Day 26, July 3rd 2023
In the morning I boil water downstairs in the kitchen because I read yesterday that hot drinks in the morning stimulate the gut flora, even if it's just hot water. While I sip this delicious liquid, I tend to my battered feet. My right heel is now one giant blister. I put a plaster over it because I'm afraid the huge thing will burst and get infected if it rubs openly against my sock. I pad all the other pressure points with the sheep's wool I still have left over from that mysterious signpost in Cirauqui.
Unfortunately my intestines are not very impressed by the hot water, and the sweetened instant coffee I get from a vending machine in the hostel courtyard leaves nothing more than a nasty aftertaste.
When thoughts go their way
Off I go towards the mountains, how exciting! I so look forward to the next stages, even though I don't really know what to expect.
But first it's back to the road. And as I trudge along, I hear a male voice calling behind me.
»Hello Ruhr Valley!«
I don't recognise him straight away, but then the memories of Hornillas del Camino come flooding back, when I spent the afternoon at a hostel with the drunken Flo and some other people, before I trudged through the Meseta in the afternoon heat to find a suitable campsite. Andreas was one of them, namely the one who sleeps in single rooms and offered to throw pebbles at his window if I couldn't find a place to sleep.
It's nice to speak German again and just chatter away. Andreas also enjoys my company, as he tells me over a cup of coffee and a croissant, which he generously buys me in the next small town. He is right, there aren't many Germans on the Camino at the moment, at least not during our time. Perhaps a hundred kilometers ahead or behind us there are more Germans than anything else, but here Andreas feels lonely because his English isn't very good. And because he is so happy to have met me, he wants to buy me a meal in Foncebadón this evening.
Andreas and I walk together for quite a while, having some rather profound conversations. We talk about God, whether we believe He exists or not, what we think He is and things like that. Then we talk about making the right decisions, and the more we talk, the harder it is to stop my abstract thoughts. I notice how they are drifting in various directions, figuratively speaking, like a tree with its trunk and all its branches. The trunk is the actual problem, the central issue. The branches represent all the options I have to choose from, and beyond that, the weighing of pros and cons. The small twigs that extend from the branches are the resulting side thoughts, with all the doubts and fears of possibly making the wrong decision. My tree analogy, however, doesn't offer an answer. Perhaps because there is no right or wrong in decision-making. After all, in the end, I don't really know how the other choice would have turned out in the long run. A decision that initially seems wrong can later turn out to be something good, and then it wasn't wrong after all. Of course the wrong decision can also have terrible consequences, but how can I know if things wouldn't have been even worse if I had chosen the other option? Ultimately, I just have to make the best of the outcome. My life is in my own hands. I can control everything except my health, can't I?
I watch Andreas as he walks, his head is always slightly bowed. He misses the beauty of the landscape because of this, but perhaps he is thinking. Someone who constantly looks at the ground while walking is usually thinking.
The landscape is now characterised by lush vegetation, and the hilly terrain begins not too far ahead. On one of these hills must stand the Cruz de Ferro , an iron cross mounted on a tree trunk and one of the most famous landmarks on the Camino Francés, as it marks the highest point on the way. I will pass it tomorrow on my way to Ponferrada.
In the small village of El Ganso stands a beautiful old parish church with a stork's nest on its tower. Hollyhocks bloom in front of the medieval stone houses, the sun shines and the birds chirp. There is also a small supermarket here, offering items like rice, oatmeal, dried fruit and small-portion cans of peas or mushrooms, specifically size-packaged for pilgrims. Focusing on my digestion, I buy natural yogurt, oatmeal and prunes and enjoy this healthy treat outside at the café.
Andreas is there too. We keep bumping into each other on the way and usually end up having a drink or some ice cream together. However, as these encounters progress, I am noticing more and more that I can't have Andreas around me for too long. There is something about his aura that makes me uncomfortable. It is not that he complains about everything, but there is always a negative undertone to what he says.
From El Ganso it is only twelve kilometres to Foncebadón. The way leads through a beautiful forest, with a natural fence along the side adorned with crosses made from branches. Later I come to a meadow sloping up the mountain, featuring a fountain and a bench for resting. From here I have a magnificent view of the surrounding landscape. A pleasant breeze is blowing, and the ground feels so soft, like a cushion of moss. How I wish I had my tent right now, I would love to stay here.
Andreas stops half-hidden behind a bush at the bottom of the path, when he sees me. Because I had told him earlier that I prefer to walk alone, he doesn't dare come up to me now. He only comes when I ask him why he is standing there like he was rooted to the spot.
I'm looking forward to a delicious meal with Andreas, even though he has used the word shit several times again, and his whole body language is giving me a negative impression. If you were to put him in a silent film and only see his gestures and facial expressions while he speaks, you would think he was incredibly worked up about something. Every time we meet, he says something like, 'That was one steep climb', or 'It is so hot again', or 'The way is so hard today.' He usually shakes his head indignantly while saying these things. He seems oblivious to how beautiful it actually is here. But when I consider that the day before we first met a few weeks ago, he was already in a taxi to the airport to fly home, he is holding up pretty well, all things considered. After all, he made it across the Meseta, and that says something.
The section to Rabanal del Camino involves another 300 metres of elevation gain. The town itself is once again beautiful and just as picturesque as El Ganso. Unfortunately the fountain is dry, and I desperately need to refill my water bottle. I ask at a bar if I can get some water, but the bartender says that the water supply to the village is currently shut off, which explains the dry fountain. The bartender offers me bottled water instead, but when he tries to charge me 1 euro fifty for a small bottle, I politely decline. What a rip-off! Luckily, there is a small supermarket a little further up the road where I can get the same bottle of water for 80 cents.
Foncebadón
The climb to Foncebadón remains beautiful and so completely different from the rest of Castile. Not that it wasn't beautiful before, but now it's absolutely stunning in my opinion.
Foncebadón is a mountain village at almost 1.500 meters above sea level. It was destroyed at the beginning of the 19th century during the War of Independence against Napoleon's troops and subsequently rebuilt. In the 1980s the population dwindled to zero, and with all its ruins it became a ghost town. The village was also known for its many stray dogs which even a few years ago terrified most pilgrims. At some point, however, all the dogs were apparently captured, and since then there have been none along the entire way. Thanks to the Camino, Foncebadón is inhabited again, although in winter only by a small number of people. Essentially, Foncebadón is just one mountain road lined with small houses on either side and cosy-looking hostels and cafes. At the beginning of the road only ruins remain, the crumbling stone walls partially overgrown.
I immediately feel very comfortable here and am happy to be staying in the same hostel as Andreas, as it offers both shared and single rooms. In the end I also get a single room since no other pilgrim joins me in my six-bed room. It is wonderful to finally be able to relax in my room without anyone else around. I also do some laundry and hang the clothes out to dry on the line in the lovely back garden.
Andreas and I usually eat the obligatory meat lobes with salad and fries together. But somehow it is different tonight, we hardly talk. It is as if we suddenly have nothing left to say to each other. And because I am also cold and quite tired, I thank him for the invitation and retreat to my six-bed dorm room.
Distance: 25,2 km / Steps: 37608
