Rain, Pastries, and Hidden Chapels
Adapted from Alison's diary entry: (as you can tell, she did the journaling)
This morning, I woke up to the gentle pitter-patter of rain on the window—a familiar soundtrack to this trip. “It’s Raining Again” (thank you, Supertramp) seems to be the anthem of the day. Lately, I’ve been assigning a song to each day to capture its mood, and it’s become a fun little ritual. The first day was “Follow the Yellow Arrow Road” (a Camino-inspired twist on a classic), yesterday was “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head,” and Monday was “Country Road, Take Me Home.” Music, it seems, is the perfect way to frame this adventure.
The day began with a small but delightful surprise: our washing, left outside our door, had been washed, dried, and neatly folded. Some places are just so civilized! No more late-night battles with the bathroom sink to scrub our clothes. The couple who own and run this farm stay are absolute gems—always smiling, always helpful, and seemingly unfazed by any request, even our laundry.
Our home for the night is Casa Blanco, a lovingly restored Galician farmhouse built in 1880. It’s the epitome of rustic charm, transformed into a cozy country hotel. The house is surrounded by sprawling grounds, and the gardens are not only beautiful but also practical, supplying fresh produce for the restaurant. It’s the kind of place that feels like it’s been plucked from a postcard—quaint, serene, and utterly picturesque.
After breakfast, we hopped out of the car at Casanova 61 and geared up for the day. Ponchos on (or so we thought). It’s become a bit of a comedy routine: Kim and I put on our ponchos, only to realize we forgot to put on our backpacks first. Off come the ponchos, on go the backpacks, and then we start over. Louise, ever the patient observer, just stands there shaking her head at our daily fumble.
Today’s walk was mostly flat, with gentle undulations that were barely noticeable—except for the steep descent to the river, which demanded a bit more attention. We paused for morning tea at a charming little spot, savoring a cup of tea and a slice of cake before braving the rain once more. Over the bridge and uphill we went, eventually reaching the town of Melide.
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| Ponte de Furelos |
Our hotel for the night is a spacious two-bedroom apartment, a welcome upgrade that feels like a little slice of luxury. After settling in, we ventured out for lunch at Manso Panaderia Pasteleria, a bakery that felt like a treasure trove of indulgence. Pastries were the order of the day, and oh, what pastries they were! Cream, custard, chocolate—each one a masterpiece of decadence. I opted for a tarta de manzana (apple tart) with no cream, and Louise’s pastry had an apricot perched atop the custard—so, you know, practically a health food. Kim, however, went all in, choosing one pastry filled with custard and another with chocolate mousse. No regrets here.
Back at the room, we showered and relaxed, and to our surprise, the sun made a brief appearance. Seizing the opportunity, I wandered down to Igrexa de Santa María de Melide, a church that’s supposedly open 24 hours. Today, however, it seemed to be an exception to the rule. On my way back, I spotted a sign for the Museo da Terra de Melide. Google assured me it was only two minutes away, but alas, it was closed—siesta hours strike again (2-5 pm, as it turns out).
Nearby, I stumbled upon a hidden gem: Capilla de San Antón, nestled in Pazo da Obra Pía. This little chapel isn’t on the usual tourist trail, but it’s a quiet treasure. The entire altar is intricately carved from wood, a stunning piece of craftsmanship that feels almost otherworldly. It’s impressive, really, for a place that seems to exist in its own quiet, forgotten corner of the world.
Steps 18,981
Accommodation: Hotel Lux Melide
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