June 7: Hospital de la Cruz to Ponte Campaña Mato
It’s difficult to grasp I'm walking on soil where blood was spilled 12 centuries ago in the 800's. Here I trod on the same path, and in the footprints of Charlemagne, the Holy Roman emperor Charles V, as well as King Philip of Spain on his way to marry Mary Tudor.
Shortly after leaving the village of Hospital de la Cruz it begins to rain. (Remember the name Hospital has nothing to do with a medical facility.) It’s often cold and rainy in the region of Galacia. If this is what it’s like in Ireland I’m not sure I want to visit. Now I know why they wear those heavy, hand-knitted sweaters. I was cold last night and have a slight cough today. I don’t want to get sick now that I'm so close to arriving in Santiago.
It’s difficult to grasp I'm walking on soil where blood was spilled 12 centuries ago in the 800's. Here I trod on the same path, and in the footprints of Charlemagne, the Holy Roman emperor Charles V, as well as King Philip of Spain on his way to marry Mary Tudor.
Shortly after leaving the village of Hospital de la Cruz it begins to rain. (Remember the name Hospital has nothing to do with a medical facility.) It’s often cold and rainy in the region of Galacia. If this is what it’s like in Ireland I’m not sure I want to visit. Now I know why they wear those heavy, hand-knitted sweaters. I was cold last night and have a slight cough today. I don’t want to get sick now that I'm so close to arriving in Santiago.
What’s the big revelation for today? That I’m susceptible to weather conditions? The heat, cold, rain and wind? Is this a warning against any future thoughts of tackling Mt. Kilimanjaro?
Sun and moon bless the Lord; ... stars of heaven... every shower and dew... all you winds... fire and heat... cold and chill... mountains and hills... everything growing from the earth bless the Lord." Daniel 3:62-76
Sun and moon bless the Lord; ... stars of heaven... every shower and dew... all you winds... fire and heat... cold and chill... mountains and hills... everything growing from the earth bless the Lord." Daniel 3:62-76
I traipse through another backyard-barnyard much like yesterday before breaking into a wide smile seeing the sharp contrast of fragrant roses on ancient stone walls around the next corner.
I stop briefly at a village cemetery to look at family names. On to the parish church of San Tirso for a sello- stamp from a church secretary. A pilgrim from Malaysia speaks with the parish priest, who gives him a holy card to carry.
Today’s weather turns pleasant as I cross over woodland paths and shallow river valleys. All along I've tried to learn how to walk through pain in my right foot. I've heard about athletes performing while injured. How does one learn? Like the Nike commerical I suppose. Just do it.
I’m more worried about creating permanent damage then the immediate pain. My slow pace is bothering me – or my ego. It’s difficult to separate one from the other. I’m glad I made the decision to get a head start by taking the train to Sarria. Some of the stress of time constraints has been relieved. I reminisce about the importance of patience, tolerance, forgiveness – although I still have a few negative thoughts as I plod along. The demons are tenacious sitting on my shoulder and whispering in my ear.
By now I am resigned and surrender to my ailment. I didn't return home as I wanted within the first five days. I accept what is and try to drop the inner resistance. That person inside me that wants to feel miserable, or sorry for myself rears its head from time to time. At least for today I surrender and tap into the spiritual power.
I’m more worried about creating permanent damage then the immediate pain. My slow pace is bothering me – or my ego. It’s difficult to separate one from the other. I’m glad I made the decision to get a head start by taking the train to Sarria. Some of the stress of time constraints has been relieved. I reminisce about the importance of patience, tolerance, forgiveness – although I still have a few negative thoughts as I plod along. The demons are tenacious sitting on my shoulder and whispering in my ear.
By now I am resigned and surrender to my ailment. I didn't return home as I wanted within the first five days. I accept what is and try to drop the inner resistance. That person inside me that wants to feel miserable, or sorry for myself rears its head from time to time. At least for today I surrender and tap into the spiritual power.
