Day 33 - Fonfria - Friday, 22 May 2009

Vega de Valcarce -> Fonfria = 25K (Just 140.7K more!)

Entering the Fonfria, a herd of lovely, velvet-eyed, brown cows crowd me to the side of the “Main Street.” A handsome shepherd dog eyes me for a moment, sizing me up, and then passes behind me, managing his bovine charges effectively and efficiently. The shepherd smiles.

Outside the albergue door, a beautiful, large, grey stallion systematically eliminates the tall grass. I hear a rooster crow nearby and I see dogs playing across the dusty street.

“This is where I will spend the night,” I decide and smile to myself.

From inside the charming albergue, loud music pours out and as I enter the door I see the hospitalera dancing behind the bar as she makes a cup of café con leche.

"Oh yes," I think, "I am checking in!" Animals, music, dancing and cafe con leche - who could ask for more?

So here I am relaxing over a café con leche; over the mountain after a remarkable walk which, at intervals, felt like a scene out of a Disney film. Galicia is more like Ireland than what one may think of as Spain. But of course, Galicia is part of Spain. It is very clear that it was influenced by the Celts.

I climbed the mountain in the early hours arriving in Galicia as the sun came over the peaks and kissed the green, green mountainside. It is almost surreal.

Early in the day I walked through La Faba, where I stopped to catch my breath. This village would have been a lovely place to spend a night. (There is a German or possibly Dutch run albergue that feeds pilgrims from their organic garden)

I linger a bit, playing with a pair of delightful stray kittens who wrestle one another, fighting over a grease-soaked loaf of bread and a few pieces of chorizo I share with them. I resume walking.

The enchanting villages I walk through today smell of cattle and are perched on hillsides so steep the cows must have 2 long legs and 2 shorter legs in order to graze on the hillsides. The path is littered with cow manure.

When I arrive in O’Cebreiro at the peak of the mountain, fog engulfs the 9 ancient, round, stone, thatch-roofed structures (pallozas) that comprise (most of) the village. The fog adds to the mystical quality of the place. Words like amazing, haunting come to mind. I can almost believe the local legend; the 14th Century miracle about the wine and bread turning into blood and the flesh of Christ.

Once again, I wish I could stay a day or two and simply soak up the ambience of this special place. But, I am a pilgrim and I cannot tarry…pilgrims are meant to walk. As I walk, I find myself wondering is J.R Tolkien ever visited the region. It could have been the inspiration for his Hobbit-world.

I had been anxiously anticipating the challenging climb, one of the most challenging on the entire Camino. Like many things in life, the climb was somewhat anti-climactic. Many pilgrims elect to taxi or bus their way over the mountain. Others send their backpacks ahead so they can walk more easily. I did neither. I chose to walk with my backpack and found that I was exhilarated by the steep climb. My joy and excitement fuel my energy and I walk on beyond my original destination.

So here I am in the charming albergue in Fonfria. I have had a delicious hot shower (in a private bathroom) and I washed my long hair with borrowed shampoo. I am sitting in a sunny courtyard letting my hair dry in the breeze and sipping sidra (apple cider) with a group of fellow pilgrims. There is lots of laughter and conversation (despite language barriers). The German man with the cowboy hat (I dubbed him “Herr Gummi-schuhe”) is so funny. My Irish friend (S.) and the Danish woman who lives in Spain, my friend from Finland, the delightful woman from New Zealand and many other pilgrims while away the late afternoon together.

It is hard to imagine that my pilgrimage will soon come to an end. I push that thought aside and stay in the happy present.

Day 32 - Vega de Valcarce - Thursday, 21 May 2009

Cacabelos -> Vega de Valcarce = 25K (163.6K remaining on the Way to Santiago!)

When I slipped away from the albergue at Cacabelos at 0630, the over-flow crowds on mattresses outdoors were still sleeping. I walked up and down 2 hills (about 8K) before a fine breakfast stop in Villafranco Bierzo. What a wonderful community. If I had “do-overs,” I would have spent my night here instead of in Cacabelos.

Pilgrims who suffer from ailments and illness can walk through the Puerta del Perdon (door of pardon) on the north side of the Santiago church that perches above Villafranco Bierzo. Those pilgrims too ill to go on will receive the same indulgences as pilgrims who reach Compostela. The town is beautiful in the crisp bright morning sun.

The next 30K are the most physically challenging of the Camino. The total assent is 1280 meters.

As I walk along the Camino, my mind skips along. Movies and books and songs, memories, dreams all fill my head. I make a mental list of things that make me happy:
• Rose Arbors, Potted Geraniums, Wild Flowers and Flowerboxes
• Cats (Orange cats especially) and Dogs
• Cows and Sheep
• Parakeets and Chickens
• Blue Doors, French Doors and Split Doors (Dutch Doors)
• Rustic Benches
• Books, Films and Music
• Toast (With Butter & Orange Marmalade)
• Hot Showers
• Hammocks

I visualize different lives: should we go back to our cozy bungalow in SC or try a new adventure (a B&B in Malawi?) or maybe life in Minneapolis, Saint Louis or Albuquerque. Should we just stay in Santa Fe?

I walk and think. I weep when I am happy – my heart breaks open and all the joy spills out. I remember a quote from William Blake (I don’t remember the context): “…Excess of sorrow laughs, excess of joy weeps…” In m mind I hear my mother quoting someone (Frost?) about living by the side of the road and being a friend to all mankind.

I am happy.

My camera has fresh batteries, but now the memory card is full. So, again I have no opportunity to take photos of the beautiful scenery I travel through. Some images I wish I could have captured include:
• A German Shepherd dog and its’small friend on a tiny 2nd floor terrace eying pilgrims walking by.
• Grey stone buildings with slate roofs and rustic wood beams and doors covered in bold, bright blossoms.
• A pair of wooden clogs parked under a rustic bench.
• Beatific caramel-colored cows grazing on emerald-green, rolling hills.
• The babbling stream that snaked along the path during my post breakfast walk.

I enjoy the early morning walk and move quickly till about noon. I elect to stop at an albergue run by Brazilians. It is an older building, but clean and inviting. The hospitalero is so enthusiastic and happy, I cannot resist staying (even though it is a bit pricey). There are hammocks, there is lively music, it is quite pleasant and there is the promise of an al fresco Brazilian communal feast in the Camelot garden.

I am the first pilgrim to check in today. I find a hammock and curl up to write and think. Later I sip wine and have a long, interesting conversation with a Dutchman I met in Astorga (I call him “The Flying Dutchman”).

Dinner is pleasant.

At dinner I am amused when a fellow pilgrim (a German man) insists I look like Joan Baez. This is the third time on this trip someone has compared me to Joan Baez. I respond with a wisecrack about my singing – if they heard me sing it would certainly dispel any illusions that I might be Joan Baez!

After lights out, I fall asleep with the refreshing breeze from an open window (unusual at most albergues) and the pleasant sound of crickets singing in the night.