From Triacastela to Barbadelo

 

 

 

At 6:30, we leave the hostel, and before exiting Triacastela, we have to decide which route to follow: once again, The Way offers two alternative paths.

The first is more direct but involves climbs and descents; the second, flatter and extending the journey by a full five kilometres, has the advantage of passing through Samos, home to the unmissable Benedictine monastery.

Even Giulia, who continued to Samos yesterday afternoon, confirmed through messages and photos that the religious building is truly worth visiting.

Rocco and Amandine agree with me, choosing the longer route through Samos, while Giovanna prefers to take the shorter path.

Thus, the group I am walking with changes once more, losing another member.

Yesterday morning, we were five, while twenty-four hours later, we are down to three.

The “fluidity” of the groups once again demonstrates the absolute freedom each person can carve out according to their own wishes, while still sharing parts of The Way with other pilgrims.

 

Compared to yesterday, the weather conditions remain practically the same, although, for now, it has not started drizzling yet.

By now, we hardly notice the gloomy weather anymore; in fact, we consider ourselves fortunate. Without persistent sunshine and high temperatures, we don’t have to deal with sweating, loss of minerals, possible dehydration, and all the cascading issues that may follow.

 

Our goal for today is to reach Barbadelo; however, we might decide to stop in Sarria, which is five kilometres earlier.

As usual, this is a decision we will make along the way.

 

After Triacastela, the first three kilometres we cover run alongside the main road.

Just before reaching the village of San Cristobo do Real, the path leaves the tarmac and continues along dirt tracks, winding through dense woods.

The landscape, typical of Galicia—evergreen and lush—changes constantly, kilometre after kilometre.

Chestnut and oak trees thrive in this humid environment, crossed by the Río Oribio.

As we progress, we see several rural stone houses, some rather dilapidated.

Clusters of a few buildings form tiny settlements, which may no longer even be inhabited, as we often see no sign of life.

And then there are the small churches, surrounded by cemeteries that exude a unique charm—both sombre and evocative.

Among the many we encounter, the Igrexa de San Martiño do Real stands out, located in the village of the same name.

The church, built in rural Romanesque style, differs externally from others due to its smooth white walls, devoid of any decoration, and its slate roof, typical of the region.

 

As we pass through San Martiño do Real, it is half-past eight, and we are just over a kilometre away from Samos.

It is along this short stretch that I spot, in the distance, the silhouette of a solitary pilgrim who looks familiar.

As I get closer, my suspicion turns into certainty—it is Judith, the friendly Madrilenian I met in Pamplona, who practises oriental disciplines.

It has been quite some time since we last saw each other, and it is a great pleasure to meet again while walking through these solitary woods.

Although I may have interrupted her meditation, we continue together, eagerly sharing stories about our recent experiences.

 

It is 8:45 when we arrive at the entrance to Samos.

As we enter the village, we see the Benedictine monastery dedicated to Saint Julian from above.

Even from here, it appears highly impressive.

The structure is enormous and almost wedged between four tall, forest-covered mountains.

From the monastery, the view outward is limited by the surrounding hills. For this reason, it is said—only the stars above can see the monastery, while those inside can admire only Heaven—interpreted as “Paradise.”

The first construction of the monastery dates back to the 6th century. However, over time, it has been modified several times, so that today the structure features three different architectural styles: Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque. Very few Romanesque elements remain.

Built with slate slabs, the exterior appears austere, while the interior reveals nobility and elegance, highlighted by its granite cloisters.

The Monasterio de San Julián de Samos, in addition to being one of the largest in Europe, is also the oldest inhabited monastery in Spain—a holy and venerable place.

Just like in the past, even today, the Benedictine monks welcome pilgrims travelling to Santiago de Compostela.

Inside the monastery, there is an “albergue” with about seventy beds arranged in a single dormitory.

True to monastic tradition, the accommodation is very spartan, with minimal comforts, such as no heating.

