Galicia the Unexpected: A Guarda to Laza

 "Sometimes you need to get off the beaten path to discover
the beauty of the world around you."

Camino Sanabrés Stage 7 / Via de la Plata Stage 31

When you are walking a pilgrimage along the Way of St. James, you never know what the day will hold, but even so, today on the Camino Sanabrés managed to take us completely by surprise.  We have walked through Galicia multiple times before, on the Camino Frances, the Camino Portuguese, the Espiritual Way, the Camino Primitivo, and the walk to Muxia and Finisterre. 

In my mind's eye, Galicia offers laneways winding through lush, green, damp, pastoral countryside, sometimes bordered by moss-covered stone walls and shaded by oaks, chestnuts, and beeches.  It offers villages with rounded fieldstone homes crouched under slate roofs, horreos, as well as its fair share of cow dung and flies.  With these impressions in mind, I was stunned by the terrain we covered today.

We got up around 6:00 AM and made our usual breakfast of instant coffee, bread and jam in our room.  The stars were still visible overhead as we headed first through and then out of town down the paved country road, but the sky was already beginning to turn a soft pink in the east.  Much like yesterday, the air felt dry and relatively warm, warning us of a hot day ahead.

Return to the Camino

The hard-packed dirt track of the Camino was running next to a quiet paved road, and it was bordered by grassy fields that were dotted all over by white blooming shrubs, yellow blooming broom, and brilliant purple heather.  Tiny wildflowers were mixed in, and the air around us smelled sweet and fresh.  The songs of Thekla's Larks filled the air, joined by the quiet but persistent chirp of crickets and huge, green, Egyptian Bird Grasshoppers.

As the sky turned pink and yellow, it revealed the blue silhouettes of hills and mountains in the distance.  Behind us, we could see the roofs and lights of the town, and ahead lay layer upon layer of hills.  It was incredibly beautiful, and just when we thought it couldn't get any better, we noticed a cloud inversion!

In my opinion, a cloud inversion is one of nature’s quiet miracles. Instead of the air cooling as you climb, a warm layer settles high above, holding cooler, mist-laden air close to the ground. Valleys and towns vanish under a billowing blanket, while ridgelines and peaks float above it like islands in a shining sea. Standing there, you feel as though you’ve stepped into another world!

Islands in the Sky

We stood on the ridge, watching the puffy white clouds fluffing up and moving in the valley below, revealing islands of trees in their midst.  As the sun warmed the fields, mist began creeping silently into the hollows and crevices, slowly filling the valley below.  It was mesmerizing to watch trees appear above the clouds, only to be swallowed up again as hydro towers briefly appeared in other areas, only to disappear as well, just as a new island of land appeared somewhere else. 

As we stood there watching the glorious morning unfold, a French couple walked past, smiling at Sean, taking photos and even stopping to take some of their own.  It was impossible to witness the dawn breaking without feeling so incredibly privileged and lucky to be there in that moment.  As we all stood there, four taxis drove by on the road behind us, the pilgrims inside waving to us through the windows as they sped past.  I know they are on their own adventure, but I couldn't help feeling that they were missing something truly spectacular by choosing not to experience the gifts offered by this stretch of trail.

Eventually, we tore ourselves away from the sunrise and continued down the path, knowing that we had a long stage ahead.  Progress was still slow, however, as the landscape was simply spectacular.  As the sun rose, the mountains took on a more three-dimensional look, the sharp ridges of some of them looking like crumpled sheets of paper, while in places their neighbours looked soft and smooth.

We steadily climbed, with only the crunch of our footsteps making a sound during most of the quiet morning.  The white path wove its way through colourful fields ahead of us.  In this open landscape, under the vast and brilliant sky, the unique trail markers for the Camino Sanabrés stood out.   The large pieces of uncut slate and granite, each sporting some version of the Camino arrow coming out of a field of stars, often paired with a gourd and a scallop shell, seemed to fit perfectly.  I'm not sure why, but the unique and artistic character of these markers felt inspiring.

Topography and Elevation 

It was apparent fairly early on that we hadn't paid enough attention to the elevation profile for today's stage.  We had thought it was a relatively level walk for the first 20 km or so, followed by a long and steep descent into Laza.  Instead, we found ourselves climbing, climbing, and climbing some more for much of the morning.  We were walking along a quiet road that snaked its way up the side of regional hills providing panoramic views of the heavily harvested but once forested landscape around us.

The constant climbing was made more challenging due to the frequent and undoubtedly well-intentioned efforts to get us off the road we were paralleling.   Even the guidebook noted that here “the Camino starts playing games now to avoid the roadway”, at times taking three detours simply to avoid 20 feet of pavement. 

While the deviations were a nice idea, often intended to take walkers off blind corners in the narrow road, many of them involved taking 'shortcuts' that went straight up and then straight back down ridges that the road curved gently around the base of.  There was so little traffic, with almost all of it consisting of taxis on the pilgrim express, that it was tempting to simply follow the roadway.

