La Faba to O'Cebreiro

O'Cebreiro

What a day. Seemed like 3 packed into one. We awoke at 5:30 in an
attempt to get out by 6:15am. Hah, as usual. After a bit of breakie
(baby yogurt) we set out at 6:31am. It was dark, but we didn't need
our headlamps. We started climbing. We had 5K to get to the top and it was steep. Wicked steep. Breathing heavy and sweating steep, as we slowly inched our way up over centuries old stones and seconds old manure. It was more of a cart path than a road. The fields on either side were so steep that all I could think of was the poor creature that had to clear it with a scythe 40 years ago. There were very few yellow arrows to be found, even if you could see them. The

road was so worn and there were so many boot prints from the day before, that there was little doubt that we were on the right path. As the skies slowly brightened we could make out a few figures ahead of us up on the hillside. We were going there?!!!

Dawn broke like a Spielberg movie. Grandiose and awe-inspiring. With
each pause and turn came a pant and sigh. It was almost too beautiful to believe. This misty, rainy province of Spain woke to crystal clear
skies, a moon and magnificent valleys as far as one could see. The
view was only disturbed by the occasional cowbells. If that can be
called disturbing.We made it to the top, 1350 meters, to be greeted by an expanse of cloud
filled fjords of the valleys to the north. After suitable gasps, we
headed for the bar for our cafe con leche and were then treated to a live broadcast from Pamplona of the running of the bulls! As
Americans we may see a wire photo in the newspaper or a quick clip on
the evening news, but to see the full 4 minutes live from multiple
cameras was something else. To run it (Scott Paton) simply insane!!
I'm now completely convinced that it is Spain's version of stock car
racing; everyone's just waiting for the disaster. Except with the
bulls- it comes a lot faster!

Our descent was supposed to start immediately but Nancy read the map
wrong. We had a small down and two more "ups" to go. By 11:30am we are climbing along an unshaded, narrow and rocky path. The last "up". I am a little ahead of Mary, but several hundred meters high above her as the path is now resembling something of a ladder! I look down at her and see, coming up behind her, a posse of riders on horseback. Oh great. The last thing I want is to be on this tightrope of trail with 8 horses trying to squeeze by me. I look up. Through the drops of sweat now cascading down from my brow and into my eyes, I see at the top the blurry, but unmistakable red canvas of a cafe umbrella. The Umbrella of Hope, as it came to be known afterwards. I now scramble up to it, trying to keep ahead of the horses.

I make it. Huffing, puffing, and dripping, I climb up onto level land, just before the first horse reaches me. The guide is riding this horse, but behind him are seven more riders, all apparently family members judging by the looks of them. Their faces are all familial, but their bodies are too: they are all obese. Moobs and bellies and double chins. I am feeling overwhelming pity for the horses now. That climb was hard enough for me, but I wasn't carrying Two Ton Tomas on my back.

My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a "Hello Nancy!" Behind me, finishing up a bite to eat and readying themselves to get back on the trail are Steve, Lynn and Kath. Lynn grew up with Kath in Australia, but now lives in New Zealand with her husband, Steve. They're in their 60's I guess. They are wonderfully friendly, have a great sense of humour and always a sunny disposition -despite the heat and the terrain. Its always cheering to see their smiles on the Camino. We barely have time to chat when Mary creeps up and over the lip of the trail. She is weak and says so. The Australians suggested she needed salt. I reached into my pack and gave her some peanuts. But it doesn't occur to me to stop for lunch. We continue on with the Aussie/Kiwis. 100 yards later, she says she needs to stop a bit; I gave her a pediatric electrolyte strip. 100 more yards she stops in the "shade" of a hedgerow and says she feels dizzy. Suddenly it occurs to Nazi Nancy that maybe she needs.... food?!!! She's climbed 8 miles on a baby yogurt and half a croissant! I start to lose it laughing. Mary has already stated that she's convinced I'm using her as a market research study for a future fat farm that I secretly want to start: Camp Gordita. A simple concept really, I'll be dragging clients over the Camino, denying them food and promising kilos of weight loss. She asks why I didn't sign up all those horseback riders as clients. Mary is so weak that she, laughing, starts to lose control of her bladder! We are doubled over on the side of the path drooling, sweating and praying that we won't be washing two sets of pants tonight. Or two sets of panties. We stop at the next village. We get her some food. She is happy, very happy. And funny enough, no longer dizzy.

Up, up and away...

From the heat. Or so we thought. It was so hot yesterday afternoon (100F degrees) that we decided we just couldnt take it any more and we resorted to extreme measures: The alarm was set for 5:07AM. those of you who know the reigning Queen of Blanket Street (moi) may not know her successor, Cecelia. And as Belinda the Good Witch would say "she's worse than the first one," Cecelia is only up that early when she decides to watch her 6 part Audrey Hepburn collection and never gets into bed to begin with.

We were in a lovely town at the foot of the mountains, Villafranca del Bierza. Yes, as in the wines. There are so many wine regions in such a small country, it is astonishing. As are the wines. Today's option was to walk 30K (18.64 miles) with the last 6.5 miles all up hill (2300 ft ascent) or walk 25K saving the hardest for tomorrow morning: 5K up and over the top and an "easy" finish. So here we lie listening to cowbells and roosters in a most quaint little village called La Faba. Mary and I arrived around 12:45pm, to be greeted by Sabine and Sylvan, two French peregrinos who started walking 64 days ago from Le Puy. Only the French could even conceive of taking off so much time from work. Oh wait, thats right, the ´French don´t really work do they?!
At 6pm the German hospitalero announces that they are going to have "a celebration" in the church- a prayer for peace. It was lovely. She passed around a candle for each peregrino to hold and pray and pass to the next one. Then we gathered around the altar to say the Pilgrims Prayer in each of our languages. Finally we joined hands and said the "Lords Prayer" in unison, yet each of us speaking in our own language- French, German, Swedish, Spanish, Italian and one American. Very Kumbayah, m´Lord, if I do say so myself. (All it was missing was some jeans and a pookah necklace.) But it was lovely. A bit of spirituality in the middle of a religious pilgimage- imagine that!

On that note, I have to add that I´ve been somewhat disappointed in the spiritual aspect of the Camino. Or the lack thereof. Others will rightly say that it comes from within, but it is a bit sad that 90% of the churches on the Camino have been closed. In the middle of a walk, its lovely to sit in a church to reflect and to refresh oneself. I walked with Buddhists who had the same lament. They were all closed. I spoke to some Spaniards who explained that if they kept the churches open, they would be vandalized and graffiti-adorned beyond recogition. Sad.

At any rate, It was a lovely night, and the right thing to do. We awoke at 5:40am and were out the door for the final 5K up to the top. Beautiful, despite the flies and the sweat! No sounds except those flies and sweat drops dropping! An occasionally bird would chirpk, and one could hear the echos of dogs yelping somewhere in the valley below. The sun took awhile to find us. We were up around 5000 feet afterall. But when it did - WOW! A gift.

At the top we got another gift! More incredible views and the chance to watch the running of the bulls live on the television at the top.