It turned out that St. James forgot about our request for good weather and about mid-way along our seventeen mile trek, the heavens opened up on us enough that we had to stop several times to the let the worst of it pass. Even attaching Gus crosses proved to be a challenge as the wind swirled in all directions making Paul believe that he’d eventually wind up like War Horse – all tangled in barbed wire. The good news is that there was less mud and cow dung because most we took the route along the highway instead of through the rain-soaked forest. The bad news is that we could have lost our lives if any of those speeding trucks had hit us while their drivers were busy texting. We did make an interesting observation. We seem to be walking with more women than men. Women walking in large groups ahead of us, women walking in small groups behind us, women walking alone next to us. The few men we’ve seen so far seem to be walking with their wives. We walked behind a couple for a few miles that held hands the entire way – our hands were too busy with our poles and holding hands requires that you walk in step not a few paces ahead or behind each other like we do. When we finally arrived in Palas de Rei, we rewarded ourselves with a fine meal, pulpo (octopus) sautéed in olive oil and topped with sea salt, a tray of fine Galician meats and cheese, sangria for me, beer for Paul and the most delicious cheese flan ever.