Dos ciclistas en el Camino - Madrid to Villafranca del Bierzo, October 4 to 9th 2017

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Colchester to Gatwick was possibly going to be a hairy trip at peak hour.
Fortunately for us, after spending the middle of the day with relatives, we left in ample time, confirmed our Dartford crossing charge, and got to the South terminal for dropping off our Europcar rental, with a monorail taking us to the North.
Never ones to be so early as one day, we casually waited in the departure area, having checked in a week before with our paper tickets, for what I was certain was the evening of the 3rd. The drop off curfew was distant and our airport picnic hit the spot. Placing my bag on the carousel, we were informed that the check in time had not eventuated. Then it transpired that the booking was faulty and intended for the 3rd when it was for the 4t, which I was convinced of 100%.
‘You are at least the tenth person today to say so’, the Easy Jet clerk advised, suggesting there was a problem with us, not them. Cautious not to be on camera for their latest TV series of glitches, I stated my case as calmly as I could but the answer was there were no flights available for us that evening. Computer says no and time was ticking.
As usual, sadly, money makes the world of travel go round, and used to get us another carrier that we had been dubious of, to get us to Madrid, before the next morning, following on from our Ryan air debacle forcing all plans to change two weeks prior. An intense, as expected, security scrutiny followed, then leaving at the superstitious numeral of gate 13, topped off that experience. Come midnight, we strode into Madrid’s massive international terminal, 10 years new. Commiserating in the bar/ café with remaining pennies before flying mitigated this all somewhat, and we swore to rest all reservations with an agent in future, and perhaps never on Ryan Air.
Re-setting the compass was needed. A 2am bed time, after lingering on the sociable streets of Madrid in Plaza Luna awaiting our hotelier to open up, left us with a short sleep. Dana from Dana’s apartamentos was however so accommodating at such an hour, and being in close proximity to the major parks of Madrid, and being near the police station (safe!), made it perfect for exploring. The little time we did have after a casual check out at midday took in the Plaza Major, The Madrid Palace, and several parks to the west of central Madrid that were at times so noisy with birds and lacking in people you forgot this was home to apparently 7 million Madrinlenas!
Heaving traffic and congregations of people reigned in all the central areas. Horns tooted, flags flew from windows, and the news of Catalunyan uprisings filled the taxi cabs radios. Such, we bought new tickets for the 4.25pm departrure, forgoing our pre purchased tickets, and soon began drifting rapidly over the dry plains of Spain towards Santiago de Compostela.
Swift and very scenic, we rolled into town around 10pm and easily found our home, Blanco Apartamentos Turisticos in San Clemente, for the next three nights. Greeted by our host, the swish compact units in an original stone/ whitewash building could rival any pocket handkerchief apartment makeover, with all the modern conveniences in about 30 square metres. 10 out of 10.
Over the next few days we had time to explore.
With sunrise around 8.40am, the sun starts off cool, then burns very hot and bright, when around siesta time, the windows swing open and streets silence, except for the dog on the window ledge adjacent to our kitchen. He kept barking.
To mitigate the hiccups of the last few days, a leisurely pace was the theme. Home cooked breakfasts, a couple of swims and steams around the corner at Centro Deportivo de Santa Isabel, much wandering and photographing, and admiration of the incredible horizon of scenes. The end of the Camino naturally lends itself to tourists, and fortunately we were here now not in peak season.
On our second day, P2 had this brilliant idea of cycling to Noia and back. After getting our bikes the night before, we had time for a shakedown of gear. Kicking off after 10am, we first got a noisy pedal (oil and wrench, fixed), and later on in the piece adjustments to P2s saddle, save for not incurring any early pelvis injuries.
Once the first major hill was ascended, we noted the need to return that day over the same one, with Santiago de Compostela being at altitude and a total of about 1500 metres being climbed. No wonder there were a few small packs of riders in these parts. “Ciao guapa” said one and apparently P2 behind me got “Ciao Guapo”. How cool, it could be said, or maybe, how hot you look”. After such climbing, we looked and felt very warm that a dunk was in order. Our cycle computer was fixed by the friendly folk at Velocipedo also, and we were truly broken in for the next week of touring.
Coffee on a stovetop espresso (!) at our unit started our first departure day with heavily laden bikes, me especially. Underestimating how this would affect the pannier packing, we solved things simply by using the extra rear carrier rack. No load on the spine – perfect! Lucky for again the ate check outs in these parts, we finally set off after 11am with all errands run for and a plan of 7 hours to our destination, Palas de Rei 80km away.
Thinking from the past days effort that N roads were not really that bad, we decided first to follow our original laid out plans from Google maps and NZ mapometer, many months ago made. This took us to the south of the airport, over some convoluted terrain and much climbing and descending. Tractors here, cows there, dry recently harvested lands over there. Santiago is at altitude compared to Noia, but even more so, we gained some as we pedalled our way into the centre of Galicia.
After some twists and turns and recalibrating our blue dot on Google maps, we met a friendly local lady near the highway 15km out from Arzoa. P2 tried his usual best to explain in Spanish how we came to be, all the while nursing the loss of a drink bottle and sunglass case as we judder barred vigorously our way into her village.
Arzua was a climb above yet another dry river, and time to take a break. Luckily, amidst a funeral procession and horses on the main street, we got coffees at a lovely café, basic food for tea from the mini market nearby, and pastry for P2. We determined it was 24km to go. A ‘we will be late’ phone call to Palas de Rei was made to re set our 6pm arrival, arranging a conservative 8pm.
