Polka-Vita

I don’t think I’ve ever been so eager to get out of bed that early.

After all the planning, packing and wondering what on earth I’d signed myself up for, it was finally here: my first morning on the Camino Primitivo.

I got ready pretty quickly, made myself a small breakfast in the kitchen and met my first fellow pilgrim before I’d even properly started – Lee, an American from Georgia. At the time, he was simply a friendly stranger I happened to chat to over breakfast. I had no idea I’d end up meeting the rest of his gang over the days to come.

Then it was time to actually start walking.

Oviedo was still incredibly quiet when I stepped outside with my backpack. The streets were being cleaned, there were barely any people around, and for quite a while it really was just me, my backpack and the Camino markers leading me out of the city.

Of course, I had to stop at that first marker for a photo. And then finally I was off.

The first proper climb of the day was also my first introduction to what walking the Primitivo was actually going to feel like. By the time I eventually came down the other side, I was sweaty, hungry and very ready for coffee. I’d only had a tiny breakfast before leaving Oviedo, and everywhere I’d passed earlier had still been closed.

Then, finally, I found somewhere open.

It was this beautiful little restaurant – I think there may have been accommodation there too – and I rolled in feeling very much like, Oh my God… what have I signed myself up for?

And that’s where I first met three men who would become known, at least in my head, as the Three Musketeers: Ron, Cornelius and Mick.

They were already sitting together when I arrived, and we started chatting over my first proper Camino coffee. Where are you from? How are you finding it? Where are you heading today? All those little conversations that seem completely insignificant at the time.

Slowly, more pilgrims started appearing too. People who had presumably left Oviedo after me began rolling in for their own coffee or breakfast, and suddenly this quiet little restaurant had become my first proper Camino pit stop.

The Three Musketeers eventually headed off before me. I followed not long afterwards and, because apparently even with a backpack I only have one walking speed, eventually caught up and overtook them.

But before I did, I took one of my favourite photos from that first day: the three of them walking ahead of me, tiny against this huge, beautiful landscape stretching out in front of us

At that point they were still just three people I’d met over coffee that morning. I didn’t know yet how many times our paths would cross again.

And that’s something I would quickly learn about the Camino.

You meet someone. You say goodbye. You assume they’ve disappeared somewhere ahead or behind you.

And then somehow… there they are again.

I bumped into the Three Musketeers at another stop later that day before eventually carrying on towards Grado.

By then, the novelty of my first Camino day was definitely starting to wear off.
It felt long.

The hills kept coming, my backpack was very much making its presence known, and by the time I was approaching Grado I’d reached that stage where I wasn’t particularly interested in admiring anything anymore. I just wanted to find my albergue, take the backpack off and sit down.

As I was walking into town, a local man spotted me and congratulated me on making it there.

Between his broken English and my broken Spanish, we somehow managed a conversation.

And then he very helpfully informed me that tomorrow was the real challenge. Apparently, leaving Grado involved a rather serious climb.

He even gestured the steep incline with his hand.

Wonderful.

Exactly what you want to hear when you’ve just spent your first full day climbing hills with your entire life strapped to your back.

Eventually I reached my albergue, claimed my bunk and set everything up for the first time.

And before doing much of anything else, I just needed to sit.

So I went outside with a Coke Zero and a Milka chocolate bar and did absolutely nothing for a while.

And then who should appear?

Cornelius.

One of the Three Musketeers.

We started chatting across our separate tables until eventually I asked whether I could join him – while also making it very clear that if he wanted some peaceful alone time, I would happily leave him to it.

Thankfully, he didn’t.

Not long afterwards, Ron and Mick appeared too, and suddenly we were all sitting together having drinks and chatting. They even got me a little glass of wine.

I’d left Oviedo alone that morning.

Yet somehow, only a few hours later, I was sitting outside an albergue drinking wine with people I’d never met before that day.

I think that was probably my first glimpse of what the Camino was going to become.
After a much-needed shower, it was time for my first pilgrim dinner.

The food itself?

Let’s just say it wasn’t exactly a culinary highlight of the Camino.

