To give you an idea of how large the Pazo de Lestrove rooms are, you could fit in it two of the Guarda hotel rooms (the Euro-chic rooms). Pazo’s, which are former ‘palaces’, was Spain’s answer to building an infrastructure of well-appointed hotels along the Camino. They recognized that there is a group of pilgrims, like us seniors, who would shy away from the albergue. There is no question the albergues provide a more economical and genuine Camino experience. We felt bad about missing all of that, but we accepted the guilty conscience to that of physical pain. At a certain age, you make compromises. This one is.

The Pazo was a very relaxing setting, the perfect place after an arduous walk. A swimming pool for guests was inviting (we didn’t bring swim gear). We preferred strolling around the peaceful garden and sitting on the benches to soak in the afternoon sun. At the rear patio, we chance upon an Australian couple and shared experiences in Australia where we lived for a while. There was much chatter and laughter when from the window above, a head pokes out and a loud gruff male voice in English, said, “Do you mind keeping it down?” All we could do was giggle and put our fingers to quiet our lips. Dinner was more cordial. The tables were full, and some couples who came late had to wait. The Spanish group was there, loud as usual. The Chinese were there chatty as ever. It was not a gourmet dinner, but it was better than any we have had at a Camino hotel, especially the caldos gallego (a better rendition than the Pontevedra version), and Pat’s salmon wrapped in bacon; topped with flan.

A mother and daughter, who sat at the table behind us, ordered paella. We were done with our first course before they got their paella dish. Pat is familiar with paella cooking. We could have told them it was going to be a long wait.

Breakfast was the usual fare, but the espresso was good. I went for two servings. We checked ourselves out, deposited our suitcases for transfer to Teo, and thanked the concierge. On the way out, she warned us—” If you’re going to Santiago, beware of pickpockets!” I found it odd she should say that. Until now, we have found no reason to be extra careful with our pocketbooks.

Instead of stopping at Teo, were we more energetic, continuing on to Santiago, another 14 km, would have been doable. But after 211 km on the Camino, we felt growing exhaustion. Encountering rain in Baiona; battling downpours, and slogging uphill, slowly sapped our endurance. Skipping Teo would avoid the predicted rain storm in Compostela. Only the excitement of being so close to our goal encouraged fortitude and perseverance. Teo would give us a good night’s rest and the energy to propel us to our final destination. We elected to follow the original plan at Teo and worry about the consequences the next day.

Compared to previous routes, the trail to Teo was easy. Wooded areas and farmland interspersed between towns. In one town, we stop at a cafe for espresso and juice, and of course, the restroom. Pilgrims came and went. The server made sure they bought something before pointing out the restroom. We finished our drinks; I left a Euro on the saucer for tips. When the server cleared the table, he pointed out that perhaps I had forgotten some money on the saucer. No, I said, that’s for your service. Looking a bit embarrassed, he said thank you. In smaller towns, the shops are not tip-conscious yet. On the way out, I noticed an interesting poster behind the counter. It had a drawing of a woman in a rural costume with Galician’s text printed over it. The bold letters read: “A Rianxeria”

I ask the bartender what the poem was about. Being a musician, I was always curious about such things. He said it’s the lyrics of a popular song. I exclaimed can you sing it? He said no. But the wife began singing a tune, then caught herself and became shy. No amount of coaxing could I get her to sing again. The husband instead offered to show me a YouTube recording. He said something like a popular hymn to the Virgin of Guadalupe. I took a picture to record the link for future lookups. Just like the singing grape workers at Caldas de Reis, the Galicians seem eager to share their culture at every opportunity. Is it because the more sophisticated Southern Castilian Spain has looked down on them? They remind me of Filipinos, always proud to share what little they have.

After leaving Padron proper, and its cobblestones, we leave the N550 and trek across mostly farmland and lush bosques. Mostly, unless on the highway tarmac, the trail was shady.

We exit the forest, which actually was at the edge of a park, to join N550 again. A cafe was convenient at this point and it was time for an espresso and juice, and of course, the restroom. The cafe had some souvenirs. I bought a couple of Portuguese pins for future giveaway gifts, then continued on toward our lodgings, the Parada de Francos. Before the Parada, according to our guidebook, is a chapel compound with one of the oldest crosses in Spain, built in the 14th century. The cross marks the ancient pilgrimage route to Santiago. Conveniently, our lodgings, the Parada itself, is on the Camino route of Rua Franco, the main road to Compostela. It spared us the difficulty of having to look for it.

The first thing we noticed when we got to our room was the sign:

PLEASE DO NOT DRY YOUR CLOTHES ON THE WINDOW.

We guess they had a reputation to maintain. We were desperate for fresh clothes and were expecting rain the next day. The concierge was actually in the other building, which was also the restaurant. I asked if there was a self-service laundry. No, he said, but for a few Euros, we can have it washed. On the same day, he added. Perfect. One problem is solved. The next problem was getting lunch. Lucky for us, the kitchen was still open. We both had chicken asado and french fries. Of course, my espresso. All we need to do now was to relax and prepare for dinner. Outside, we saw the Australian couple we met at the Pazo in Padron. They were waiting for a taxi to take them to Santiago. We asked why; Santiago was so near. They just wanted to check it out, they said.

We saw the couple again at dinner, looking disappointed. They got to Santiago, but no taxi would take them back to Teo. Taxis often refuse a one-way trip. In the end, they walked back to Teo, just in time for dinner. “Man,” he said, “there are hills all around.” Forewarned, we look forward to a gourmet dinner to be ready for tomorrow. Our restaurant was Michelin rated, or so it said on the wall. It seemed a bit out of the way from Santiago, the nearest big city. Our doubts disappeared when our menu was served—beef, stewed in wine, caesar salad with goat cheese, grilled sole fish, crème caramel, and Sidra.

We thought it would be a peaceful night. But thunder rumbled throughout the night. My slumber was fitful. Pat didn’t get a good rest either. The next morning, our breakfast was solid, at least. We felt confident we can tackle the final leg of this Camino. If only the rain would let up.