Las Herrieas to Triacastela 32 km. I’m afraid my steripen finally failed to function properly, and I was visited by that Italian mobster Sal Manella. Felt rocky all day even though it was once again a beautiful walk. Heading up over a rise I turned to find a farmer with his two dogs. On his shoulder was a huge hoe, and he was riding bareback a stout white farm horse. Not sure if he was heading to off work or returning from it, but he was smiling the smile of someone aware of the beauty of the world where he labored. My intestinal distress precluded sampling the Triacastela cuisine, opting instead for an early evening’s repose.