There was plenty of it, and I vaguely remember choosing some sort of chorizo dish, having another glass of wine and a little dessert. What I remember far more clearly was all of us looking at the bill afterwards and collectively deciding we’d just eaten one of the most expensive and least impressive pilgrim dinners of the trip.

But the dinner wasn’t really the important part.

We were all sitting around one enormous table together – people from different countries who had mostly been complete strangers that morning.

That’s where I also met Martin from Ireland, who seemed a little quieter initially but was absolutely lovely.

You could already see little groups beginning to form around the table, but it never felt cliquey. People naturally gravitated towards whichever familiar face they’d happened to walk with, pass on the trail or meet over coffee that day.

And I suppose I was doing exactly the same.

That morning I’d walked out of Oviedo completely alone.

That evening I was sitting around a table with people whose names I was only just learning, swapping stories over a pilgrim dinner and a glass of wine.

Day One done.

I headed to bed early knowing I’d be getting up and doing the whole thing again the next morning.

And somewhere in the back of my mind was the local man’s hand gesture from earlier… Apparently there was a rather large hill waiting for me outside Grado.

Great.

Day 2 — Grado to Salas

Distance: 23.58 km
Elevation gain: 696 m
Moving time: 5:01:34

After the warning I’d received from a local man the evening before, I already knew what was waiting for me when I left Grado.

A hill.

And, as it turned out, he had not been exaggerating.

I got up early, partly because I wanted to get on the road and partly because I wanted enough time to get myself ready without taking over the shared bathroom.

Now, despite what some people might think, I did not carry a full makeup bag across northern Spain. But I did bring a few things.

I knew I was going to spend most days sweaty, muddy and wearing hiking clothes, but putting on a tiny bit of makeup in the morning made me feel more like myself. Apparently it worked, because somewhere along the Camino I would eventually earn the nickname “the glamorous peregrina” from one of my fellow pilgrims – a title I was more than happy to accept.

A little makeup, a quick breakfast, backpack on.

Time to face the hill.

And it was steep.

The climb out of Grado was every bit as unpleasant as I’d been promised, although the foggy morning made it strangely beautiful. It was cool and fresh, everything around me disappearing slightly into the mist, and for a while I seemed to have the trail almost entirely to myself.

Well… almost.

Halfway up this ridiculous hill, I met a cat.

A very friendly cat.

And obviously, regardless of how far I still had to walk, I had to stop.

Eventually I managed to tear myself away and continued upwards.

The forecast had been threatening rain later in the day, which had already become something I was slightly obsessed with. If the weather app said rain at midday or 1pm, my brain immediately turned it into a challenge:

Okay. How far can I get before then?

So I kept moving.

The morning turned into a beautiful walk. There were rolling hills, woodland paths and stretches where it felt like I had the Camino almost entirely to myself. The fog gradually lifted and, despite the forecast, the rain continued to stay away.

Somewhere along the wooded stretch before I reached Cornellana, I encountered Lee again.

Except Lee wasn’t walking.

Lee was running.

He suddenly came flying past me with his little backpack while I stood there thinking, Are you actually serious?

I’d already decided that walking the Camino Primitivo was sufficiently intense. This man was apparently running it.

Not long afterwards, I came across him again near a little chapel, this time sitting down and taking a break.

He explained that his partner had his phone, so he was waiting there for the rest of his group to catch up.

I left him there and carried on towards Cornellana.

From the approach, I could see the town across a bridge and thought, Perfect. Finally somewhere I can stop.

Except my Camino Ninja app had other ideas.

Instead of sending me across the bridge with some of the other pilgrims, it directed me left onto a smaller path.

I stood there for a moment questioning whether I was actually supposed to be going that way, but decided to trust it.

So while everybody else crossed towards the town – and, presumably, towards coffee and breakfast – I wandered off in the other direction.

This did mean I completely missed my opportunity for a proper stop in Cornellana.

But it also led me to the beautiful Monasterio de San Salvador de Cornellana.

After leaving the monastery, it was time for yet another climb.

And as I was making my way uphill…

There went Lee again.

Running past me.

Uphill.

Apparently his group had caught up, he’d been reunited with his phone, and he was off again.

This would become one of my recurring Camino sightings: I’d be happily walking along, thinking I was making decent progress, and suddenly Lee would come whizzing past.

