Startpoint: Negreira; Endpoint: Olveiroa; Steps taken: 43,238; Distance walked: 33km.

It rained today. That pretty much sums it up.

When I left Negreira, I wondered about the large plastic spheres on top of lots of the farm-buildings. Some were quite large. I guessed up to two metres in diameter. I couldn’t figure it out.

I was wearing my full waterproofs and the cover over the bag. I still got wet. The rain was constant, heavy and horrible. I began to wonder had my post about the cathedral mass angered someone up above. But only Neptune would have that much water at his disposal and I doubt that soggy-bearded fork-fondler cares too much about Sunday mass. Then I realised, this was Galicia’s revenge. I challenged Galicia to throw everything it had at me, and now that’s what it was doing, while it had the home advantage. I realised what the plastic spheres were: giant ballcock and all of Galicia was going to fill up with rain like a giant cistern until those babies floated.

The rain came from all sides. It got under my hat. It got down my waterproof pants. It got through my goretex raincoat. I knew the rainjacket had been advertised as ‘breathable’, I didn’t realise it was also breathable for fish.

The paths turned to streams. I started by hopping from rock to rock and dry patch to dry patch, but the water was too deep and the paths too narrow. I tried walking up in the woods off the path, but couldn’t tell the direction. In the end, I gave up the tiptoeing and pussyfooting for futile and just walked through the water. At some points, the water rose to six or eight inches. Luckily I was wearing waterproof Goretex walking shoes with tough Vibram rubber soles. Unluckily the shoes didn’t go six inches up. They filled with water. I now know for sure they are waterproof, at least from the inside out. I squelched for 33km from 9.30am to 4.30pm.

A fellow pilgrim had told me that at one point on the trail to Finisterre, they had recently built a little bridge, where previously there were only stepping stones. I thought to myself that on a day like today, that hardly mattered. I was wrong. I found the bridge. It was made of carefully selected and cut half-logs, each round surface polished and varnished to look very modern and beautiful, and provide no grip whatsoever, especially in the wet. In case anyone managed to make it over them, at the end was a smooth plank to step on, carefully angled to look flat, while it actually sloped down. The bridge was an improvement over the stepping stones, not by reducing the chances of walkers slipping and falling into the stream, but by ensuring if they did fall, they would do so from a greater height, thus maximising the size of the splash. I didn’t fall in, but the last plank did catch me out, and I did the splits involuntarily as I stepped off the bridge. I didn’t know I could bend that way, to be honest.

At about 2pm, I stopped in a roadside bar to dry off a little and have a beer and a coffee. Before leaving, I took off my waterproof trousers. They hadn’t kept me warm or dry, they’d just slid down my arse enough to stop me walking, so I decided to make-do without. Then the hailstones started.

My bare legs were raw within minutes. The hailstones bounced off the rest of the wet gear, but apparently the hood of my rainjacket was not made for people with noses the size of mine. The tip of it was the recipient of numerous little ice-meteorites. Ow.

I’m in the bar in Olveiroa now. I’m wearing my pyjama top and pants with no underwear, as everything else is soaked. The water got through the rain-cover of my bag and soaked my clothes. My sleeping bag is saturated. It got through my rainjacket and waterproofs, and through ziplock bags to seep into my mapbook and my Pilgrims Credential, making the stamps I’ve spent 34 days collecting blur and run.

The rain and wind are still going. The building has had a half-dozen mini-blackouts since I got here. All my things are in the dryer, except my shoes, which are wedged under the hot radiator in my room. I’m still damp and the skin on my feet is still wrinkled and prune-like.

Galicia may have scored a couple of hits today, but I did my 33km and made it to my destination. Only one day of walking left before I get to Finisterre. I’ll be walking along the Atlantic coast for a lot of the day, before I stay in a lighthouse for the night. It’ll hardly be raining at the lighthouse, will it?

Buen Camino