Day 27, July 4th 2023
It is not yet fully light when I quickly climb the hundred metres of elevation up the Monte Irago towards the famous Cruz de Ferro . I am freezing and wish I had dressed more warmly. It is only eleven degrees Celsius, but the wind makes it feel colder. Frogs are croaking, wisps of fog shroud the mountains, and it's a full moon. I try to capture the atmosphere in photographs, but the eerily beauty of dawn doesn't come across at all in the pictures.
In the distance I can make out the long pole of the Cruz de Ferro. Behind it, the full moon hangs low, looking down on the scene like a large face. Thousands of stones lie around the cross, placed there by pilgrims over the centuries. They are usually brought from home and symbolise each individual's sins, with the original pile of stones from Roman times said to be a few hundred metres from the current cross. It is said that the stone should be the size that corresponds to the severity of the sins. I also brought a stone from home. It's relatively small, mainly because I didn't want to lug around so much weight for weeks. I have no idea if it should actually be much bigger compared to my sins, but I find it difficult to measure sins in material terms anyway.
I put down my rucksack and dig my stone out of its depths. Reverently I approach the cross, desperately trying to feel some kind of energy. So many people have symbolically laid down their worries and fears here, there has to be something here. A few pilgrims and day-trippers are standing on and around the huge pile of stones from which the cross majestically rises. Someone is kneeling in front of the cross, praying. Others are standing around it, probably lost in their own thoughts. Yet another person is standing on top of the stones with their arms hanging limply, staring motionlessly at the cross. I can't believe it, it's Angela! I notice that she is very emotional and decide to stay put until she sees me. Suddenly she turns her head and looks at me. She could have been looking anywhere else, but she is looking directly at me as if she knew I was there. I smile up at her, and when she recognises me, she starts crying even harder, comes over and throws her arms around me. We hold each other tight for quite a while, which also makes me emotional. Angela is practically dissolved in tears. She says what an incredible moment this is for her, that she has thought of me so often, and just at that moment in that place, as the moon sets in the west and the sun rises in the east at the same time, I am suddenly standing there at the foot of the cairn. There it was, suddenly, the energy I had been trying to feel earlier.
We pause for a moment, then I lay down my twenty grams of sins, and finally we set off together to the next village.
Other pilgrims, other stories
We talk a lot, sometimes about pretty bizarre things, and sometimes I can't quite follow Angela one hundred percent. Sometimes I don't even want to, because I don't want to be distracted by the beauty of the way high up here in the Montes de León. It is magnificent. We are moving just above the cloud cover, and the air is filled with the scent of various herbs. I can't get enough of all these feelings of happiness coursing through me, and actually, I would really like to be alone in the here and now. But then it is also nice to be able to share the moment with someone, if that someone would just keep quiet for a moment. Finally, Angela tells me a story about one of her experiences on the Camino, which leaves me somewhat speechless, and it goes like this:
A small simple hostel, where Angela had booked a room, is quite remote on the Meseta. In the evening, she overheard the hostel manager taking a telephone booking from pilgrims for the following night. Since the manager repeated their names aloud, Angela knew they were two of her closest Camino friends, with whom she spent a lot of time at the beginning of her way. Because Angela wasn't feeling well that day, and the thought of seeing her friends again tomorrow would cheer her up, she decided to extend her stay by one day and simply remained in her bed the next morning. I know that's not allowed, that you're not supposed to do that, and Angela knows it too. But she thought that if she was staying there anyway, no one needed to clean her bed, she would just keep it.