Show-off.

The rain still hadn’t arrived, but by this point I’d been walking for hours without having a proper café stop. Because I’d bypassed the centre of Cornellana, there had been no leisurely coffee, no sitting down and very little rest.

Eventually, with only a few kilometres left before Salas, I came across an albergue where I could finally stop.

There was a lovely little outdoor seating area beneath one of the traditional raised granaries I’d started seeing along the route – hórreos, built above the ground to protect stored food and grain from damp and animals.

Backpack off.

Sit down.

And order what was quickly becoming my Camino combination:

Café con leche and Coca-Cola Zero.

Later, cake would find its way into this little ritual too – usually some form of delicious almond cake – and café con leche, Coke Zero and cake would become one of my favourite Camino pit stops.

And then, almost as soon as I’d sat down…

It started raining.

Of course it did.

Thankfully I was under cover, watching it rather than walking through it.

And then, through the rain, another little group of pilgrims appeared: Gary from Australia, Gogo from Canada, Chris from America and Vir from Spain.

I’d seen some of them around before, but this was the first time I properly met them.

They’d been caught in the rain I’d somehow managed to avoid, so they came in, sat down and ordered drinks while we all chatted.

Another handful of names and faces to remember.

And, although I didn’t know it yet, another group of people I would keep encountering over the days ahead.

Eventually the rain stopped.

I saw my window.

Time to go.

I had my poncho ready just in case, but somehow I managed those final kilometres without getting properly caught in it.

Then I reached Salas, which seemed so quiet when I got there.

Luckily it didn’t take long for me to get to my final destination in Salas – Casa Sueño.

Almost immediately after I arrived at the albergue, the heavens opened.

Absolutely pouring.

For once, my ridiculous attempt to outrun the weather had actually worked.

I’d booked Casa Sueño ahead of time after seeing it online and thinking it looked lovely, and I was very glad I had.

One advantage I was beginning to appreciate about walking the Camino alone was that I only ever needed one bed. A group might need two, three or four bunks available in the same place.

I just needed somebody to have one little space left for me.

And Casa Sueño was exactly the sort of place I was happy to find a space in.

It was so lovely.

There was also already a familiar face there.

Martin from Ireland.

One of us may technically have arrived first – something Martin and I would become increasingly competitive about (unintentionally) – but either way, we found ourselves at the same albergue again.

We both checked in, showered and then did what I imagine countless Camino friendships have been built upon: shared laundry.

Martin paid for the washing machine.

I paid for the dryer.

Perfect arrangement.

At first, it was basically just the two of us there while the rain hammered down outside. Martin ordered some food, I spotted him sitting in the restaurant and asked whether I could join him, and we ended up having a lovely lunch and getting to know each other a little better.

Martin was fairly quiet, particularly when I first met him, but absolutely lovely.

He was also deceptively fast.

Most of the time, like me, he seemed to walk alone. I’d overtake him somewhere on the trail, continue happily on my way…

…and somehow he’d appear ahead of me again.

This eventually developed into a completely unofficial competition.

Oh, you got here first.

I beat you today.

Neither of us had actually agreed that we were racing.

Apparently we were anyway.

As the afternoon went on, more soaked pilgrims started arriving at Casa Sueño.

Among them were another group of Americans who, for simplicity’s sake, became the Texas group: Andrew, Patrick and Karim.

They weren’t necessarily all from Texas, but that was how I differentiated them from the other American group I’d started meeting from Georgia.

They were walking with a girl called Paulina, who I’d properly get to know later, but that afternoon I mainly got chatting to the three guys.

They joined Martin and me at the table, grabbed some beers, and once again I found myself sitting around with people I’d barely known a few hours earlier.

It was already starting to feel normal.

Casa Sueño itself was also one of the more memorable albergues from those early days.

The dorm had these enormous floor-to-ceiling windows at the end, with the bunks facing towards them. From my bed I could look straight out at Salas and watch other pilgrims walking past with their backpacks.

The only slightly strange part was that they could also look in.

There were curtains, thankfully, but at times it felt slightly like being a contestant on Big Brother – lying on your bunk while people wandered past outside having a curious look at the pilgrims living behind the enormous windows.

