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November 8, 2002 |
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Villafranca del Bierzo to Triacastela |
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Since I had come up the back way, I went to
the other side of town to see the view of the Galician countryside. It
was magnificent! At the top of O Cebreiro is a small, 12th Century church, Santa Maria la Real, which is the site of one of the most famous miracles in Spain. During the 14th century, a monk who was somewhat jaded was assigned to the church. A peasant from a nearby village braved a fierce tempest and climbed the mountain to attend mass. The monk thought the man a fool and just went through the motions. During communion, when the wine, symbolizing the blood of Christ, was consecrated, it suddenly turned to blood. The miracle of the Holy Grail of Galicia became known throughout Europe. And it endures to the present. It even had an influence on Wagner and his opera Parsifal. |
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It was 11:00 and too early for lunch, so I
went into the little restaurant for a cup of café con leche.
There I recognized a French Canadian woman who had stayed in the Astorga
albergue the same night I was there. I asked her how was the climb
up from Villafranca? She said terrible. She had arrived the night before
but had to walk the last hour in the dark. When I asked what the reason
was, she said that it was because she started too late in the morning.
The image of a pilgrim stumbling in the dark with a flashlight desperately
looking for signposts was vivid in my mind's eye. Not wanting a similar
situation, I quickly drank my coffee and headed on my way. The route from O Cebreiro was mostly downward, along a path that paralleled the highway. In many places that path was quite steep and it was hard on the knees. There were two points where the direction reversed itself and went steeply up. The second, the Alto de Poio, was described as, "very brief but hard." Brief is not the word I would have used! Although the horizontal distance on the map was just a few meters, the vertical distance was about 40 meters (about 120 feet) — almost straight up. Very hard indeed! Needless to say, I was extremely tired when I finally reached the top. I had come up and onto the edge of the highway. Across the road was a restaurant. I thought that this would be a good time to stop for lunch. It was a good lunch and a welcome rest. The only negative I found was the price. It was expensive — about 3 euros more than the average menu of the day. This reminded me of the three most important factors for any retail business — location, location, and location. Most of the trip down was along the road but even then the steep grade was hard on knees and thighs. To make matters worse the surface was often slippery. For weeks, el camino had often been on goat paths, but now it was on country dirt roads that are also cow paths. And a cow path has a distinct aroma and texture. Mixed with rain, the resultant mud can be quite treacherous. As I was walking through one village, two old women were sweeping in front of their houses. As usual, I nodded and said, "Hola, buenas dias." (Hello, good day). Instead of the usual reply in kind, one woman asked if I was a hungry and wouldn't I like one of the crepes she had just made. Touched at the gesture, I thanked her and said no, that I already had had lunch. She then asked would I like one for dessert? I said that I was a diabetic and had already taken my insulin and couldn't eat anything else for a while. She then suggested that I take one with me for later. Impressed with her tenacity, I finally relented. She brought out a dish with a 5" stack of thin crepes and I took one off the top. She asked if I would like sugar on it — I don't think she grasped the concept of a diabetic. I folded up the crepe and put it into a plastic baggy and thanked her profusely. She then informed me that most people give her some money. I asked her, "¿Cuanto?" (How much?) She replied "Que quieres." (Whatever you want.) I didn't know the market value of a single thin crepe, so I brought out the equivalent of 75¢, twice what I would normally pay. She then said, "¡No, un euro!" which I promptly paid her. And I don't even like crepes! So much for being polite. The closer I got to Triacastela, the more homesick for New England I became. White birch trees, stone walls, and marble outcroppings brought on a nostalgic memory of my grandfather's home. At the edge of the town, I found the albergue next to a small park. Opposite the park's entrance was a restaurant with a sign in the door window that announced early meals for pilgrims. I stopped to peek at the menu. All of a sudden the door flew open and an arm dragged me into the restaurant. I found myself being hugged by some strange blond woman. It was Gudrun! She and Marianne had arrived about an hour earlier. Since I had said goodbye to them at Mansilla de las Mulas and stayed two days at Leon, I hadn't thought that I would see them ever again. Apparently one of them had knee trouble and they took it slowly after Rabanal. We all agreed to meet later for dinner. Dinner was like old times. A German man named Gerd had joined us and at first he had the demeanor of a spouse at a class reunion. But before long he was laughing and joking with the rest of us. Since the albergue was just across the street, we stayed a little longer than usual, having a couple of extra drinks. Thus we were feeling quite mellow, walking home until a strange accident happened. Gerd suddenly went straight down, face first onto the ground. A chain was strung across the entrance road to the park and since it was dark we couldn't see it. Fortunately Gerd's glasses didn't break. But there was a nasty bruise on his shins and his ribs were quite sore. It's rather disturbing to think that a simple accident could end a pilgrimage. That night I went to bed tired and aching from the downgrade. But I felt good because the last of my fears was behind me. I knew that, barring a freak accident like Gerd's, I was going to get to Santiago! |
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