Day 7 looked and felt like Day 6. Arzua felt no more interesting in the morning than it did in the evening, and the prospect of walking felt more like a chore than a pleasure, but if that was the price I had to pay for my gorgeous weather and breathtaking views walking up to O Cebreiro, I was happy to pay it.
We took our time packing and organising our stuff – odd that with so few things to pack, and after so many days of packing them, positioning your things in your pack is still a work in progress. Then we found a café and took our time having breakfast. Nothing was urgent today. We just had to get from Arzua to O Pedrouzo, slowly and surely, and with some luck the sun would come out or at least the rain stay off.
It turned out to be an uneventful, two-photo day, and these are them:
Our room in O Pedrouzo was at the far end of the small town, but it was big, we had our own bathroom (unlike the others on our floor, who shared one), and the bar downstairs was run by a lovely young lady who treated us like royalty and served up lovely food and drink. We never actually left the building to see the rest of the town, but we knew from an earlier visit how the bars would be buzzing with the odd mix of elation and expectation before the last day’s walk into Santiago, and reluctance and sadness at the approaching end of an adventure. In one way I wish I had that buzz still, or again, but not having it (or not as strongly) doesn’t mean I have become immune to the thrill of the last day. As we sat in an otherwise empty bar we drank a toast to seeing Santiago again, not for the first and hopefully not for the last time.