Eventually the rain settled in, everyone disappeared into their evening routines, and another Camino day came to an end.

I’d walked most of the stage alone.

But somehow the day had still been full of people.

Lee had sprinted past me – twice.

I’d met Gary, Gogo, Chris and Vir.

Martin and I had established our highly unofficial Camino race and shared a load of washing.

I’d met Andrew, Patrick and Karim.

And I’d somehow managed to spend almost an entire day threatening to be caught by the rain without actually getting properly soaked.

Two days down.

And already, when I walked into an albergue, there was a chance I’d recognise someone inside.

I was starting to understand how quickly strangers become familiar faces on the Camino.

Day 3 — Salas to Tineo

Distance: 20.91 km
Elevation gain: 720 m
Moving time: 4:53:28

Day Three started with another early morning.

By now, the morning routine was already beginning to feel strangely normal: get up, get myself ready, pack everything back into my backpack and prepare to do it all over again.

I even took a little mirror selfie before leaving.

Not my finest work, but photographic evidence nonetheless.

Casa Sueño put on a lovely breakfast spread, so I grabbed something to eat before setting off. I think Martin and I initially sat together before he headed out slightly ahead of me.

And then, eventually, it was my turn.

Backpack on.

Day Three.

Not long after leaving Salas, I spotted another familiar face ahead of me.

Gary.

I caught up with him and we had the sort of conversation that was already becoming completely normal on the Camino.

Where did you stay last night?

What was your albergue like?

Did you get caught in that rain?

Essentially, a morning debrief between two people who had known each other for approximately five minutes.

Gary was also trying to watch something on his phone – I think it may have been rugby – so after chatting for a little while, he told me he’d catch up with me later.

I carried on.

The first part of the stage was tough. There was more climbing, plenty of woodland and, although it wasn’t properly raining, everything was wet enough to make the trail increasingly muddy.

About an hour and a half into the walk, after another climb through the woods, I suddenly emerged into a clearing.

And there it was.

A little hut.

At that point, it might as well have been a five-star hotel.

It belonged to a local man who had created this tiny pilgrim stop seemingly in the middle of nowhere. There were a few drinks, coffee, somewhere to put your backpack down and a bench where you could sit and catch your breath.

Nothing fancy.

Just exactly what you needed at exactly the right moment.

And everything worked on donations.

He also had the most beautiful stamps for our pilgrim credentials.

I’d been collecting stamps along the route since starting the Camino – little reminders of the places I’d passed through – and his were so lovely that I ended up getting two.

I ordered a coffee, gave him a donation and sat down for a few minutes.

And, right on cue…

Gary caught up with me.

This time, when we left, we carried on together.

Until then I’d spent almost all of my actual walking time alone. I’d meet people over coffee, pass them on the trail, sit with them at dinner and find them again at the next albergue, but the walking itself had mostly just been me.

So this was the first day I properly walked a significant part of the Camino with someone else.

And it was really nice.

We talked about everything and nothing while making our way towards Tineo. The trail was muddy, but after that initial climb the terrain became a little kinder and so so beautiful. Having someone beside me made the kilometres disappear differently too.

We passed a couple of older Spanish gentlemen along the way and Gary, whose Spanish was considerably better than mine, chatted away to them while I contributed my occasional sí and pretended I understood slightly more than I actually did.

Mostly, though, Gary and I just walked and talked.

There’s something slightly strange about conversations on the Camino.

You’re walking beside somebody you’ve only recently met, you’ve got hours of road ahead of you and there aren’t many distractions.

So somehow you end up talking about… everything.

Life. Relationships. Families. Things that are going well. Things that aren’t.

By the time we were approaching Tineo, I remember thinking:

Oh my God. Have I just trauma-dumped all over poor Gary?

Thankfully, he took it extremely well.

And I think that’s something I was beginning to understand about the Camino too. There was an openness to these conversations that would probably feel unusual anywhere else.

Out there, it just seemed normal.

Eventually, Tineo appeared ahead of us.

The setting was beautiful. The town sits high above the surrounding landscape, with the hills and valleys stretching out below it, and after another morning of woodland and muddy trails it felt particularly lovely to finally see where we were heading.

We’d made it.

My bed for the night was in the albergue at Hotel Palacio de Merás, which was enormous compared with some of the places I’d stayed so far.

The albergue occupied a lower section of the hotel and seemed to contain an endless number of bunks divided into different areas.

Thankfully, I managed to get a bottom bunk.

That had already become my preference whenever I had a choice. Partly because climbing onto a top bunk after walking 20-something kilometres wasn’t particularly appealing, but mostly because I liked getting up early and didn’t want to be that person clambering down from the top bunk and creating chaos while everybody else was trying to sleep.

Bottom bunk secured.

Shower.

Clean clothes.

Human again.

And then, slowly, the familiar faces started arriving.

This was where I properly met Michelle from Canada and some of the group she was walking with. We ended up chatting around the sofas in the reception area, while everyone was figuring out beds and bags and what they were doing with the rest of the afternoon.

Michelle was immediately lovely, and we exchanged Instagrams – another person who would keep popping up throughout the Camino.

Then came the Three Musketeers.

More familiar faces.

More backpacks being dropped onto floors.

More people I’d seen somewhere along the trail suddenly appearing in the same building.

The Georgia group arrived too, including Charlotte and Adam, who ended up in the bunks right beside mine. Lee and his partner Brandy were part of that same group, although I was still gradually putting all the names and faces together.

It was funny how quickly this was happening.

Three days earlier, I’d left Oviedo knowing absolutely nobody.

Now I could sit in an albergue and watch people arrive thinking:

Oh! You’re here.

And you’re here.

I know you.

Once I’d settled in, hunger inevitably took over.

I headed out looking for food and found a little place just up the road.

And sitting there was Gary.

With his book.

This would become something of an ongoing joke because Gary seemed to carry that book everywhere.

His intentions were always excellent.

He was absolutely going to sit somewhere quietly and read.

Except he was walking the Camino, which meant somebody he knew would inevitably appear, sit down beside him and start talking.

On this occasion, that person was me.

Sorry, Gary.

I joined him and ordered a burger and a very generous glass of wine for around €11.

After two days of walking, it tasted fantastic.

And when it was time to pay, they handed me the sweetest little collection of things for pilgrims: some tissues, biscuits, a little Camino map and a tiny yellow arrow made from wool with a safety pin so I could attach it to my backpack.

It was such a small gesture, but I loved it.

That little yellow arrow was the symbol I’d been following across Asturias every day, and now I had one travelling on my backpack with me.

Later, everybody seemed to migrate towards a bar almost directly across from the hotel.

And this was when Day Three turned into a very social evening.

The Three Musketeers were there. More pilgrims I’d seen along the route appeared. I met Pauline from Ireland and Roxanna, along with more of the Spanish-speaking group I’d started recognising from the trail.

There was cheap house wine – around €2 a glass -plenty of talking, and that strange Camino phenomenon where a group of people from completely different countries who barely knew one another somehow ended up sitting around together as though this was perfectly normal.

By this point, it felt like the Camino had developed its own travelling population.

Everyone walked at different speeds.

Everyone left at different times.

People stayed in different places.

And yet somehow, eventually, we’d find each other again.

After a couple of glasses of wine, it was time to head back to the albergue.

That’s when I got chatting a little more with Charlotte and Adam, my bunk neighbours, while everybody started settling down for the night.

Then the eye mask went on.

Time for sleep.

Because tomorrow morning, we’d all get up, put those backpacks on…

and scatter across the Camino all over again.

───

Three days earlier, I’d walked out of Oviedo alone.

Since then I’d met Lee and the Georgia group. Ron, Cornelius and Mick – the Three Musketeers. Martin. Gary, Gogo, Chris and Vir. Michelle and the Canadians. Andrew, Patrick and Karim. Pauline, Roxanna and countless other faces I was only just beginning to recognise.

Some I’d walk with.

Some I’d only ever see over coffee or wine.

Some would disappear for days before unexpectedly turning up again.

And some would become a much bigger part of my Camino than I could possibly have known at the time.

But for now, I’d made it to Tineo.

Three days down. Ten to go.

And the part of the Camino I’d been both excited and slightly terrified about was getting very close.

The mountains were waiting.