We wake up early. It is drizzly. We dawn ponchos and pack covers and keep on trucking.
A local cafe worker tells us she has worked and lived there for 17 years.
“It’s beautiful,” I say. “You have so many beautiful plants.”
She shrugs. “Me acostumbré.” I’ve gotten used to it. (Though she smiles as she says it)
We pass through Palais do Rei, which feels beautiful and cosmopolitan after a few days of rainy country hiking. We see a range of stores, bars, albergues and signs of normal Spanish life. It is a city I could see myself living in (um, based on 15 minutes walking through it at 9am in the rain).
We arrive at out destination, Melide, early, around noon.
“What do you think?” asks one of my travel companions.
We’re here early. “Let’s keep going,” I suggest.
“Maybe we stop here,” he answers weakly (ojo: this is foreshadowing)
We walk through the rather deserted centro hístorico (historic center) to find our albergue.
It is still raining. We find lunch and then stamps and food for the next day.
Also, for those of you wondering what middle school dorkage looks like, here’s me (dry, to be fair) in my Grandpa’s poncho: