Ribadiso Albergue : Day 17

Meaningful Moment

Walking back from the Feria de Arzúa

Date	08 Aug 2026 (Saturday)
Weather	Temperature in the high 80s and 100% sun all day.
Total All Caminos:	2450 miles
Lodging (Deb & I):	Municipal Albergue de Peregrinos de Ribadiso da Baixo (room provided)
Total Lodging:	€ 700
Airplane(s):
Total Airplane(s) / Trvl Insrnc:	$ 1000 / $ 199
Buses / Trains / Taxis & Rides (Deb & I):
Total Transportation:	$ 265
Food (Deb & I):	€ 25 Feria de Arzúa € 5 Mesón Ribadiso
Total Food:	$ 781

Random Thought of the Day

Río Iso behind the Albergue de Ribadiso da Baixo

to

Late afternoon over Ribadiso

Notable memories

Camino miracle: we first met this family, it seems so many days ago, in León Spain, where we conversed about the Camino. Now all these days later we coincidentally crossed paths here in Arzúa.   

Feria de Arzúa

Like a public market but more like a farmers market. 

We ended up buying cheeses and breads.

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My Spanish summer rental stone house features thick, natural stone walls.  Other features of the house that really give me that getaway from it all feeling, include the deep-set arched windows, heavy wooden doors, and wrought-iron accents. Topping my new summer home is the low-pitched red terracotta tile roofs. This style of house building, dating back centuries, has kept Spanish home interiors in the unbelievable summer heat - cool.

So the first night I'm in my getaway, I'm the only one there. I invite no other guests. Well, I need a  strong sense of solitude, which can feel somewhat disconcerting if the sound of humans nearby brings a sense of security.

I don't really pay attention to the fact that it is a one-story structure and it is surrounded by trees. It is bucolic. Something I am looking for something to calm all the anxieties I am feeling. 

After a quiet, restful day amidst all the greenery of Galicia, rivaling that even found in Ireland, but unsurprising due to their their common Celtic roots, I am ready to call it quits. I am tired and need some sleep. 

I head for bed, pull the blanket and sheets down, tuck myself in and lay my head down on the pillow.

Laying there in the room, with the moon light streaming in, I feel like I have finally gotten away from all that. 

I turn off the bed light and close my eyes. 

The first clack on the roof I ignore because it is no big deal. I keep my eyes closed and not too much later there is another clack. Those trees must be apple trees or pear trees or something and the fruit is falling off and hitting the roof. I am surprised by how much noise an apple on terra cotta could make. 

It seems like the clacks occur about every hour during the night and it gets annoying. It makes me wish that I had taken a look at those trees to see what fruit they are growing.

Every time one of those fruits fall, it's loud enough to wake me up. I keep my eyes open until I finally fall back asleep. I wonder how an apple or a pear could make so much noise on terracotta. I would have expected a thud, not a rifle bolt being cocked. 

The second night I wish I could sleep better, but the clack - clack - clack goes all night long. 

First thing I do after a morning cup of tea, toast and marmalade is to take a look at those trees. Nothing unusual. Just a couple of trees. 

What is so annoying is the absolute absence of fruit on the branches. So I look for loose limbs, maybe scratching against the roof, but that isn't the sound I am hearing, that isn't the sound that is interrupting my sleep. 

The third night is not any better. In fact, this time the clacks come in groups of two and three, every 15 to 20 minutes. More than enough to keep me agitated as I wait for whatever it is to hit the roof again. 

I have to see what is going on. But as soon as I put my hand on the door knob, give it a turn and take one step out, I begin to wonder if it is a squirrel or squirrels, a bat or bats or something bigger, much bigger. Maybe it isn't bigger but it is rabid. If I go outside, and meet some deranged lunatic animal, I am in serious trouble. 

So I go back inside immediately. I lock the door and before I ever get to the bedroom, there is a series of those clacks. The closer I get to the bedroom, the more the noise. When I take a step back, there are less sounds, less noise, less interference with my sleep. I spend that night on the couch. 

The fourth night I'm on the couch. Yeah. And there's that noise. In fact, the noise is louder in the living room on the couch than it is in the bedroom. But as soon as I go to the bedroom, there's more and more of it. So back to the living room, and I just put up with that rabid animal who will not let me sleep. 

On the fifth night I'm furious. I find a garden hoe in the shed out back and I've got it with me. This time I'm not putting up with it. It's my right to settle my nerves, it's my right to settle my anxiety. It's my whole reason for being here. And this thing wants war, so I'm ready to bring it. Out I go, but nothing. 

Every time I'm inside. Clack - clack - clack, but when I go outside - stone cold dead silence. I don't know what it is that's messing with me but I'm going to get it sooner or later. This is war now.

Night 6. I really haven't slept in 48 hours. I'd sleep during the day, but that is supposed to be my down time. Tonight I'm outside in the bushes watching. All I need to do is hear that sound and find the source and I'll see who my enemy is. 

The sun set 3 hours ago and nothing. The sun set 6 hours ago and nothing. 2 hours to sunrise. 1 hour to sunrise. I'd go inside, but I know what would happen. 

Night 7. I'm inside and waiting. Clack - clack - clack - I'm counting. I'll outlast it. I'm cleverer. I sneak out the back window. Clack. I know now it's watching the front door. Clack. With no shoes, I'm quiet as I walk through the rose bushes. I don't say a thing. Clack. It's so close. I am so close. I look up and I see a tail moving. I draw back with the hoe and swing.

The garden hoe stops suddenly. It's getting pulled up. But I won't let go, so I'm getting pulled up. Whatever is up there is about to meet its maker, so help me God. 

The garden hoe makes one big jerk and that's enough to force me to let go. Down I fall 15 or 20 ft. 

On my back and hurting, I can't move. And whatever it is, pokes its head over the eaves and gives me the hungriest look. There's something about those eyes as it looks in me. The last words I remember saying in my life are," Bring it on ".