The last two days were spent dodging bad weather. On top of this, I missed a turn at Pedrouzo and had to do one of those thirty-plus kilometre hikes so foreign to my character. My approach to Santiago de Compostela was an undramatic scurry.
Spanish agriculture isn’t usually this quaint.
Galicia doing its Australian mimicry gig…
A stiff climb to thin heathland, with the look of an Australian heath in spring: yellow peas flowering under scrawny gums and wattles.
This monument to the most famous of modern pilgrims is a jolting change from charming Romanesque chapels and stone crosses. But thanks for the job you did on the totalitarians, Pilgrim Karol. Taste isn’t everything.
At Santiago’s outskirts, my mind on edibles, as ever…
Should be feeding the spirit, but…you know me.
And now, after maybe a thousand miles, every inch walked…
Santiago de Compostela, in cold, cold rain. With a bagpipe tune and an urgent intake of chocolate with churros. That’s how I arrived.