 

In the centre of the village, we gain a new perspective of the monastery, which is no less impressive than the one seen from above.

Wide green meadows, the Río Sarria flowing nearby, and a small bridge crossing the calm waters frame the massive monastic structure, creating a postcard-perfect image.

 

The peace and tranquillity of the place encourage us to take a long break. After visiting the beautiful monastery, we settle into a café for a bite to eat and a chat.

When we leave, we bid farewell to Judith, who stays behind to write in her diary and likely reflect on her journey.

 

It is about ten o’clock as we leave Samos. The last square we cross celebrates The Way of Saint James with various statues of pilgrims walking.

 

We follow the Río Sarria, and soon after leaving the village, we are once again engulfed by Galicia’s lush forests.

After Samos, a relatively large town with about 1,300 residents, the other villages we encounter are small and run-down, much like the many we have already passed along The Way.

When the woods give way to wide clearings, the scenery shifts to rural life, featuring small farms and grazing cattle.

Here, animals live freely, without the restrictions of intensive farming, where they are treated like “machines” for milk production.

 

These scenes from another time feel unusual to us city dwellers, accustomed to the metropolitan routines of the 21st century.

Historically, much attention has been given to great battles, political manoeuvres, rulers, revolutionaries, castles, and noble residences, often neglecting to tell the stories of ordinary people's lives and the daily struggles they faced to survive.

Walking through these places feels like flipping through a book never read before—travelling back in time and learning history through stories that rise from below, from the simple episodes of everyday life.

 

The alternative route we took after Triacastela, which led us through the monastery in Samos, reconnects with the original French Way at Aguiada. The original route, in contrast, passes through the valley of San Xil.

From Aguiada onwards, The Way continues along a single path all the way to Santiago de Compostela, sparing pilgrims from having to make further route decisions.

 

It is 13:30 when we finally enter Sarria.

 

We are welcomed by large, colourful murals, all themed around The Way of Saint James.

One mural features a cheerful pilgrim with a big, friendly face, a wide-brimmed hat, and a long, thick white beard—the stereotype of a traveller from another era.

As luck would have it, just then, an American pilgrim, whom I’ve met several times along The Way, walks by.

He is the spitting image of the character in the mural—the same apparent age, the same facial features, beard, and hat.

– They’re like two peas in a pod! –

Given the coincidence, I can’t resist asking him to pose next to the mural for a unique “double” photo.

 

Sarria is a large town with over 13,000 inhabitants, spread across an area of nearly 200 square kilometres.

Its distance from Santiago de Compostela is just 112 kilometres.

This is where many pilgrims start their journey, aiming to complete the final “hundred kilometres” of The Way of Saint James.

 

The streets are filled with pilgrims. Many have just arrived in town from their hometowns and can’t wait to begin their “adventure.”

You can spot them easily—their clean, new trainers, gym-like outfits, small backpacks, and fresh, rested faces; some women even have light makeup on.

There are also pre-arranged groups of friends or even groups organised by travel agencies.

– It’s like seeing groups of excited teenagers on a school trip. –

I make no judgments about others’ choices or circumstances, but let me say there is a noticeable difference between those who start The Way of Saint James here and those who began 28 days ago in France, having already walked 630 kilometres, facing every challenge step by step.

In Santiago de Compostela, both those who have walked 100 kilometres and those who have covered more than 750 kilometres will receive the same Compostela—a certificate issued by the Church authorities verifying the completion of The Way.

Of course, it’s not a competition, and there are no prizes, but those starting from Sarria and claiming to have walked The Way should remember to add three words clarifying their experience: “last - hundred - kilometres.”

 

***

For us, one possible option today is to spend the night here in Sarria.

Amandine prefers to stop, as her blisters continue to bother her. Meanwhile, Rocco and I resist the temptation to rest and decide to keep walking to reach the next village.

Once again, the group thins out, leaving just the two of us.

