Day 30 - Molinaseca - Tuesday, 19 May 2009

Foncebadon -> Molinaseca = 21K (212.4K remaining on the way to Santiago!)

I have climbed mountains since I saw you last;
You will not find me where you left me,
I have scaled pinnacles and seen the vast Horizon of a higher point of view.

The lines above run through my mind as I stride along the mountain paths. I do not know who wrote these words nor do I remember more of the poem, but these lines resonate with me. They are powerful in their imagery.

I walked alone and arrived at the Cruz de Ferro while mists still shrouded the mountaintop. Beneath the cross, the ground is littered with offerings. There are photographs and notes, a mountain of stones and other offerings left by pilgrims. I look for a while, but feel overcome with a sense that I am a voyeur, observing the sorrows and pains each offering represents.

With the cross behind me, the fog dissipates. Sunlight spills over the mountains. It is peaceful o be out walking when the world comes alive.

As I reached Monjarin I hear Thomas ring the pilgrim bell, announcing my arrival. A bevy of friendly dogs trot out to greet me; tails wagging, tongues lolling.

This “hippie warren” is a delight.

I see the 3-year old boy who travels with his entourage of admirers and family. He is playing with kittens and singing songs. I sip the coffee Thomas thrusts into my hands. On the hillside, the sheep and beautiful brown cows are grazing. I want to linger longer, but the road calls and I leave behind this serene mountain compound to begin my descent down the mountain.

I pass through an enchanted forest and continue my walk down the mountain. I walk for miles seeing no other pilgrims, sharing the beautiful scenery with no one. My heart grows full.

I stop in Molinaseca (instead of Ponferrada). The new albergue is so inviting, I cannot walk on.

I am immediately befriended by an older Danish woman who wants to/needs to talk. We buy picnic supplies and linger on the banks of the river as the sun sinks lower in the sky. We drink cheap wine out of our water bottles and relax.

When I arrive back to the albergue and walk into my room, I am literally swept into the arms of a Spanish man who dramatically danced me around the floor and ended the routine with a dip. He is pilgrim I had met earlier on. It is always wonderful to see familiar faces. And when there is dancing involved, so much the better!

Tomorrow I will be below the 200K mark and in just two weeks I will be back home in the USA. This will all be just a pleasant memory.

Day 29 - Foncebadon - Monday, 18 May 2009

Astorga -> Foncebadon = 25K (231K to Santiago!)

“There are no beds,” said the hospitalero without raising his eyes.

“What?” I responded in disbelief and my voice quavering.

Here I am exhilarated from the climb up to the highest populated village in Spain and suddenly hearing that there are no beds available in this tiny, isolated village.

It is only 1500 – how can the albergue be full?

His words are especially devastating because I had already heard the same message in the other albergue in town. The next village is over another peak, about 5K away. It is a primitive place with no water and no electricity (kind of a hippie compound). And what if it is full?

I try not to let my panic show.

Behind me, another woman, speaks up. “Can we just sleep on the floor?” she says.

The German hospitalero stares at us, as if assessing us and then disappears for a few minutes. He returns with good news. He has found an open bunk for me and my friend can sleep on a mattress on the floor.

I say a prayer of gratitude and smile. I have someplace to sleep tonight!

I shower and sit on the porch, drying my long locks in the dying afternoon sun. A dog (looking dead) sleeps in the middle of the road. Kittens dart in and out of the tumbled down slate buildings that used to be homes in another era. I hear the cattle lowing, their bells ringing as they graze on the steep hillsides. The village is above tree level. The peaks surrounding the community are snow-capped.

This albergue is church run. There is a modest communal meal in the small dining room. The air is cold. I will be glad for my sleeping bag tonight. I’ve lost my fleece so I hope it will not be too cold in the morning.

In my opinion, people who stay in public albergues when they “do” the Camino have a vastly different experience than those individuals who stay in private accommodations (where you can make reservations). The logistics of finding an albergue can interfere with the delights (or challenges) of the daily walk.

And once a bed is confirmed, there are still the demands of sharing space and services. Diverse languages, nationalities, customs and courtesies add to the soup. Not only is there a concern about finding a bed after a day of walking, there is the communal experience that extends beyond simply dining together. I am seldom alone in the albergues. There is nominal, if any privacy.

Tomorrow I will see the Cruz de Ferro, visit Majarin where Sir Thomas rings a bell whenever a pilgrim enters his village (population 1). But now, I shall sleep.

I have a bed and I am very grateful for that. And for so much more. Life is good.

[Batteries dead in camera for two days - no photos...will get batteries in next real town I'm in.]