Around eleven the next morning, a woman came into the room and shouted at Angela, demanding to know what she was doing there. The woman only spoke Spanish, so Angela couldn't explain that she wanted to stay another night because she wasn't feeling well. She tried using gestures, but the woman wouldn't calm down and continued shouting until she finally called a man on the phone who understood German. Angela explained to him that she probably had sunstroke, didn't need anything and simply wanted to stay in bed to recover. Assuming the situation was now resolved, she handed the phone back and turned around. Later on, she heard voices and thought her friends had arrived, but instead, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the torsos of two men in uniform with pistols at their hips. The hostel management had actually called the police, and this was two hours before the hostel was due to reopen anyway. The police told Angela she couldn't stay there and that if she was ill, she would have to go to a hospital. Angela repeatedly tried to explain that she simply needed some rest and sleep after her sunstroke. But it was all to no avail, the police and the woman remained persistent. So Angela eventually had enough, packed her things, and sat down under a tree outside the hostel. Just an hour later her friends arrived and checked in, even before the scheduled time. When Angela stood in front of the the woman again an hour and a half after the incident and checked in again, the woman was apparently embarrassed about having made such a fuss and even inquired about Angelas well-being.
Honestly, the whole thing would have completely thrown me off. I would have left that place as quickly as possible. Everyone knows the rules here are strict, and who knows what Angela can be like when she's angry or desperate. Maybe the innkeeper didn't know what else to do, perhaps she even felt threatened. In any case, if that had happened to me, I wouldn't have wanted to stay another night there.
El Acebo de San Miguel
Angela and I are quite hungry by now, but we can hardly imagine finding anything to eat in this remoted area. The next mountain village, El Acebo de San Miguel, is tiny, but looks picturesque from above. In the distance, the outskirts of the city of Ponferrada shimmer white in the still low sun; from up here, they look like snowfields. I would give anything for a cup of coffee and something to eat as we descend the steep path to El Acebo. And there it is - I can hardly believe my eyes, a young woman at the entrance to the village, standing behind a table making pancakes! It smells so incredibly good, my mouth is watering. And there is coffee! I think I'm in heaven. Together with a Swiss man Angela already knows from the way and a French woman whom the Swiss man also knows from the way, Angela and I sit down on the terrace of the adjacent café and enjoy a delicious breakfast of fresh pancakes and a huge cup of coffee. We're having a great time chatting and laughing a lot, the whole atmosphere is so lovely here in the warm sunshine. It's a pretty perfect moment. I could sit here forever and eat more pancakes, but then I would burst!
Andreas arrives and sits down at a table at the far end of the terrace. He apparently hasn't seen me, but I don't want to draw attention to myself and interrupt my perfect moment. A short time later, I suddenly see him sitting at a table in another café diagonally opposite, and I can't shake the feeling that he has spotted me too and made a run for it. I admit, it was probably a bit rude of me last night to get up so quickly after being invited for a meal and go to bed, even though he was still there. Or perhaps I was too direct when I asked him if there was anything positive for him on the Camino? Be that as it may, I can't avoid at least saying hello when I pass him on my way to the restroom. He doesn't seem at all surprised to see me, so I guess my suspicion wasn't too far off.
»Was that another steep descent?« he says, shaking his head in disbelief. No, I don't need such people on the Camino, especially not on a beautiful day like this.
Angela and I arrange to meet for dinner in Ponferrada and exchange our phone numbers, then I continue on my way alone.
El Acebo is a beautiful mountain village, its houses mostly built of slate. Some of their wooden balconies jut out over the street, strongly reminding me of the Wild West. I have fallen in love with all these mountain villages, I would love to spend a night in each one. That is why I am a little apprehensive about Ponferrada, because with 65.000 inhabitants, it is anything but small. On top of that, there is the thought that I am approaching the 100-kilometer mark. Not only will my adventure soon be over, but it will also become more commercialised and overrun with short-term pilgrims, with numerous hostels and hotels along the way. The last 100 kilometers from Sarria are the minimum distance required to receive the Compostela certificate in Santiago. Naturally, many people take advantage of this, as it's easily doable in a week, including travel to and from Santiago.
