Later, in a small village, I came across something interesting — well, for me it was interesting. A modern fountain with a surrealistic female torso in the center. Since el camino traverses villages that are centuries old (in some cases millennia), a 21st Century work of art is a welcome sight. I took a photo to email my artist stepdaughter.

As I left the village, I passed through a series of vineyards, the leaves of which made the landscape appear to be a giant quilt of red, gold, and brown. At one point I came across a weird sight. On the edge of the road and among the vineyards was a fenced-off area about 100 ft square. In the fondo (back) of this pen I could see two giant horse heads about 10 feet high. What a strange paddock! Then I saw something even stranger, a headless, armless, and legless naked female body. Now, I realize that I've been on the road for six weeks and my mind could be playing tricks on me, but somehow she was familiar to me. Then I realized that she was the maiden in the fountain earlier. This must have been at an artist's studio. A small ceramic plaque at the gate confirmed my brilliant deduction.

Just beyond the studio, I saw an empty car with a small animal trailer attached to it. Inside the trailer was a pair of hounds. That could mean only one thing — hunters! A loud shotgun report echoed from the top of the hill. As I climbed the hill, the shots told me that the hunters were working their way down the hill toward me. I crossed my fingers in hopes that some desperate rabbit would not run in my direction. Even though it was an uphill grade, I quickly put some distance between the hunters and myself.

Soon I found that I had reached the last hill before Villafranca and began the descent to my day's destination. As I came down the path from the hillside, I went by the 12th century Romanesque church, Iglesia de Santiago, which was very important for the pilgrims of the past. The side entrance was a giant wooden door known as the Puerta del Perdón (Portal of Pardon). Those who were dying or too weak to ascend the steep mountain to O Cebreiro, could pass through the door into the church where they would receive their indulgence and therefore be able to die in a state of grace. For the past three weeks, I have been dreading climbing that mountain. If that door were open, I think I would have stepped over the threshold and thrown in the towel.
 
The albergue was 50 meters down the hill toward the valley and I arrived there around 4:00 p.m.. I checked in and went upstairs to find a bed. The dormitory consisted of five separate rooms, each with four double-tiered bunk beds. The room I chose had only two people in it. One was a drunk, who was loudly snoring, sleeping off a bender — the smell of alcohol was obviously present. I couldn't imagine how someone could walk any distance in such a state. I figured that in no way would this man be upset by my snoring!

During the day I had planned to use this stop as a chance to wash my clothes and prepare myself for the last week of walking. Unfortunately there was a line of people in the kitchen waiting for the washer and dryer. I could think of better things to do than stand around watching laundry machines. So, I decided to walk down the valley and up the other side to look around the town of Villafranca.

Villafranca means the village of the French. The name, as implied, is because it was settled by a lot of French people. Whether it was because many pilgrims, the majority of whom were French (after all, this is the camino frances) gave up before O Cebreiro or, perhaps, medieval French entrepreneurs settled here to take advantage of the pilgrim trade. Supposedly, the French influence can be seen in the local architecture but I couldn't see any major difference from other Spanish towns. Perhaps it's because I haven't seen any French medieval towns and would not notice any difference if it were there.

One building that I was interested in locating was the palace of Torquemada. Many of you might not recognize the name. If not, ask your Jewish and Protestant friends for they surely would. Torquemada was the odious chap who once was in charge of the Spanish Inquisition, which was instituted to ferret out and destroy heretics — specifically converted Jews and Protestants. The favorite method of cleansing the soul, after torture produced a confession, was the auto de fe (the act of faith) — an unusual description for being burned at the stake. And the favorite place for such an event was the local plaza mayor (major place). The place that saw the most such acts was the Plaza Mayor of Madrid.

After some wandering around, I found it but it was too late to visit it. And the light was too dark to take a decent photo. I wouldn't necessarily call it a palace, but a rather large house with a big courtyard and several balconies. Considering the houses on either side were much smaller, I can see how the term came to be. After Torky's place, I went to Villafranca's Plaza Mayor where I knew there was a restaurant that served dinner early for pilgrims. While waiting for my food, I contemplated the most important of philosophical and metaphysical questions: how to get to O Cebreiro?

The guidebooks say that there are two choices. The first is the 9.5 K along the carretera (highway) which coincides with the traditional route. The problem is that this highway has a lot of traffic and, according to one German guidebook, is "not unsafe."  I'm not sure why the Germans used a double negative but whatever the reason, it translated as "dangerous" to me. The other choice was up and over a mountain. The steep path up 400 meters was followed by an even steeper path back down 400 meters. Either way, that was just the beginning. The last 6 K to O Cebreiro went from an altitude of 650 meters to one of 1300 meters and is considered the hardest stretch of el camino. This trek was the reason that the hospitalero back in Navarrete thought that a heart patient shouldn't try to climb to O Cebreiro.

Well, I have always been taught to think outside the box, so I came up with Plan C — take a bus! For the past three weeks, I had been fretting about what I would do when I got to Villafranca. On some days, I might feel confident and be ready to tackle the mountain. But, after a particularly rough day, I would visualize myself clutching my chest in agony. Then I would remind myself that I was trying to promote walking, not mountain climbing. Usually I would put it out of my mind and vow to worry about it "later." Well, later was now and I had to make a choice. Another consideration was that I wanted to make Santiago by November 14th, World Diabetes Day. The choice was obvious — take the bus.

As I walked back down the valley and up the other side to the albergue, I couldn't help but be amazed that a simple footpath would be lined with electric lampposts. It was another example of how municipalities helped pilgrims.

I set my alarm clock for 6:45 a.m. and crawled into my bunk at 9:00 p.m. (I hadn't been to bed that early since my adolescence!) As I lay there I thought that by this time next week I would be in a comfortable hotel room in Santiago — if everything went all right!