Home to Santiago – Day 69
Luarca to A Caridad: 39km
The morning light comes quickly. I have inland Asturias to myself as I set off from Lluarca. I walk quickly as I see a pilgrim approaching behind me, but I can’t outwalk them. There are so many walls and cattle to photograph and even a rare Jacobean ruin of an old pilgrim chapel. I give in and let the pilgrim catch up as we both stop to admire a strange heap of chickens.
Later, Grace catches up with me as I stop to chat to a new Slovenian on the trail. From then on we have a mission to find Grace a coffee as she has been two hours walking without one. I’ve had two. I feel for her.
A little later still, as we’re sitting outside the much longed-for roadside café, she starts to talk about the coastal route. She has heard about my detours and the dinosaur footprints and has been talking to . And so she says, “shall we go to the beach?” Today, Grace tells me, is a holiday from the Camino.
I had planned to be good today. The official route is 30 kilometres without any detours and being unsure of where I am sleeping tonight, I left at half past six this morning, determined not to . But sometimes decisions are made for us.
We arrive at the seaside town of Puerto de Vega and look in awe at the bones of a whale up on a wall, not understanding quite what they are or why they’re there. I ask a passing man, “Are they the ribs?”
“No,” he says. “It’s the jawbone. It’s a whale that swallowed a ship. You can read about it on the plaque underneath”. I read the plaque. It says no such thing. It gives details of a whale-hunting contract. But I like his version.
As we walk along the coast, Grace and I agree that this should not be kept from the pilgrims. It is one of the most constantly beautiful parts of the walk so far, hugging the coast all the way, always manageable, always views.
The sea here is particularly rough, or at least has particularly huge waves crashing towards the shore. There is no wind blowing, but a shelf of rock beneath the surface causes the waves to rise and fall.
Coming across the widest, emptiest beach we could imagine, and having it almost all to ourselves, we give in to the temptation to paddle. Both of us happy as children.
I say jokingly, “Just imagine. Now we can go to the beachside bar.” Having brushed off the sand and vaselined our feet once more, we make our way up the hill behind the beach. And there it is, halfway up the hill: a beautiful bar in the woods, with views across the bay, and friendly bartenders with shandy.
“Look,” says Grace. “I think there’s a naked person on the beach.” There is. I forget. This is her first time off track on this coast. Nudity is a novelty.
There comes a point where I can tell Grace is slightly worried about how long the walk is becoming. She’s fitter than me, but I’ve been walking for so long now, my legs go automatically.
When we finally get to Navia, we stop for a drink before parting. Grace will the bus for the last 10K, having already done all the kilometres required for this stretch.
“Now I understand why alcoholics don’t need to eat. Now I’ve had a beer, I feel great. I don’t need anything.” But we agree that probably the pre-beer decision was the right one.
We part.
I hope I’ll have a bed tonight.
I head off full speed for the last ten kilometres. It’s just after five when I leave Grace, and she is going to speak to the albergue owner for me.
I get a message half an hour later saying he’ll hold the bed until seven. That’s all the motivation I need to storm through the pleasant, but not particularly spectacular, last ten kilometres through the countryside. I arrive at seven on the dot, and I’m pleased to see that the albergue owner registers this.
Before the albergue is closed, we all go out for a tinto de verano in A Caridá, a friendly little corner bar, which tries to drown us with tapas. It’s been a social day today. I think I’ve managed it.
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