Galicia

I left next morning in a great mist that lifted once or twice to reveal stunning views of green rolling farmland and sprinklings of villages. (Note: I'm always amazed by how the locals manage to farm on such steep land. It looks as thought the fields will slip off and go pouring down after the flocks of sheep)...Today was simply enchanted. After the pouring, typically-Galician rain stopped, the sun came out and dried my clothes I walked through leaf-covered paths that were surrounded by ivy-laden trees. I sloshed through barnyards, patted a few stray dogs, and sang, sang, sang! I passed bright blue flowers, butterflies, and brilliant green fields. The little villages seemed to be from a different era entirely. Never have I seen places so beautiful. Rushing streams and old stone bridges are everywhere, and the air smells of wildflowers.

Note: It is ironic, but no wonder that Gerardo, the passionate young Spanish atheist, says that his home province "es como en el cielo"—like Heaven. I said that to a farmer I passed along the way: "Galicia es como en el cielo!" He looked pleased.