I stayed at the Hotel America last night. It’s the first night in a month I’ve had my own room, with my own shower, and not slept in an albergue. It was a bit of a schmozzle when I arrived in Ferrol. Both of the hostels/albergues listed in my guidebook no longer exist, and when I went online to find the only other hostel in town, it too was closed. Either that, or the entrance was so cleverly disguised that I missed it.
I’m glad I did though, or I would have missed meeting Julio, the owner of the hotel. He spent many years in the United States, where he owned a used car dealership in Washington D.C. He and his wife decided to move back to Spain so that their children would know the world of their heritage. Julio and I hung out at his bar, lamenting the loss of our soccer youth over a couple of beers. What a great host!
It rained all day, making what would have been excellent hiking trails a mess of puddles and mud. The incessant rain was maddening. Not only was I fully soaked after an hour (Goretex is not the least bit protective in heavy rain), I couldn’t take photographs without taking great pains to wipe the wet and foggy lens, and it was impossible to manipulate the map on my wet phone with wet fingers (I know…typical hiking problems).
I took a wrong turn, accidentally following the arrows to the albergue de peregrinos in Neda, where I was welcomed by three pilgrims who were enjoying sanctuary from the rain. There was a couple from Portugal and a young German woman named Cheara, who is finishing off her university degree in Valencia. Cheara was not having a good time on the Camino and was struggling trying to understand the whole pilgrimage thing. After a long rest, we braved the rain again, but despite having wrung out my socks at the albergue, within minutes, I could hear that familiar squishing sound of saturated socks against my shoes.
I saw a handful of other pilgrims walking in the rain. We shared some buen Caminos, but few were smiling. The rain was hurting everyone’s morale.
I’m in Pontedeume, built between a couple of hills along the River Eume. I had to cross the 14th-century Pontedeume Bridge to get here. At one time, it had 116 arches and a chapel, but now I count only 25 arches remaining.
