Polka-Vita

Days 4–7: Tineo → Colinas de Arriba → Berducedo → Grandas de Salime → A Fonsagrada

[New here? Start with Part One →]

Three days into the Camino Primitivo, I’d already walked from Oviedo to Tineo, accumulated a growing collection of familiar faces and somehow acquired a Camino nickname – Roadrunner.

Apparently, I walked fast.

The next four days would take me properly into the mountains – through some of the most beautiful scenery of the entire Camino, across Los Hospitales, into weather I was absolutely not dressed for, down towards the spectacular Salime reservoir and, eventually, across the border from Asturias into Galicia.

This was also the point where I started to understand why people describe the Camino Primitivo as the most difficult.

Some days were beautiful.

One was brutal.

And somewhere along the way, all those strangers I kept passing started becoming my Camino family.

Day 4 — Tineo to Colinas de Arriba
Distance: 21.23 km
Elevation gain: 595 m
Moving time: 4:23:48

Day Four started with a chocolate croissant, coffee and orange juice in Tineo.

Charlotte and Adam were already at breakfast, Gary eventually joined us, and there was plenty of discussion about where everybody was heading that day.

A lot of people were stopping in Borres.

I was continuing another five kilometres or so to Colinas de Arriba.

There had been some talk of setting off together, but eventually I was ready and nobody else appeared to be.

So off I went.

Into the clouds

The walk out of Tineo was beautiful.

The route climbed almost immediately, with low clouds sitting around the mountains and buildings below. As the sun came up, the path seemed to lead directly towards them.

There were stretches of open countryside followed by woodland, and after the previous few days, my legs were beginning to settle into Camino life.

I stopped at a little village café along the way – I believe this was Campiello – for the obligatory café con leche and to replenish my extremely sophisticated hiking nutrition.

Cheetos.

Milka chocolate.

Excellent.

It was there that I met Mikołaj, another solo Polish pilgrim. Earlier on the Camino I’d also met a Polish couple after overhearing them speaking Polish, so apparently northern Spain was becoming unexpectedly Polish.

Not long afterwards, Gary arrived with Chris, Gogo, Vir and some of the Spanish crew.

After me.

Roadrunner reputation intact.

Which brings me to something I hadn’t explained in Part One.

How I became Roadrunner

The nickname had actually appeared the previous evening in Tineo.

I was heading back out to meet everyone for drinks when I stopped to chat with Andrew and Karim in the basement of our enormous albergue.

Andrew commented on how ridiculously quickly I walked.

Like the Road Runner.

I stared at him blankly.

I’d grown up watching the cartoon in Poland, where I knew the character as Struś Pędziwiatr.

One quick Google search later: Ohhhh. THAT Road Runner.

And that was it.

The name stuck.

The Three Musketeers reappear

Approaching Borres, I spotted a building with a terrace and umbrellas.

Naturally, my first thought was: café con leche.

Then I heard a familiar voice.

The Three Musketeers.

They were sitting outside having a beer and greeted me with an enthusiastic: “PATTY!”

Coffee temporarily forgotten, I stopped to catch up before continuing the final few kilometres to Colinas.

Somewhere after Borres, I’d also reached one of the important splits on the Primitivo. One way pointed towards Los Hospitales, the high mountain route I’d heard so much about, the other continued towards Pola de Allande.

My stop for the night was in Colinas de Arriba, which meant following the lower route for now. From there, I’d be able to climb back up the following morning and join the route towards Los Hospitales – weather permitting.

If the conditions weren’t on my side, I could simply continue along the lower route towards Pola instead.

Either way that was a decision for tomorrow.

Una mesa, por favor

The albergue in Colinas de Arriba had an absolutely beautiful mountain view.

There was just one minor issue when I arrived.

I walked in and confidently announced: “Hola, tengo una reserva para una mesa.”

A table.

I had reserved a table.

What I was actually trying to say was: “Una cama.”

A bed.

Thankfully, everybody laughed, I corrected myself and established that if there were no beds available, presumably I could just sleep on my reserved table.

There was a bed.

Bottom bunk too.

Success.

After showering, I sat outside with another café con leche, taking in the view.

Pauline and Roxana eventually arrived, followed later by two quiet Ukrainian women who were sharing our six-bed room.

The Swedish woman already staying there was apparently walking distances that made the rest of us look like amateurs.

Dinner that evening was enormous.

And while we ate, one topic dominated conversation.

Los Hospitales.

The famous high-mountain alternative was waiting for us the following morning.

The name itself comes from the old hospitales, or pilgrim refuges, that once stood along this remote mountain route. In medieval times, these weren’t hospitals in the modern sense, but places of shelter and care for travellers crossing the exposed mountains – particularly important for pilgrims who were sick, injured or simply caught out by the weather. The ruins of several of them still remain along the route today, a reminder that pilgrims had been making this difficult crossing centuries before us.

The weather forecast looked reasonably good.

No significant rain.

So the decision was made.

We were doing it.

Day Four had been sunshine, mountain views, familiar faces, questionable hiking snacks and accidentally reserving restaurant furniture instead of accommodation.

A lovely day.

Tomorrow?

Tomorrow was Los Hospitales.

Day 5 — Colinas de Arriba to Berducedo
Distance: 21.19 km
Elevation gain: 855 m
Moving time: 4:50:46

When I woke up, the Swedish woman had already disappeared.

I hadn’t heard a thing.

Considering we were sleeping in the same six-bed room, I took this as confirmation that my blackout eye mask and proper earplugs had been excellent Camino purchases.

Both would firmly make my future Camino packing list.

Pauline, Roxana and I ate breakfast together and looked outside.

No rain.

Forecast?

No rain.

Excellent.

Los Hospitales it was.

The day before, I’d followed the lower route towards Colinas, knowing that if the weather behaved, I could climb back up from the albergue and join the route towards Los Hospitales. Thankfully, it had.

The path was right there, practically outside the albergue, pointing towards Berducedo via Los Hospitales.

And perhaps slightly less importantly , I was also feeling pretty pleased with my Camino outfit that morning – right down to my still remarkably white trainers.

Remember those trainers.

Up we go

The climbing started almost immediately.

And this was where I became particularly grateful for another last-minute purchase I’d made in Oviedo: walking poles.

I’d completed the Camino Portugués without them, but the Primitivo was a completely different beast.

Those poles earned their place in my backpack several times over that morning.

The higher we climbed, the better the views became.

For a while, everything was perfect.

Then we walked into a cloud.

Literally.

The views disappeared.

The temperature dropped.

The wind picked up.

Everything became damp.

I had long sleeves, leggings and a lightweight jacket.

What I did not have were gloves.

My sophisticated solution was pulling my sleeves over my hands while gripping my walking poles.

I’d heard about the wild horses on Los Hospitales and had imagined seeing them roaming across the mountains.

Instead, I could barely see the path.

It was eerie, freezing and strangely peaceful.

Roadrunner mode

Everyone gradually became scattered.

The two Ukrainian women appeared at different points ahead of us.

Then Adam somehow materialised despite having stayed several kilometres behind us in Borres the previous night.

He overtook us, briefly reappeared when the fog made the yellow arrows difficult to spot, and disappeared again.

Eventually I stopped worrying about staying together.

I was cold.

My brain had one instruction: keep moving.

So I did.

And Roadrunner gradually left Pauline and Roxana behind.

Somewhere along the mountain I passed Paulina, who was walking with Alex.

Paulina was wearing the most magnificent full-length rain poncho I’d ever seen.

It covered her.

Her backpack.

Everything.

I looked at it enviously.

This would become relevant very shortly.

A mirage in the mountains

Eventually, through the fog, something appeared.

A van. Tables. People. Coffee.

After hours of cloud and mountain, the little food truck felt like a mirage.

I wrapped my hands around a hot glass of coffee and stood there enjoying the warmth.

Other pilgrims started putting their ponchos on.

I considered mine.

Technically, it wasn’t really raining.

I’ll be fine.

I didn’t put it on.

Let me reiterate: I WAS NOT FINE!

The Lady in the Yellow Poncho

Almost immediately after leaving the food truck and beginning the descent, the heavens opened.

Proper rain.

Heavy rain.

I needed my poncho.

Unfortunately, I’d never actually tried putting it over myself and my enormous backpack.

Useful information to have discovered before standing on the side of a mountain in pouring rain.

I couldn’t get it over the pack.

My backpack cover was, helpfully, somewhere inside the backpack.

I was cold, getting wetter and becoming increasingly overwhelmed.

Then a woman appeared.

She was wearing a yellow poncho.

I asked for help.

Without any fuss, she stopped, pulled my poncho over my backpack and continued on her way.

I never learnt her name.

I would see her again later on the Camino.

But to me, she will forever be: The Lady in the Yellow Poncho.

Absolute legend.

Down the mountain

The descent was beautiful and completely miserable at the same time.

Low cloud hung over vivid green mountains.

The rain became heavier.

The Camino left a perfectly sensible road and sent me through a completely saturated field.

Squelch. Squelch. Squelch.

Remember the white trainers I’d chosen because the forecast looked fine?

Excellent choice, Patty.

Then came the cows.

Including calves.

I wasn’t frightened of them, but I also had no desire to startle a protective mother while dressed as a giant backpack-shaped poncho creature.

Thankfully, everyone remained calm and I escaped without creating an international bovine incident.

Further down, I came across a familiar older member of the Spanish crew – I’m fairly certain his name was Alejandro.

I’d actually seen him before the Camino even started, sitting across the aisle from me on the train from Madrid to Oviedo.

He’d taken the lower route via Pola de Allande and was walking with an umbrella.

An umbrella.

Looking at the state of myself underneath my poncho, all I could think was: Fair play.

When I told him I’d crossed Los Hospitales, his reaction was essentially: In THIS weather?

Well.

At least I’d done it.

Could I actually see most of Los Hospitales?

No.

But I’d walked it.

Please have a bed

By the time I reached Berducedo, I was soaked, cold and completely ready to stop.

There was just one problem.

I didn’t have a confirmed bed.

The first albergue was full.

Naturally, Adam was already there.

Thankfully, another albergue further along had space.

Top bunk. Didn’t care. Bed secured. Walking finished.

My previously white trainers were soaked and filthy and had absolutely no chance of drying overnight.

This is exactly why I always take two pairs of walking shoes on a Camino.

Another future packing-list essential.

My evening outfit?

Long trousers. Socks. Flip-flops.

Camino couture.

I hung my wet poncho over the leg of an upside-down chair.

Then other arriving pilgrims started doing the same.

Influencer. Trendsetter. You’re welcome, Berducedo.

Everyone made it

Familiar faces gradually arrived, all wearing essentially the same expression: Thank God that’s over.

Martin appeared.

Pauline and Roxane eventually arrived.

Gary and his entourage had apparently booked themselves a private room together – practically a Camino suite while I was living the top-bunk lifestyle.

Gary and I had a pilgrim’s lunch, and afterwards I found a little supermarket and replenished my extremely important chocolate reserves.

By that evening, I wanted nothing more than sleep.

Los Hospitales wasn’t necessarily the hardest day I would experience on the Camino Primitivo.

But it was the first properly hard one.

I’d imagined enormous mountain views and wild horses.

Instead, I’d climbed into a cloud, walked through freezing wind and fog, descended in torrential rain, fought with a poncho, squelched through fields and negotiated my way around cows.

But I’d done it.

I’d made it to Berducedo.

And after 21 kilometres and 855 metres of elevation gain, I was warm, fed and horizontal.

That was more than enough.

Day 6 — Berducedo to Grandas de Salime
Distance: 21.33 km
Elevation gain: 676 m
Moving time: 4:38:05

After Hospitales, Day Six felt like a reward.

I was one of the first out of the albergue that morning and walked the short distance to La Mesa, where I found exactly what I needed: scrambled eggs.

I don’t know what Spain was doing to these eggs, but they tasted incredible.

While eating breakfast, I spotted some bocadillos ready to take away. One looked particularly good, so in a rare moment of Camino forward planning, I bought it for lunch.

Future Patty would be grateful.

Above the clouds

The morning was beautiful.

We were still high in the mountains, and at one point clouds sat below the trail.

After spending the previous day inside one, looking down at them was considerably more enjoyable.

As I descended, the landscape became increasingly colourful.

Wildflowers. Vivid greens. Mountains.

Everywhere I looked, I wanted a photograph.

Walk. Photograph. Walk. Photograph.

This was quickly becoming one of my favourite days purely for the scenery.

Then, far below, I started to make out water.

The Salime reservoir.

And eventually, the dam.

A very long way down

The trail zigzagged down the mountainside towards the reservoir, gradually revealing more of the water and surrounding mountains.

Then somebody came flying past me.

Lee.

Running.

Not power-walking.

Not Roadrunner walking.

Actually running down a narrow dirt trail on the side of a mountain.

Apparently Roadrunner had been defeated.

I continued at a slightly more sensible speed.

Eventually I reached the bottom and walked towards the dam.

There was a viewpoint where I stopped for photographs before actually walking across it.

After seeing it from so far above, standing on it was slightly surreal.

There was just one glaring omission.

A café.

Surely somebody could put a coffee van here?

Café con leche. Cold drinks. Snacks.

Exhausted pilgrims.

Business opportunity.

You’re welcome.

Could it be?

After crossing the dam, naturally, the Camino started climbing again.

Then I saw something.

A building. A terrace. Umbrellas.

Could it be?

People sitting outside.

YES.

Civilisation.

More importantly:

Café con leche.

It was a hotel, and I happily claimed a table on the terrace.

Coffee. Coke with ice and lemon. Spectacular view.

I recognised an American couple I’d crossed paths with previously who’d started walking the Camino del Norte from Irún around three weeks earlier.

They were actually staying there that night.

I, meanwhile, sat in the sunshine and enjoyed doing absolutely nothing for a while.

As I was leaving, two Danish guys I’d briefly encountered previously arrived – another pair of faces that would become increasingly familiar.

Then Roadrunner continued.

Maybe don’t follow every arrow

The road walking towards Grandas de Salime was gorgeous.

After days of mud and mountain trails, a straightforward road felt almost luxurious.

Then a yellow arrow told me to leave that perfectly good road and climb through the woods.

So I did.

Eventually, the path deposited me essentially where continuing along the road would have taken me anyway.

Right.

This was something I would gradually learn.

Sometimes the official Camino path takes you somewhere wonderful.

And sometimes you’re six days into walking across Spain and your legs don’t particularly need the bonus hill.

Noted.

Grandas de Salime

I reached Grandas first.

Obviously.

Roadrunner strikes again.

My bottom-bunk luck had disappeared, but I had a bed and that was all that mattered.

After showering, I took the bocadillo I’d bought that morning and sat on a little bench opposite the albergue while pilgrims slowly began arriving.

Morning Patty had done Afternoon Patty a favour.

Whilst sitting outside, I spotted Cornelius heading out in search of a drink and joined him.

Pauline appeared.

Gary and his entourage followed.

The Danish boys arrived.

The Georgia crew started appearing.

Our little table gradually became a Camino reunion.

I ordered red wine.

At around €2 a glass, it would have been rude not to.

Then another appeared.

Possibly another.

I’m still not entirely sure who kept supplying them.

Everyone else seemed to be drinking beer or lager while I appointed myself resident wine drinker.

Which is particularly funny because I barely drink.

By Day Six, I was beginning to suspect I’d consumed more alcohol during the Camino than during the entire year leading up to it.

At some point I returned to the albergue.

Why? No idea. We can blame the €2 wine.

I eventually reappeared because practically everybody was heading next door for a pilgrim’s dinner.

Less than a week earlier, most of these people had been strangers.

Now I knew their backpacks, their walking speeds, where they’d slept and who I’d inevitably bump into at the next café.

That was becoming one of my favourite things about the Camino.

You could walk alone all day without ever really feeling alone.

Eventually, though, Roadrunner needed sleep.

I left while others were still chatting and drinking.

Another long day was waiting.

Day 7 — Grandas de Salime to A Fonsagrada
Distance: 26.02 km
Elevation gain: 835 m
Moving time: 5:23:07

Day Seven began with yet another spectacular Spanish egg experience.

The restaurant where we’d eaten the previous night was open for breakfast, and I ordered scrambled eggs on toast with bacon.

Incredible.

Gary and I had agreed to walk together that morning, so I waited for him while I ate. He was running a little late, but I wasn’t exactly complaining – I had breakfast in front of me.

Eventually he appeared and explained the delay. He’d set off, realised he’d left his walking stick, Pepe, back at the albergue, and had to turn back to retrieve it.

Pepe safely reunited with his owner, we were finally off.

Goodbye Asturias

It was another beautiful morning.

Gary and I walked and talked – or perhaps more accurately, I walked and yapped – until our path eventually converged with Pauline and Roxana.

Then the four of us reached something significant.

The border between Asturias and Galicia.

We stopped for photographs before officially walking into Galicia.

Almost immediately, the Camino markers changed.

Now they showed the remaining kilometres to Santiago.

Suddenly, the finish line had a number attached to it.

We were around halfway.

Crazy.

But crossing into Galicia also felt slightly sad.

I loved Asturias.

As the landscape gradually flattened, I kept looking backwards at the mountains disappearing behind me.

Somewhere amongst them was Los Hospitales.

I’d actually walked across those mountains.

Looking at them from a distance, that seemed completely absurd.

I was up there? Apparently so.

Welcome to Galicia

Shortly after crossing the border, Gary and I found another little café with a spectacular view.

Obviously, we stopped.

Coffee. Cake – possibly Tarta de Santiago. And passion-fruit Nestea.

Whether this was the first time I’d tried it or not, I can’t remember.

What I do remember is thinking it was elite.

Gary took some photos of me overlooking the scenery before deciding to stay a little longer, possibly waiting for the rest of his crew.

I’d eaten. I’d rested. I’d used the bathroom. I’d admired the view.

Roadrunner was ready.

So I continued alone.

I have to get up THERE?

For the rest of the day, I barely saw anybody apart from the older couple with the tiny daypacks I’d repeatedly crossed paths with.

It was warm, sunny and peaceful.

Then A Fonsagrada appeared in the distance.

Excellent.

Except it was sitting ridiculously high above me.

My remaining distance said I was nearly there.

My eyes said otherwise.

The final stretch was essentially one enormous climb.

After more than 25 kilometres, the path seemed to go:

Up. And up. And up.

Parts felt almost stair-like.

A Fonsagrada was tantalisingly close.

It just happened to be above my head.

Clouds started gathering as I climbed.

I kept going.

One final hurdle.

And eventually I reached the road at the top.

The views were spectacular.

My albergue was only a few hundred metres away.

And once again… I was first.

Roadrunner beats the rain

Being first paid off.

Bottom bunk.

Claimed.

There appeared to be only a couple of showers in the women’s bathroom, so I immediately got myself into one before the albergue filled up.

Bed secured.

Shower done.

And then?

The heavens opened.

The rain absolutely hammered down.

Other pilgrims were still arriving, which meant tackling that final horrible climb in the rain.

For once, Roadrunner hadn’t merely earned herself a nickname.

She’d beaten the weather.

Pauline arrived not long afterwards and was staying in my room.

Naturally, we immediately discussed the height of Camino luxury: laundry.

We combined our clothes into one load, started the machine and went in search of a drink while we waited.

Beer for Pauline. Wine for me. Of course.

We sat talking about her children, our families and life in general.

It was one of those lovely, ordinary conversations where I realised these people weren’t simply familiar pilgrims anymore.

I was actually getting to know them.

Supermarket sweep

On our way back to check the laundry, Pauline and I stopped at the supermarket near the albergue.

The albergue had a really good kitchen, and I was becoming increasingly conscious that eating every meal in cafés and restaurants could quickly become expensive.

So I stocked up.

A microwave dinner, a baguette, some ham, cheese, tomatoes, yoghurt, fruit and more snacks. Obviously.

Back at the albergue: clean clothes.

Absolute luxury.

Pauline later headed back out to find some of the others for some dinner or drinks.

I decided to stay in.

I’d walked 26 kilometres.

I’d socialised.

I’d had my wine.

I was done.

The sandwich operation

After heating my mystery microwave dinner – no idea what it actually was, but I remember it being surprisingly good – I started preparing food for the following day.

I split my enormous baguette and made two equally enormous ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches.

The Texas crew were in the kitchen and immediately noticed my operation.

There were comments.

There was admiration.

Potential sandwich envy.

They offered me a drink.

For once, I declined.

I had sandwiches to make.

Eventually I found some foil, wrapped everything up and looked at my supplies.

Two enormous sandwiches. Snacks. Fruit. Yoghurt. Clean clothes. Backpack ready.

Roadrunner was prepared.

Or so I thought.

Halfway there

I turned in early while some of the others stayed out.

Seven walking days completed.

Asturias behind me and Galicia ahead.

My laundry was clean.

My food was prepared.

And, perhaps most importantly, I had a bottom bunk.

Life was good.

Day Seven had been long – 26 kilometres and 835 metres of elevation gain – but compared with Los Hospitales, it had felt relatively kind.

I’d crossed into Galicia.

Walked for hours in the sunshine.

Beaten the rain into A Fonsagrada.

And climbed into bed feeling reasonably prepared for whatever the Camino wanted to throw at me next.

There was just one problem.

I had absolutely no idea what was coming.

Because if Day Seven had been warm, beautiful and relatively kind…

Day Eight was about to be the complete opposite.

And I was not prepared.