LIVE from the Camino Not much further now

My first Camino Inglés albergue was the municipal in Pontedeume, very civilised other than no kitchen, 5€, empty. Watched the clásico in a packed bar, where the one Real Madrid supporter was loudly commiserated with every time Barca scored one of their four goals.

The signage is great, even if it takes a few junctions to get used to the fact that here the scallop hinge points away from Santiago, while on the Norte it's the other way around - when the Norte joins the Francés, are there a few bewildered coastal pilgrims heading towards the Pyrenees until they realise the change?

Nice short day to Betanzos. The rain showers, suitable for my first full day on the Inglés, continued, which meant I was wearing my Red Riding Hood, probably a good thing given the number of Sunday hunters out in the woods: one day I'm sure a pilgrim will get shot, and I have no wish to turn into peregrino a la plancha (or, given my age and probable toughness, estofado).

Betanzos' large warm stone xunta albergue (empty) must be one of the grandest I've ever stayed in. At Sunday evening mass in the gothic church of Santiago, I had hoped I was discretely concealed behind a pillar, but I was spotted and dragged forward at the end to be blessed and promised to give an abrazo on behalf of Betanzos - that's quite a long list now, I'll have to go round several times.

Betanzos on a wet Sunday afternoon was a really nice place to be - its sluggish river, its busy bars, its steep streets, its dotty sub-Gaudí public park, even its top floor flat playing the Barber of Seville at maximum volume (glad I didn't live near them, perhaps).

An advantage of not having a guidebook is that every place is a surprise. So, I had no idea Betanzos was so big, and, further on, assumed that a place that had supported a pilgrim hospital was probably of some significance. However, arriving at Hospital de Bruma, I discovered that the albergue, if full, would outnumber the rest of the hamlet. So I finally used up my emergency stash of cheese and salami with some of the pasta a more provident previous pilgrim had left in the albergue kitchen. And today on to Sigüeiro, possibly not the most exciting town of this camino.

Yesterday, on the high ground above Bruma, I saw the faint outline of what I think must have been the Pico Sacro, the landing lights of my previous caminos. It will be odd arriving from the north.