Speaking like a sheep,
I befriended a shepherd
with anti-Trump views.
Departed 8:30am 42°
From my notes:
Cold morning. Looks like rain.
Mind shift. Want to be in Santiago.
Going toward, not away from.
Right route, not going through Samos
Rain jacket off, fleece on, fleece off, rain jacket on.
Hills. Hills. Hills.
Slippery, steep downs through the forest.
Confused roosters crow at noon.
"Muy malo" Trump, said the shepherd.
Old man proud of his rows of potatoes.
Dirt path paralleling the road.
High hedge rows.
Through small villages with little of anything.
Home brew festival in full force.
Tree canopies over the path.
First sight of Sarria, still eight or 9 km away.
Roosters conversing at each end of the road.
I am not directionally impaired.
Random meeting, Jose, wife and friend.
Christina from Germany.
Glad to rest early.
Tomorrow, a bridge to cross.