Panoramic Views 

The higher we climbed, the more the view opened up around us.  Mountains receded in all directions, their steep slopes covered in small shrubs and bushes, some of which were blooming yellow and purple.  The slopes looked like they had been divided by long straight lines, formed by wide stretches of bare earth.  We couldn't figure out what these divisions were for - whether they were fire breaks, markers denoting cut blocks for the forestry industry, or something else. Some hills were dotted with perfect grids of newly planted saplings, giving them a geometric feel.

In the first two hours, we passed through a series of tiny 'villages,' which were in reality little more than farmsteads or collections of a few homes perched together on the side of the mountain.  The first couple were rather grim-looking, dominated by squalid shacks that were falling into ruin, and yet were somehow still inhabited.  Poverty is never comfortable to witness - especially while we indulge in the relative luxury of being able to take time off work to walk. 

The last village was much more prosperous looking, with clean and well-kept cottages, neat gardens and vegetable patches, and even a holiday apartment to rent.  The view down the valley was spectacular from there, making us wish we could simply stop and enjoy the silence.

As we passed through these communities, we were also skirting the edge of one of Spain's largest reservoirs.  The valley far below us was flooded with water, which under the clear sky appeared a deep, brilliant blue.  We followed the curving road high above it, cautiously peering over the steep edges at the view below. It was a strange feeling to be suspended between the water and the sky, yet grounded by the solid presence of a mountain beneath our feet.  The last time we had experienced this feeling, we had been travelling across the Atlantic on the sailing ship Wind Surf, floating unanchored right at the transition between the deep blue sea below and the vast empty sky above.

Climbing Continues 

Around 10 AM, we came to the Mirador O Bamban, a viewpoint over the reservoir.  There was a wooden shelter with a slightly rickety-looking swing hung underneath, and several stone benches, all offering gorgeous views of the mountains and the lake below.  The pilgrims who had passed us earlier were sitting on one of the benches enjoying a snack, and with a friendly greeting, we took a seat on the other bench.  As we were finishing our own snack, a second French couple walked up, engaging in a lively conversation with the others. Until today, we hadn't met any of them on the trail.

The heat was beginning to pick up at this point, and we were still climbing upwards on a shadeless track.  However, the landscape continued to amaze us, even as we began to feel like we were baking in the late morning sunshine and the trail ahead began to swim and shimmer.  When we began to descend towards the town of Campocerros, where there was the possibility of a cold drink. Regardless, we were ready for the break.

Campocerros Spain

The path wound down beside the reservoir and a set of train tracks that cut through the mountains under many tunnels.  We could see the town of Campocerros down below us long before we reached it on the winding and switch-backed road. 

It was larger than any of the villages we'd visited so far today, and when we finally reached it, the Camino wove us through its narrow, twisting streets, seemingly for the sole purpose of giving us a tour.  Happily, it eventually brought us to the only open bar in town, which seemed to be a hub of activity.

When we stepped inside, we found the other pilgrims, as well as the lovely lady with the red pants and Camino shell shirt we reconnected with in Pandornelo a few days ago.  We gratefully sat in the shade and enjoyed two Aquarius each. 

It took us some time to cool down, and we were very surprised to see the French pilgrim pulling on a thick sweater because she felt a chill sitting in the shade.  As Canadians, we really must seem odd to the rest of the world with a seeming inability to find 32 degrees cold.

Portocamba

Reluctantly, we headed back out into the heat, knowing we still had some climbing and around 12 km to cover before we reached Laza.  The next stretch of the day's trek climbed up to Portocamba, and it was a tough one.  We were following a paved road, and we could feel the heat radiating up off the pavement.  Occasionally, there was a breeze, but it felt like someone was blowing a hair dryer on us, almost taking our breath away with the dry heat. 

A large group of Spanish cyclists passed us with smiles and an enthusiastic Buen Camino, their energy briefly lifting ours. But the climb continued, exposed and punishing, before finally levelling out into a gravel pathway. Not long after, the cyclists swept past again, this time racing downhill, whipping by us and the German pilgrim in her blue pants and red shell shirt with the kind of speed and freedom that only wheels can give.

Eventually, the trail wound its way down into Portocamba, a small village with a scattering of abandoned stone houses and a beautiful old church. Though it was a pleasant stop, for us it was mostly a waypoint - a place to pause in the shade before pushing onward. Leaving the village, we found ourselves climbing once again, this time toward the Cruz do Milladoiro, where the Camino joined a gravel track curling around the hillside.

From there, the landscape opened, and ahead we could trace the Camino itself, weaving across the slopes in tight hairpin turns. The sight might have been inspiring on a cooler day, but by now the heat had grown fierce. The afternoon sun was relentless, and our progress became a careful rhythm of moving from one pocket of shade to the next, trying to escape its intensity. With each turn around a hillside we looked forward in the hopes of seeing the town of Laza.

