Over the Top

The last couple of days have been more rewarding that I can adequately record here. First, the walk from Astorga to Rabanal del Camino was glorious--a bright beautiful day, temperatures in the 60´s, a 20km stroll that continued slowly upwards through rolling hills and past mines dating back to the Romans. Rabanal itself is a spiritual respite. It sits halfway to the climb over the highest elevation on the trip--almost 5,000 ft. Benedictine monks run one albergue and the Confraternity of St. James operates the other. The monks offer Vespers, the evening prayer, each evening with a liturgy that is 900 years old. In fact, the small, old Templar church there has been under their continual care for that period of time. At 9:00 the townspeople--about 20 or so--came out an led a prarade from one hostel to the next to the church. A couple of men played flutes--one looked a little like an Irish penny whistle, while the other was more like a recorder, but had only six stops. They played a high-pitched, frantic dance tune while another man banged out a rythm on his drum--bang-bang-bang, bang, bang--over and over! The women clacked along on castanets, and the rest of us just danced behind them. We locked arms and kind-of skipped our way through the narrow streets while temperatures fell into the 40´s. The parade came to a halt at the church where the locals had us line up in two lines and do a whirling dance to another high-stepping tune. What a time! Then we went into the church again at 9:30 for our final pilgrim blessing and for the blessing of our rocks.

Rocks? Yes, the next day´s hike took us past Cruz de Ferro--the highest point on the pilgrimage. Since the time that the pilgrimage began, pilgrims have been leaving a stone at this point. In the 12th century, the hermit Gaucelmo, a guardian of the trail like St. Dominic of the Walkway and San Juan de Ortega, placed an iron cross on a tall pole at the site. For hundereds of years, walkers have left a stone as a symbol of a burden they want to be rid of--a weight that they want to turn over to God or to St. James for their keeping.

The climb up and up to Cruz de Ferro was made easier for me by good company. At the albergue operated by the confraternity, I met Mike, a maritime insurance man from Alaska and Seattle. Instantly likable and a great talker (Jim he really did remind me of you), Mike is an ex-Marine turned businessman, and he did have some great stories to tell. Walking through fog and cold rain, we were at Cruz de Ferro before we knew it. We took our pictures and left our burdens in the mist--we exchanged what would have been a fine view for the magic of the being wrapped in clouds. On the walk down to Molinaseca, we broke into sunlight that revealed magnificent rolling mountains and steep, granite drop-offs. We finished about 25km together with dinner that night.

This morning, Mike and I strolled along for 9km into the city of Ponferrada. I had a little work to do at the museum and at the Benedictine monastery, so we parted company. One of the miracles of this walk is how quickly, literally in the space of 36 hours, you can meet and become friends with strangers. ¡Buen Camino, Mike!