Today, I stepped again in the footsteps of countless pilgrims that walked this ancient trail before me. Since this pilgrimage started some 1200 years ago, they all had to enter Galicia on their way to Santiago, and many followed the road through the narrow valley that I walked this morning.
The name refers to its steep walls; Valcarce is derived from Vallis Carceras: narrow valley. It is one of the steepest and longest climbs on the Camino Frances, the French Way that leads over the Pyrenees mountains and northern Spain to Santiago to Compostela.
I started early in the darkness of the night and tried to ignore the cold conditions caused by either a thick fog or drizzling rain, often both. Soon, I was wet, shivering, and out of breath because going fast was the best way to stay warm. I like to go fast; I walk without a backpack and with hiking poles that give me a faster pace. I am immune to calls of others that I'm somehow obliged to carry my load since that is what pilgrims did in the olden days.
I may someday write about everything else that differs from the pilgrims of ages ago. But right now, I don't want to get into smartphones, vaccinations, ibuprofen, proper hiking shoes, warm hostels, proper travel guides, a government dedicated to investing in top walking infrastructure for the modern pilgrims, and many other examples that make us different from the pilgrims of the days when they had to fight bandits and wolves and walk on their knees into the Cathedral in Santiago. Let's shelve this subject for a later discussion and conclude that I haven't met anyone who convinced me not to wear more than I need for the day.
But this day, I would have needed more than the bare minimum I carried. A rain jacket or a sweater would have been helpful additions to my T-shirt. In my super light pack, I brought only one other T-shirt; soon, I had two wet T-shirts.
All this may serve as a too-long introduction to what I had in mind as a concise post to write late in the evening, in the comfort of a warm room in an albergue, or hostel, in the town of Triacastela, about the significance of coffee along this sacred journey to Santiago de Compostela.
For those of us on this trail, and let's stick to the term pilgrims, the cafés that line the Camino hold a special place in our hearts. They serve as oases of comfort, where our exhausted feet find solace and friendships brew among fellow travelers.
We shamelessly put out our shoes and socks, and don't be surprised if the newly made friend next to you tells you about the nice tortilla served in this cafe while he punches a blister. As a former diplomat, I can't help but notice that I have been in social gatherings where such behavior would have been deemed inappropriate according to societal norms.
My first stop this morning was precisely at eight o'clock. I remember because an alarm on my phone reminded me to take a photo to publish on Patreon. I was happy that this cafe was open since the first one I had tried in the village of La Faba was still closed, leaving me to walk another few kilometers uphill on the narrow, wet, and steep forest track to the next town. Once inside, as often around this time, I asked for the renowned Spanish café con leche, or coffee with milk, a comforting cup that nourishes me with the energy needed to face the day's pilgrimage.
I had arrived alone since walking solitary in the early morning solitude is my preference, allowing me to embrace the serenity and introspection of the Camino. Yet, for my first coffee, I enjoy the company of fellow pilgrims; a shared sense of purpose and connection is found, bonding us in our journey. A bond that was strengthened by the mild hardships of the wet and cold conditions that none of us who had recently walked the Meseta had expected.
As the journey continued and I entered Galicia, we captured the moment in photos, strangers connected by our shared pilgrimage. The cafés, too, play a role in this connection, bringing us together as we share tales of triumphs, trials, and personal revelations.
In O'Cebreibo, a preserved village showing the region's Celtic heritage, I encountered yet another café that welcomed me with the sounds of Celtic music. The bagpipes' haunting melody resonated with the echoes of the past, and I enjoyed a second café con leche, fortifying myself for the long walk ahead.
The day stretched on, and my memories of the kilometers walked blur together as I traversed the picturesque landscapes of this unique part of Spain. Of all areas that this Camino crosses, Galicia excites me the most.
Let me end here with the notion for my Buy Me a Coffee supporters that the cafés I visited on the way to Santiago will remain cherished havens of fellowship where stories intertwined. And while drinking your coffee, I felt the spirit of the Camino de Santiago.
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