As Eiras

The rhythm of our hike now became less about covering kilometres and more about survival, with each pocket of shadow a small sanctuary before stepping out into the furnace once more.  Thankfully, not long beyond Portocambo, the trail descended along a more heavily shaded forest road.

Walking into the small village of As Eiras, we were simply grateful to have reached another milestone for the day. Tucked into its quiet streets, we found a pilgrim refuge - or more accurately, a donativo “support point”.  Here we gratefully accepted two cold bottles of Aquarius, leaving our donation along with an extra five euros for the kindness that, in truth, felt like it had saved us. Sitting in the shade with a chilled drink in hand, we were instantly reminded of the honesty boxes we had come across in the UK while trekking Wainwright’s Coast to Coast and Hadrian’s Wall Path trails. Just as then, the trust, generosity, and simplicity of the gesture lifted our spirits as much as the refreshment itself.

Desperately needed and deeply appreciated, that break in As Eiras gave us the strength to continue. A few steps further along the road, we noticed an unadvertised Casa Rural, beside which a painted rock sign informed us we had just 6 km more to go to reach Laza.  While on paper, 6 km is not far, the fact was that under the day’s blazing sun, it felt like it might well have been a stage of trekking all onto itself. 

The trail wound mostly downhill into the valley, though the descent was long and sometimes discouraging. We had already walked some 28 km from our starting point in A Gudiña - fatigue was setting in, and our legs felt very heavy. The way led along rocky logging roads and later onto narrow paved stretches, where at one point a team of vehicles raced past far too quickly for comfort.

Yet the route had its beauty, too. Scattered villages dotted the hillside across the valley, and the forest around us was lush and wonderful. As we descended toward Laza, we continued to pass the distinctive carved stone waymarks by Nicanor Carballo.  Each of which was a small work of art that guided pilgrims steadily forward. Step by step, with each turn of the road, we drew nearer to the end of a long, hot, and unforgettable day.

Laza

Some time after leaving As Eiras, the trail turned off the paved road just after an empty logging semi rumbled past us once more. From above, we caught our first glimpse of Laza in the valley below, though reaching it meant still more weaving back and forth on the hillside. The path curled 500 meters back along a switchback before cutting across an agricultural garden and finally joining a stretch of paved road that carried us the last kilometres into town.

Needless to say, it was a long and punishing descent. The heat rising from the asphalt only compounded the exhaustion of the day. Ahead of us, the German pilgrim - the “gnome” as we had come to call her for her distinctive hat and bright clothes, was clearly struggling, her steps weaving as she fought her way onward. Once again, another group of cyclists tore past at full speed, shouting as they zoomed down the slope, leaving us to our slow, steady progress.

The valley we had descended into was shaped by the Río Támega, its history as deep as the landscape itself. Once a Roman outpost, Laza later became a key route into Portugal.

At the edge of town, our paths diverged. The gnome pilgrim turned toward the albergue, while we set our sights on the Casa Blanca Conde. Even from a distance, it looked like an oasis, promising rest and relief after nearly 30 kilometres under a searing Galician sun.

It was 3:30 in the afternoon when we finally walked into the Hostel. While I checked us in, Sean sat outside in the shade with yet another can of Aquarius, grateful just to be sitting still. Nearby, despite the blistering heat, a handful of pilgrims lounged in the hot tub beside the accommodation.  It was a scene that seemed almost surreal after the day we’d had. Inside, the hallways were crowded with luggage delivered ahead by transport, a reminder of the many ways people tackle the Camino.

For our part, we were simply grateful to have arrived.

It took us nearly an hour to wash up and recover. Exhausted, we decided to pay for laundry rather than attempt to do it ourselves.  After today’s stage, our clothes were well beyond the point of tolerability and badly needed a proper cleaning that hand washing could no longer provide. 

As the sun sank lower and the oppressive heat finally began to recede, we walked into town for groceries and settled in at a bar to write our journals. I had hoped to try bica blanca, a regional cake unique to Laza and apparently made nowhere else in Spain, but little was open and no one seemed to have any left. Instead, we ordered a beer and sat inside, reflecting on the day. We agreed it had offered some of the most stunning views yet on the Camino Sanabrés, but also acknowledged that the high summer temperatures we had feared on the Via Augusta and Via de la Plata had finally caught up with us. Spring was coming to an end and summer was here.

As we sat there, we watched as two pilgrims stumbled into town, barely moving forward, utterly shattered by the same distance and heat we had endured. Their struggle was a sobering reminder of the Camino’s demands, and of what still lay ahead. Challengingly, we knew that tomorrow promised to be no easier: another long stage, beginning with a steep climb right from the start.

From here, though, the journey also felt more tangible. We were now just seven stages, and seven days from Santiago de Compostela.

See you on the Way!