Who knew?

We are slowly creeping towards Spanish horarios. We woke at 8 and struggled to get up and breakfast some time after 9. The day was foggy, but we were under the fog. We had been serenaded by the babbling brook during the night, so all was relatively fine with the world. Who knew?

Over breakfast, as at over dinner, we listened to Radio Galicia. You could be in Ireland or Scotland. The Celtic influence in Galicia is very strong still. Galicia as you will all know was settled by Celtic folk before the Romans and as they were not ever driven out by the moors the Celtic influence is still strong. Bagpipes with a Spanish twist as wake up music. Who knew?

Our first mistake was believing our host about the walk, "go up the easy way and come back the steep way. Four hours at an easy pace. Lunch at Parada De Sil, and it should be easy". (Parada De Sil is the local metropolis of 150 inhabitants at the top of the valley/canyon). Who knew Galician humour was through dangerous understatement?

Well we got off on the wrong foot from the start. Believing the path started at the old mill by the brook we headed up that way. After fourty minutes of scrambling across the creek we gave up. The path was a few metres past the creek and was considerably easier. Who knew? 

The path was through old chestnut plantations. Yes chestnuts, hazels are wrong. Ignore everything I said about hazels yesterday. They are chestnuts, I tasted one and it was definitely a chestnut. Who knew? Alans however were in Spain and helped drive out the Romans. So much for our editor.

It looks as if the chestnuts were planted right up the whole valley. The lower and steeper landings appear to be abandoned. Probably because of the difficulty of getting machinery to them. Hand harvesting must be too expensive. Still fairly pretty mule tracks and walls dividing up the valley into chestnut paddocks. At various stages the leaves and nut husks were so deep it was difficult to tell what was under our feet. By the way my uncertainty on some facts is due to my inability to understand everything Gallegos tell me.

We kept climbing and eventually got into the fog. For a while we also left the chestnuts behind and were in an oak forest. Not big oaks like the Botanic Garden ones, but slightly bigger than the alcornoques of Extremadura. There was plenty of signs of wildlife, mostly where they had been rooting around for something underground. Also by the sound of gunfire and dogs across the valley. Hunters calling out and shooting. The sounds of nature. Who knew?

Marjan was struggling with the 'shallow easy climb', so we agreed that when we got to the top I would head down and come back with the car and get her for the trip back.

Eventually we broke through the fog and into beautiful sunshine above the fog. Where the sun had not reached the fields still had frost on them. This was now about 12:45 but the frost was yet to clear this higher ground. It appeared that chestnut farming still happens on the higher flatter ground. It also appears that cocks in Galicia crow after midday. Who knew?

We finally made it into the city. We found a bar and had a reviving coffee. We got there just before the locals rushed the place for pre-lunch drinks. I could catch the odd word, but Gallego remains a mystery to me. Nobody was unfriendly, but we were probably considered to be weird foreigners. After all we did not have a wine in front of us. Still Gallegos consider Asturians to be weird foreigners and people from Madrid may as well be from another planet. That's why I did not know what to do when I saw a man walking his bull, only a local would.

The break gave us enough energy to walk to a restaurant 100 metres away and have a three course lunch.  We had their €12 meal, because the €10 meal included tripe, and game though we have been, tripe is a step too far. We had a chestnut, capsicum, and mushroom empanada, we had pork loin with chestnut and mushroom and we had a sort of chestnut creme caramel. It was the biggest piece of empanada I have ever eaten. I think the whole thing must have been baked in a paellera three foot across. It was all ok, the pork was a little overdone, though the stuffing was beautiful. The chestnut dessert though has been classed by Marjan as the best dessert she has eaten in a longggg time. 

We checked out the recently restored communal washing area. Feeling better, particularly about our washing machine, Marjan decided she would make the attempt of the descent. Who knew?

It all started well, lovely sunshine through more rural laneways between chestnut fields and fairly flat walking to start with. We were full of chestnut and happy. The the sign for the road pointed off the edge of an admittedly smallish precipice. With much care we scrambled down through the rocks and got onto what with significant improvement could be called a goat track. The goat track appeared to be how the old time farmers would get around between their chestnut trees.

Things did not improve. In between bouts of reasonable walking, we had hairy scrambles down quite steep areas with little purchase. No option but to butt slide down a couple of sections. Still we were making headway and our accommodation appeared less like a doll house at the bottom of the canyon. 

We finally got to a vineyard that we knew was the last stretch before our babbling brook. The option was the road, or the path through the vineyard. The road was longer, so we took the latter. Who knew?

 It was quite steep and narrow between rock walls separating the two sections of vineyard. This obviously serves as a vineyard service lane. Still not too bad. When we got to the end of the vineyard the path was very narrow, with a very steep drop on one side. A couple of sections were quite hairy, and finally one was just not worth the attempt. After six hours, five hundred metres of climb, four hundred and fifty of descent we were tired enough that this would mean a fall down into some pretty rough scrub about five metres below us.

We looked back and the track through the vineyard looked really steep. But back up we went and back via the road. 

We are now lying on our beds, safely looking at the view out the window. Marjan has not spoken to me for a while. The search history on Chrome is showing a very recent bit of research into online divorce sites. I hope that another three course meal will revive her spirits. Still I think long walks are out for what remains of the trip. Three course meals, however, are always in fashion!