Storm clouds gathering in Galicia

The bed bugs were closing in.

The chattering about bites was getting louder and albergues had started to hand out plastic covers for mattresses. I had been using a pyrethrin-impregnated cover on every mattress since I started but knew it was just a matter of time before my luck ran out.

And at La Faba they were far too close for comfort. I heard an American girl complain to the staff in the morning that she had been bitten, pointing out the telltale four red lumps in a line on her arm. The rest of us cautiously rolled up our sleeping bags, wondering what we might be transporting to our next stop.

But what a great, hospitable place La Faba had been. This borderland with Galicia meant more rain so the hillsides were green and tranquil around the small, hot villages down in the Valcarce valley and the little rivers clean and sparkling. The views above our heads were spectacular too, in part because of the unbelievable intrusion of the motorway high above the towns and trees.

We enjoyed a superb evening at the bar-restaurant just along from the German-run albergue with some great folk including John from Chicago and Ed and Linda from Boston.

But the weather was breaking. Storms were forecast and we had the rest of the mountain to climb first thing in the morning. Bed bugs or not, it was time to rest.

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