One
of the most beautiful and sentimental stages of the camino. It is still
dark, as usual, when we leave Rabanal. We need to use a torch until,
walking along a path, we reach the road.
It is still the crack of down in
Foncebadón.
It
is still the crack of down when we arrive at Foncebadon. Suddenly we realize
the Foncebadon’s skeleton is in sight like the nude backbone of a fish.
Foncebadon is there, as always, with its stones in disarray and its walls
still there. Now, beside the road, someone is building a bar for pilgrims.
After a while, the Cruz del Ferro*.
Cruz del Ferro
Ten
years ago, when we see the Cruz del Hierro for the first time, it was an
impressive place. Its loneliness was imposing. Today, when we went through, people were gathered at its base, they pitch flags, they stick banners
on the log where the cross is fixed, T-shirts, papers with messages, they
were even writing on the log. This is the walker’s naivete: To feel more
important than the camino itself.
Paca
and I soon quit the place, after dropping our flints, carried from
Guadalajara, and wishing health to our friend Ignacio.
The
Cruz del Ferro is a fiesta today. Then pilgrims go down by car, others by
bike, others on foot but without rucksacks (Do you need anything? Are you
thirsty? Their friends ask them from their helping cars). Only a few of us
go down with our rucksacks feeling at the same time a little bit ashamed of
the show.
On
the way down, some pilgrims without rucksacks cannot understand that a
little woman, Paca, as light as a feather, carrying a rucksack bigger than
herself and a stout man like me, carrying a heavy bulk, overtake them. They
obstinately keep our same pace and only desist after a few kilometres. Our
training and the many stages we have walked taught us to keep a deceptive
rhythm:
Over a short distance we can be easily overtaken, but over a long distance
our rhythm is difficult to keep.
In Manjarín.
We
brand our pilgrims’ credentials and in the colourful Manjarin’s hostel
and they give us a cup of coffee.
We
have breakfast in El Acebo, where on a steep way down a big Danish pilgrim
is on the verge of hurling herself down. Knees hurt when we go down this way,
and toe nails also do.
A nice place near
El Acebo.
We
go through Riego de Ambros walking fast. After this village a fire started some
days ago and it is a pity seeing how all this wild area is totally burnt. What a
disaster! An old man sitting on a stone stops us and asks us where we are from
and tells us the nature of the fire. We feel fear. It looks like the soil is
still hot.
People
tell us this way down is dangerous even using the road. Two cyclists had an
accident and an ambulance came up for them. It seems a likely place for
bicycling
accidents and a cyclist died here some years ago.
We
arrive at Molinaseca. We stop and see this nice village. A village with great
atmosphere. We have a glass of beer with a walker we know in a bar beside the
river. We quit the bar, our friend fancies another one. The approach to Ponferrada
becomes too long. A long stroll until we get to the pilgrims’ hostel, leaving
the castle walls on the left.
Some
people who speak French manage Ponferrada pilgrims’ hostel. They are sitting on the hostel’s first floor, waiting for pilgrims. They look like a
tribunal. They give us some water and they get surprised by the way Spanish
people drink using a botijo* without choking. I tell them, showing my most
reliable face, that it is easy for me because I did a term course in UCLA. They
ask me if I am being serious. Finally they brand our credentials with a pretentious seal that almost fills the space for four normal seals. A new
pilgrims’ hostel, even though officially inaugurated, is not in use yet. We
lodge in the Conde Silva hotel.
The
Ponferrada’s old center is the best place to see but, to our sorrow, the Plaza
Mayor is under repair. The new part of town is a dull concrete jungle that has
nothing to say to its visitors.
Cruz del Ferro*.- An old iron cross on the top of a big pole.
A old famous place in the camino. Pilgrims carry small stones from their
villages and drop them there for a wish.
botijo*.- Earthenware pitcher, with spout and
handle.
Stage
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