Our hotel had one under-staffed member trying to serve everyone. The Americans had been waiting over an hour for eggs and coffee, so we staged a tactical retreat and crossed the road instead. Ten hungry pilgrims descended on a tiny café like a swarm. The owner looked stunned but rose to the challenge: coffee and toast all round, followed by a supermarket raid for lunch supplies.

Today’s walk felt completely different from yesterday’s, with forest trails, glimpses of the sea, and the sort of greenery that makes you want to breathe deeper. At a fork, we faced a choice: right (a short but dodgy road) or left (longer but scenic). Lou, Wendy, John, Gaby, Jan, and I took the left path. No regrets.

We passed a field lined with fruit trees. Apples had already fallen, so I felt guilt-free about grabbing one or two straight from the branch. Before long five of us were happily munching away like kids in an orchard. They were sweet, crisp, and utterly refreshing. My trousers, however, didn’t escape unscathed — covered in sticky sap as penance for my scrumping crime!

This section was magical: eucalyptus scent hanging in the air, hydrangeas blooming in blues and purples, and little derelict huts tucked away in the trees. A feast for the senses.

We rolled into Cabanas, where I lured the group into a tiny café with promises of churros and hot chocolate — thick, dark, molten chocolate you could practically stand a spoon in. We inhaled our first plates, then shamelessly ordered seconds. Bliss.

While the others queued for a pilgrim stamp at the tourist office, I went treasure-hunting and bagged a Camino geocache — a sneaky little camouflaged “Smint” tin stuck to a lamppost. One a day is my new challenge!

Crossing the long bridge into Pontedeume, we spotted figures waving from the distant tourist info office tower. At first, I thought it was strangers, then realised it was our own crew! Lucy’s wave, John’s red t-shirt, Alison and Jane alongside… the whole gang cheering us in. Cue much frantic waving back.

After stamps, tower exploring, and a nose around the bustling market, we tackled the biggest hill of the Camino Inglés. At a small shop halfway up, Jan asked the owner about a pie. The woman oinked like a pig, then flapped her arms and gurgled like a fish to describe the next one. Gaby nearly fell over laughing.

We collapsed in the shade of a little park for lunch, rewarded with sweeping views. To distract ourselves from the climb, we played the alphabet game, held a music quiz, cuddled cute kittens, and belted out songs like a travelling choir. Meanwhile, the other half of our group sent surreal videos of a man riding a motorised wheelbarrow. The Camino never fails to surprise.

At our final café stop, some bought Camino “tat,” others sampled coffee liqueur. John, meanwhile, queried a sign that said “please don’t stand on the seat.” The owner kindly demonstrated — climbing onto a chair and squatting on it with great flair. Hilarious! Meanwhile, Alison and John had already hit the beach, bravely chasing runaway umbrellas.

We checked into the hotel, then most of the ladies ran straight into the sea for a swim. Some locals had opted for no swimwear at all, and we politely looked the other way.

Unable to get into my favourite restaurant before 9 pm, we found a lively spot on the seafront with live music. Alison and John had secured us tables. The owner turned into a real “trail angel” when Ali mentioned she was cold — she dashed to her car and returned with coats for both Ali and John. What a star.

The Spanish rock band proved a bit too enthusiastic for some, so we retreated to the hotel cafe for a quieter nightcap (and yes, another stamp).