In Riego de Ambrós, I get to a spot that looks as if the village has been abandoned. Practically at the end of a busy road, the asphalt abruptly ends, and the path descends steeply into the woods on a clay soil crisscrossed with rain ruts. A local resident, incidentally the only person for miles around besides myself and an approximately 80-year-old pilgrim standing at the same point, warns us that from this point on, sure footing is essential if we want to continue on the official route. He advises the old woman to use the road way and leads her in the right direction. Where did this man suddenly come from? I wonder what would have happened if he hadn't appeared out of nowhere.
Well, another Camino miracle, for the old lady in any case.
The mulberry tree
Suddenly Angela is behind me again. She has been sitting in a chapel for quite a while, and apparently I have overtaken her during that time. We reach the picturesque village Molinaseca together, passing a mulberry tree that stands behind a railing on a slope. I mean, I can be crazy sometimes, but Angela takes the cake. She climbs over the railing and up the mulberry tree to get to the fruit. At sixty years old, she hangs in that tree like a monkey, and when she tries to climb back down, she loses her balance and clings to two branches while her feet struggle to find hold in the undergrowth. Now I have to climb over the railing too to rescue her. Luckily, she catches herself and is unharmed. She is just covered in mulberry juice, and so am I as I helped her out of the thicket. We are having a blast, sharing our sweet bounty, the juice of which is running down our chins and hands. We look like we have murdered someone as we cross the idyllic bridge over the Meruelo River.
On the other side of the bank is a restaurant and a meadow with access to the river. Angela takes the opportunity to go for a swim while I sip a coffee and relax. We end up sitting there for a full three hours, eating lunch and chatting.
Ponferrada
There are still seven kilometres to Ponferrada, which we decide to walk together. We don't set off until late afternoon, precisely when it is hottest. I thought I had learned my lesson. The heat reflects off the scorching asphalt, and there is no shade. To top this off, we miss a turn somewhere and accidentally end up on the southern route, forcing us to take a huge detour to our chosen hostel, which we finally reach in the early evening, utterly exhausted. The hostel owner immediately gives us water upon arrival and lets us catch our breath in the shade of the entrance before showing us around and explaining everything. The elderly lady is like a mother to us, tells us that dinner will be at 7:30, and shows us to a bright five-bed room where all the beds are still free. This corner room is completely glazed on two sides, and white curtains make it feel spacious and clean. It is so pleasant that Angela and I are here alone, there are only other pilgrims in the next room.
I lie heavy and immobile on my bed. Aki, my loyal Japanese companion from the beginning in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, writes to me that she will be taking two rest days in Villafranca del Bierzo because she has plantare Fasciitis , means, something wrong with her foot. She tells me which hostel she is staying at, and since Villafranca del Bierzo is actually my destination for tomorrow, and Angela doesn't have anything better planned either, I call the hostel and reserve two beds for us. I am absolutely thrilled! I never thought I would catch up with Aki. Andrew maybe, but not Aki.
The smell of spaghetti Bolognese wafts through the corridor, and I get hungry. Isn't dinner supposed to be at 7:30? I go downstairs and see some pilgrims sitting at a set table, while the hostel mother and her husband are in the kitchen, cooking. When I ask how much dinner costs, the hostel mother throws her hands up in despair, and oh dear, she is so sorry because we should have told her before 5:00 that we wanted something to eat. Well, that wasn't so easy, since we only arrived here at 6:00, as she might remember, or maybe not. In any case, I feel sorry for the two elderly people because they feel so sorry for us and seem a bit scattered. So I assure them that it is not a problem at all, we are not that hungry. They still think about what can be done though, and suggest to heat up some lentil soup for us. Tempting, but I think lentils would have wrecked my gut, and since Angela is quite happy with her piece of cheese and nuts, and I also have some nuts and even biscuits left, I thank her very much for the kind offer and go back to my room.
It is still light outside when we drift off to sleep, blissfully content. What a wonderful day it has been.
Distance: 27,6 km / Steps: 40930
