Small Gestures, Wide Roads

Daily miles: 31.80 | Total miles: 14,329.55

I woke up well rested. Cold coffee, packing, and then some elevator comedy. As I tried to get out, I had to close a door, and when I let it go, the glass swung shut with a loud crash. Oh-oh. A kind woman came to see what had happened. I tried to explain with gestures, and when I gave her the key, she asked if I wasn’t having breakfast. I said no. She replied, “Venga conmigo.” I wasn’t sure if she meant it, but I followed her. She laid a tablecloth on a table and said, “Sentarse.”

I sat down, and a moment later she brought me a sandwich. I wanted to explain that I don’t eat meat, but I didn’t know how to say it, so I quietly took the bacon out and tucked it into a napkin. Then came a café con leche and a glass of orange juice. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything—her kindness felt so genuine. That simple gesture made my day. It’s incredible how cared for you can feel through small acts of kindness. I hugged her, kissed her, and set off.

The night before, I had called a place to book a room. The woman didn’t speak English, so I read out the Google translation in Spanish and booked it that way. So today I knew where I was headed, even if the exact route was still a bit uncertain. The morning was overcast, and the cool air felt refreshing. Only a mile and a half in, I stopped to take a photo in a field of poppies. A car pulled over—it was Ángel. Meeting someone with that name made my day twice over. He was enthusiastic about my run, told me about his own bicycle journey, wished me “suerte,” and off he went.

The poppies lined the road, but the sky stayed grey. It was still warm, and I put on my hat and sunglasses. The UV light can be deceptive on cloudy days. Soon I found myself officially on the Camino de Santiago. I’ve heard so much about it, and now I was running on parts of it. That felt special.

After about 12 miles, I reached Fraga. I stopped for a coffee, recharged my phone, and bought food in case I didn’t find anything later. I’m glad I did—those supplies ended up being dinner and part of tomorrow’s fuel. Leaving town, a steep climb began. I felt my legs and the heat. At the top, I stopped at a very small restaurant to buy water—wise move, as there weren’t any shops afterward. Inside, I met Amparo and her dog. On the wall hung Sunflowers, a painting that reminded me of mi casa.

The landscape opened up: wide fields, rolling hills, rabbits darting across the land, butterflies fluttering along my path. On the hill before Peñalba, I passed the iconic silhouette of the Toro de Osborne. Once a sherry advertisement, the signs were banned in 1994, but the bulls remain—watching over roadsides like guardians of the land.

Peñalba itself felt quiet and still, its traditional houses resting in calm silence. I called when I arrived, and Felicia came shortly after to let me in and show me around. Now the laundry is done, I’ve showered, eaten what I had, and I’m sitting here finishing this entry.

Small gestures, wide roads, quiet lessons. That was today. I’m grateful.

Thanks for checking in.

Hasta mañana, Andrea