Yesterday while walking I was scrolling through the Buen Camino app, checking options: how many kilometers, where the hostels are, where the shops are and – most important – where the bars are. I had two choices: 28 km or a mad 46 km to Lubian. Since my legs haven’t yet handed in their resignation letter, I went for the longer option. My plan is still to finish in under 30 days – ambitious, I know, but if I’m going to suffer, I might as well make it efficient.
When the other hikers arrived at the hostel, I eagerly explained my plan. Of course, they weren’t thrilled – they wanted my company. I like them too, but my ego decided it would have the final say. And then Massimo, as if hammering the last nail into the coffin of my determination, announced that his birthday was on the 19th of August. And that I had to be at the party. I’d never been to an Italian birthday before – and who am I to skip a chance for pasta, wine, and a loud chorus of “Mamma mia”? My soft spot for Italians betrayed me. I promised to stick around until the 20th.
With the fires creeping closer, it’s not like we can sprint like gazelles anyway. The town of Astorga has been closed to hikers; buses only. Yesterday one hiker quit completely because of fear of the smoke. I get it – burning landscapes don’t look good even in movies, let alone live, with a backpack and sweaty socks on you.
That night we slept next to a sports hall – a dream for any sports fan: a huge yard, a basketball court where kids gathered later, shade, a bar, even a restaurant. An older Spanish guy complained his legs were burning like on a spit. His feet were plastered in tape, like he was auditioning for a mummy role. His plasters were so useless even a tissue would’ve done a better job.
Since I had a rescue kit of plasters in my pack, I grabbed my supplies and redid them for him. I even massaged in some of my miracle cream – the place smelled like a pharmacy had just opened. He was so grateful he bought me a beer. A pharmacy with bonus perks – what more could you want? I told him to put his legs up so gravity could finally do something useful. He obeyed me like a son listening to his mum.
Since we’re no longer in the south, the temperatures are finally bearable, and even the tap water doesn’t taste like chlorinated soup anymore. The Camino Sanabrés is also way better marked than the Camino de la Plata – here you really can’t get lost. You don’t even need your phone for navigation – pure luxury!
Around the table, the plan was set: tomorrow 27.5 km, starting at 7:00. All fine… until Massimo woke me at 5:00. I only get up at five in the morning if I’ve got more than 40 km ahead, not for some 27.5! So I served a full breakfast of swear words in multiple languages – Italian flowed best: “Va fanculo!” Anita, who hadn’t slept since 4:00 anyway, laughed. The others looked at me like I was a travelling circus. Me? I’d survive. On the Camino, plans change faster than April weather anyway.
So off we went into the dark. Walking alone at night is creepy, but in company the darkness becomes almost fun. Who knew – fear is actually scared of company. We walked the whole stage together, which for me was a challenge: my pace is faster, but if I slow down, my legs start to ache. Well, compromises.
It was 15 km to the first bar. At 14 km came rain – the group panicked, pulling on raincoats, while I looked up at the sky and thought: “This is just a ten-minute shower, not worth the fuss.” I was right. When we finally found coffee, the Spaniard realised he’d left his poles by the roadside while changing clothes. We stayed for breakfast, he went back on a pole-hunt.
Puebla de Sanabria – where we had our coffee. And yes, the town comes with its own fitness test at the entrance: 230 steps. Puebla de Sanabria pretends to be a cute little village, but it’s really a medieval gem, straight out of Game of Thrones. The cobbled streets are ankle traps, the stone houses have seen more sunsets than your average Instagrammer’s filter collection.
The star is the Castle of the Counts of Benavente, glaring down at you from the hill like that uncle who always has an opinion. To get up there you have to climb 230 steps – I counted, because I needed to prove to myself that I’m basically Ironman. Once you’re at the top, you’ve got two options: either you feel proud or you regret not joining a gym back in January.
The town is famous for its romantic views – though as a hiker, you’re more interested in finding the nearest bench than any sunset. And the food… oh yes. Here you’ll find botillo, jamón, and other calorie bombs that quickly convince you you’ll manage another set of stairs.
In short: Puebla de Sanabria is picturesque and absolutely worth the stop. Just remember, everything is on a hill – medieval people clearly didn’t like flat comforts.
When we left town, we still had 13 km to go. The walk was pleasant, some shade, some bends. But since the app showed the path twisting like a snake, we just took the road. On the way, I learned our older Spaniard was thinking of going home – his legs, the heat, the fatigue, it had all become too much. In the end, he showed up at the hostel in a taxi. The Camino is the people – and it’s right that everyone takes from it only as much as they can. I congratulated him: every stage is a battle of its own.
For tomorrow, I handed him an Ibuprofen – a little help to make at least one day easier. The others went for siesta, while I plotted with Massimo: 42, 32, or 28 km. I won’t do 28, he won’t do 42. So compromise – 32. Then he surprised me: “Maybe we push for 42.” Me? Thrilled! I said we’ll check at 32. My energy is steady. Theirs… we’ll see.
