than uphill. With our destination in sight, Ruth’s feet were at her and she starts ranting about something called burney-foot syndrome. We persuade her to change from her runners into Tina’s hiking sandals for the last march and we finally tiptoed down the wet slippery cobblestones and through the ancient arch into the old medieval walled city of Betanzos.

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Betanzos Airbnb

Betanzos is beautifully preserved and full of narrow streets with overhanging gallerias and balconies that are perfect for drying wet clothes. Half the family split to the main square for refreshments where they, as usual, managed to attract the oddest characters in Spain. Myself and Tina go in search of the Airbnb, which turned out to be a historic old three-storey house and not a horreo, much to my relief. I needed to put my feet up. Tina was getting hangry. We were both too long around to fall for that old con of just a few.

After resting, Tina was still hungry and the thoughts of chancing the Spanish eating times again gave her the same look in her eye as when she attacked me with a sweeping brush when we were teenagers. She went out to hunt for some pasta to cook. I put my dream of having paella on hold for another day and explored the wonderful Church of Santa María do Azogue across the road instead. By the time I finished soaking up the romanesque curves the others were back and giving out about lunatic magnets before we all have a hearty pasta dinner cooked by Tina with a bag of random Spanish sweets for dessert. It tasted divine!

Next up, Day 3.

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