How wrong we were. And with more undulations and climbs the pace somewhat slowed despite pushing along at about an average of 10-15kph. As night fell at 8.30pm, we rolled into town, me ahead, and keen to not be illegally on the road unlit.
“Senor”, I asked a portly man at a bar, the over represented establishments in every Spanish town. “How would we find Calle la luz?”
Thinking of how little light we had, senor did not know of this location I had conjured up.
But calle la luz it was not, calle la paz it was, and excepting my Latino American learning’s origins, it took some repetition to get the right place. Off P2 walked, with me climbing by bike hurriedly to get more directions, and to find this damn place before any chance of getting food shut for the weekend.
Casa Carla, such an oasis after our first long haul day with panniers. The foot spa, appreciated, the washing machine, twice indulged. A Spanish bed time after midnight and sleep of bliss awaited.
On our way out of Palas de Rei we had a brief look at the town as the past night was so short. Not much held us there, after seeing a cute little church, small plaza and having small talk with locals, we struck of towards Samos, about 75km in the end. Steadily uphill, we had the forward planning, and most importantly, time, to scope out the climbing needed and potential rest stops.
Undulations started the first 12-15km with a lot of this alongside the true Camino Santiago. So many pelegrinos, some with wise words when exerting ourselves up 8% gradients, and others in their own zone, headphones in situ. We got to Portomarin within a few hours, descending down to river level with misty hills in the distance and the, so far, ever present azure blue skies.
After a brief stop for photos and seeing the bridge archway, we started a steady climb to Paradela where lo n behold we found Pedros café which we just had to stop at. Being a Sunday, we were lucky anything could be open, and without the requisite panaderia, we simply ordered to coffees from Pedro himself. Pedro, meet Pedro. They exchanged handshakes and goodwill was had whilst the news of Catalunya boiled away in the background on the TV. Outside, the streets were dead at siesta time and the mercury kept rising. On we pedalled.
Sarria came next, and the first chance to see a river crossing with water in it. The river side area became our impromptu picnic area for small pickings – cold water from my cooler bag, crackers, avocado dip and carrot sticks. Not a shop in sight was open, except a panaderia (hoorah for P2) with free (what would soon be known as) erroneous directions, and what seemed at least 10-12 cafes and bars. Dinner prospects were looking slim until when skirting our way out of Sarria I spotted a mini supermercado, more like a dairy, and they sold one single beer form P2, and had fish. So it seemed. We later discovered we had bought pulpo, or squid! All white fish/ seafood looks whole when frozen.
The thought of our supposed spa awaiting us helped the final 8km. Yet it was not 8km but another 13km or so, along rolling countryside and with a small final climb that would certainly sort the casuals from the serious riders. Stronger in the legs, it was easier to ride than push the laden bike with my weak arms up to Casa de Outeiro.
What an oasis and again 10/10 for choice. The Booking.com application, operationally on other properties, failed to let them know of our spa request but Berta flew into organising it for late that evening to enjoy, and much appreciated it was after this again tough day. The cats prowled, the wind lightly blew in the trees, and the monastery rang its bell 2, 1 minutes to and 1, 2 minutes after each hour. Serene.
We were getting into this leisurely hour of starting, living by a late sunrise and late sunset, with long days even for October standards.
Samos to Villafranca de Bierzo was to be a lot of climbing again but not nearly that of the past days. Once seeing the town in its lit glory, taking until 11am to truly shine in this valley, a solid 22 to 23km got us most of the way up towards Polo. We hit the altitude of 1335 metres above sea level and met some lovely Victorians (Australia) in their 50s traversing the Leon to Galicia route in the opposite direction.
On to O Hospital, then Linares, and eventually the top of the ridge (similarly at 1300 metres) to O Cebreiro without a functioning GPS on the iPhone but thankfully for P2 topographical maps.
This supposedly windswept spot (bright sunshine and 25C when we arrived) is the sight of a miracle in the local church, Iglesia de Santa Maria, involving bread and wine turning into flesh. It is also home to some ancient thatched roof huts that had been well restored. We had no chance of seeing them inside, as being Monday and 4pm, we had struck out of opening hours and days.
A friendly Dutchman accosted us at this hilltop, after seeing us deciding to take a scenic back route. Little did we know, a full scale emergency had broken out on the other side of the hill, with a big bush fire blazing. We swapped our plans at my insistence (having been before in a bush fire in Queensland), and instead carried on the LU633 road all the way downhill to Pedrafita, around the 35km mark from home. The road continued to descend, and pausing briefly to take videos and photos, we started down the N6 road towards our final stop for this day, Villafranca de Bierzo.
Accosted by another senor, on the outskirts of the control area for the fire, I learned that 40 bomberos were on the hillside at least and no less than 3 helicopters running a relay of water drops to the area. They picked up the water from a reservoir near Pedrafita, stopping us in our tracks with the wind blast.
Finally we were let loose to roll down about 20km of gradual decline with the odd patch under the A6 motorway to Madrid, 430km away. Small pockets of bush and streams ran through tiny villages and the scene was set beautifully, especially so as we got to Villafranca with the gorgeous end of day light and colour that autumn can bring.
Making P2 wind through the old town to our Calle Salinas quarters, senor Loui met us by the 16th century Castillo, and called to me by first name basis, without having met him. Perfect service to start with, and service that certainly continued, as after his apartment orientation, we endured the longest washing machine cycle known to humankind. We settled in to rehydrate and renourish and try hard to get to bed before midnight. When in Spain?

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