 

Once out of Sarria, we find ourselves once more surrounded by Galicia’s lush, pastoral landscapes.

 

We complete the final four kilometres of today’s stage in less than an hour, reaching Barbadelo around 15:00.

 

Today’s route was slightly longer than our daily average due to the detour through the monastery in Samos.

The journey was beautiful, with a fairly flat profile and no major difficulties.

Looking back, I can say it was absolutely worth taking the alternative route.

 

Finally, my leg pains are gone, and I’ve regained my usual walking pace.

The days of suffering are now behind me, leaving a “scar” I carry proudly.

I’m well aware that physical scars, earned through acts of courage, carry a different significance; however, this intangible and indelible mark in my memories of The Way has a special value. It will always remind me that—With determination and the will to try, success is possible… even when it feels like all is lost.

 

***

We stay at Casa Barbadelo, a newly built private guesthouse.

The total capacity is just 23 beds, and the rooms are modern, clean, and equipped with good facilities.

There’s also a bar-restaurant and a small swimming pool, though we have no use for it, given the cool temperatures and lack of sunshine.

 

The rain, absent all day, arrives just as we settle outside for a snack, forcing us to dash inside the bar.

 

By late afternoon, the rain stops, and it’s time for Rocco and me to explore Barbadelo.

Once again, we find ourselves in what is practically open countryside, with only a few scattered farmhouses surrounded by small plots of land.

In this area, the crops are mostly vegetables, unlike the vast cereal fields and vineyards with long rows that characterised the provinces we crossed earlier.

 

Doña Elvira is an elderly farmer who gives us a tour of her small farm, proudly showing us everything—from animals to crops—while explaining the processes behind producing their goods.

Joining us are Alexandra and Mauricio from Medellín, Colombia, and Roberto from Madrid—friendly young pilgrims we’ve met several times along the way.

The visit offers another chance to experience a slice of rural life, reminiscent of ancient times.

We linger at the farm for a while, as the charming farmer shows no sign of hurrying and enjoys our company.

Eventually, her husband arrives home after a day’s work in the fields. He, too, is happy to meet us and share stories about their world.

We find them both exceptional—sharp-minded and energetic in their work, truly admirable, especially considering their age.

Judging by appearances, I’d estimate they are around eighty years old; yet, with their vigour, they could easily pass for twenty years younger.

 

Continuing our walk through Barbadelo’s countryside, we see farmers herding a group of Friesian cows from the pasture to the barn. It’s 19:30, and even though daylight lingers, it’s time for the cows to return “home” after a day spent outdoors.

 

Finally, we reach the small church in Barbadelo, dedicated to Saint James.

The current structure, dating back to the second half of the 12th century, was built where a monastery dependent on Samos once stood, which is why the church is still called “Mosteiro.”

It retains some of its Romanesque style, although its original apse was replaced with the current rectangular one in the 18th century.

The most distinctive feature is its square-based bell tower, set to one side of the façade.

The church interior is also notable for the tower’s curious architecture, occupying a corner of the nave. Its base features two arches that reduce its bulk while providing access to the bell tower via a stone staircase.

 

Inside the church, there is only the elderly priest, seated in a corner near the entrance.

The dim lighting makes it difficult to see him clearly, so I ask if it’s possible to turn on the lights.

He replies that I can switch them on myself, using the control located in the sacristy.

The lights brighten the church’s beautiful nave, especially highlighting the gold and other vibrant colours of the polychrome baroque altarpiece, where the most prominent figure is, once again, the Apostle James.

 

It’s eight o’clock when we sit down for dinner in the hostel’s small restaurant.

For the first course, I have an excellent lentil soup; next, a veal fillet with potatoes, and I finish with a slice of cheesecake.

As usual, the meal is accompanied by a bottle of fine Galician wine.

 

After dinner, fatigue and sleep once again take over, and so, even tonight, we head to bed before the sun has fully set.

© Aldo Lardizzone 2020

CREATIVE COMMONS