Day Twenty-five: Deva to Sobrado — Last night at the Deva Natural Albergue turned out to be pretty special. Daniel, the Aragorn lookalike, whipped up a killer vegetarian dinner, including a starter of lentils and rice, main course of whole wheat spaghetti and Bolognese sauce, then dessert of homemade yogurt with chunks of honey. After dinner he sat with me and told me in rapid fire Spanish about how Spaniards don’t understand natural, vegetarian food, about how he makes his Greek-style yogurt from local cows’ milk, and about his two partners who support the albergue with their jobs as a carpenter and fashion designer. Then he topped it off by sharing with me a glass of his personal strawberry/herb liqueur. I’ve found paradise and its name is Deva.

In spite of finding paradise it was time to move on toward Santiago. I awoke at 7:00 after a good sleep and warmed up the coffee and milk Daniel had set out for me the night before. By 7:45 I was out the door for the long 35 km (20 mile) walk to the monastery albergue at Sobrado dos Monxes.

The sky was clear and the temp was just cool enough to require my fleece jacket. A couple of kilometers past Deva I saw two deer — a buck and a doe — who quickly scurried away when they realized my presence during their morning graze. I walked past many pastures, some with black and white cows, other with yellow/brown cows. As I walked I looked at the tags in their ears, realizing each is property of someone, and many of the young and male are headed to the butchery and table.

Since 1987 I’ve sworn off red meat, so the Spanish diet of meat, sausage, and more meat makes restaurants a little bit of a challenge for this pilgrim. Most all are willing to fry me a couple of eggs, so I generally can get the protein I need, though the diet is a little bland. This is one reason the Deva albergue was such a treat. Its menu was the
perfect blend of grains, legumes and nuts that combine the correct amino acids to create a complete protein without the need to slay an animal. As I walked through the pastures I felt the vegetarian’s sadness for our animal friends’ fate.

The first town of any size today was Miraz, a tiny village of an albergue, a church, and a bar. The church, from the 12th century, caught my attention. A kind lady was locking it up as I came by, and I asked her of I might have a peek inside. I took a couple of photos, then realized she was probably there to put flowers at the grave of a loved one in the nearby cemetery. I asked her if she had family members there, which she did, and we both teared up a little as I took her photo in front of a grave belonging to her kin.

As we left the cemetery I asked her about the Galician practice of building horreos, grain storage buildings that accompany each Galician farm home. She described their use as for maíz (corn). The buildings are designed to frustrate bugs and rodents while allowing corn and a few other foods safely to dry. On the walk around Miraz I saw some of the most colorful horreos I’d ever seen.

After Miraz I enjoyed visiting a few camino handiwork stands set up along the road. One was the stand of Puri, who cautioned me about wolves in the mountains, and another was in the garage of a sculptor who carves camino memorabilia all day from his workbench.

After that it was nonstop through isolated terrain, over a low mountain pass, near a quarry and through a forest that had partly been burned in a fire earlier this year.

When I’d finally made it through the forest I began to worry about my provisions for the day. I’d brought nuts and oranges, but had run through those hours ago. I came to the tiny hamlet of Roxica, which consists of one farm, and was pleased to see a sign for Cafe Roxica. I turned off the road to discover a woman standing on the porch of a farmhouse. She invited me in and I realized Cafe Roxica was her kitchen. Her table was spread with bread, cheese and sausages, and I asked her if she could whip me up some fried eggs. She agreed, and then we talked about the food on her table. She had a homemade cheese loaf along with one that was store bought, plus homemade sausages and homemade bread. The bread used flour from the store, but the eggs she served me were from her own chickens. I was thrilled to stumble on a place where local food meant local food. My stomach full, I headed back on the road for the remaining kilometers to Sobrano.

Although the region was very remote, much of the path was on small asphalt roads which, as the day got warmer, proceeded to warm up too. Sobrado seemed always to be just over the next hill, but it wasn’t until 4:30 that I finally rounded the corner into the Plaza Mayor of Sobrado dos Monxes. It was a joy to find Martin there, along with Jacqueline, another alum of last year’s Camino Frances. We shared a beer and nuts as Julian of Honolulu stopped by, as well as Karina, the Austrian from Deba. Here also are Jose of Madrid, Franz of Holland, Matteo of Italy, and many more increasingly familiar pilgrims.

Jacqueline, Martin and I had all looked forward to Sobrado dos Monxes because of, well the monks. Sobrado is an ancient monastery which for the last forty years or so has been home to a group of about 25 Trappist monks. Before dinner we three headed to Vespers with the monks and enjoyed their heartfelt singing and prayerful spirit.

Afterwards it was off to a restaurant for dinner then back to the monastery albergue for rest. Spain just finished beating France in the Europe soccer cup, so many of the Spanish pilgrims have come back from the bars rather loud and relaxed.

Tomorrow is the end of the Camino del Norte, as it spills into the Camino Frances at Arzua. There we join a crowded stream of pilgrims making their way to our common goal of Santiago de Compostela.

one of the more flamboyant horreos.

A more typical horreo.

My favorite horreo of the day.

Sculptor and his wares.

Cafe Roxica and homemade everything.

Pilgrim reunion — Martin, me, Jacqueline.

Sobrado monastery.

Vespers with the monks.

Lady at the grave in Miraz.