In the middle of Palas de Rei I am delighted to stumble across an open air farmers' market. I smile in wonder as the fruits, vegetables, cheeses, entire legs of dried ham, such as Iberico, tempt passers-by. Caged rabbits are underfoot. After returning home I am told rabbits are sold live to prove to the buyer that one is not being sold cat meat, or other controversial foodstuff. Who knew!
Passing over a stone path I pause to read the guide book. I consider stopping at the albergue San Xulian near the Pambre River, but I read the toilet is no where near the dorm room. We pilgrims think of things like that in the middle of the night.
Passing over a stone path I pause to read the guide book. I consider stopping at the albergue San Xulian near the Pambre River, but I read the toilet is no where near the dorm room. We pilgrims think of things like that in the middle of the night.
Welcome to Casa Domingo
Ahead I see a charming stone building with a patio, table and chairs to sit outside. I’ve walked enough today. Over ten miles. The same as yesterday. A sign reads: Domir 10 euros; Cena 10 euros – at 19:30. A bed and dinner costs the same. "Book it" as my husband would say.
Casa Domingo pilgrims are welcomed to the sounds of recorded flute and bagpipe music. This charming, old place offers plenty of character with stone and concrete floors, as well as high stone walls where antique ox-cart wheels are displayed. Only 14 beds are available.
I hang laundry outside, until it starts to drizzle. I use the under-the-bunk-bed-mattress-technique I've used several times before hoping all the hot air given off by snorers will dry these clothes.
In the all-purpose gathering room a short glass of cerveza is served along with crusty bread, drizzled with olive oil and two hand sliced, thin pieces of a local ham like Iberico. Mmmmmm. Delicious.
Lost and then Found:
Back at the dorm I search for my credencial and guide book. Both are missing. Not where I usually carry them. I panic. I’m so close to Santiago. Without the credencial – the pilgrim’s passport - I won’t get my Compostela certificate showing I’ve completed the pilgrimage. Moreover, I can’t stay in albergues without it.
I was reading the guide book in the main room, which also serves as dining area. I go back and ask the man serving as bartender. He doesn’t understand my pidgin Spanish. His daughter is nearby. He motions for me to speak to the ten-year old. The child’s English is limited. She doesn't understand either. I pick up another guide book belonging to a German woman, who scowls when she thinks I am stealing hers. I plead, “I just want to show the girl what I’m saying.” Nobody had seen a book lying around, nor had a guide book been turned in.
Seeing this child made me aware of how few young children or babies I had seen in villages or cities in Spain, aside from the throngs of teen-age tourists in Burgos and Leon. Teenagers like cities where there’s lights, camera, action. Perhaps the recent economy has something to do with the shortage of babies.
Back in the dark-timbered dorm room, where even with lights switched on it is dim, I unload every item stowed in my backpack. Viola! I find the guidebook and credencial. I forgot I put them in a different pocket. Another lesson: A place for everything. Everything in its place. Every time. No exception. It saves a lot of anxiety.
Earlier that afternoon I sign up for Cena at 7:30 – the Pilgrim’s Meal. The 10 euros will be collected after the meal. In the future they might be changing their policy and requiring pre-pay. Since dinner was several hours away I had another cerveza. Grande this time, por favor, and another tasty ham sandwich.
Ahead I see a charming stone building with a patio, table and chairs to sit outside. I’ve walked enough today. Over ten miles. The same as yesterday. A sign reads: Domir 10 euros; Cena 10 euros – at 19:30. A bed and dinner costs the same. "Book it" as my husband would say.
Casa Domingo pilgrims are welcomed to the sounds of recorded flute and bagpipe music. This charming, old place offers plenty of character with stone and concrete floors, as well as high stone walls where antique ox-cart wheels are displayed. Only 14 beds are available.
I hang laundry outside, until it starts to drizzle. I use the under-the-bunk-bed-mattress-technique I've used several times before hoping all the hot air given off by snorers will dry these clothes.
In the all-purpose gathering room a short glass of cerveza is served along with crusty bread, drizzled with olive oil and two hand sliced, thin pieces of a local ham like Iberico. Mmmmmm. Delicious.
Lost and then Found:
Back at the dorm I search for my credencial and guide book. Both are missing. Not where I usually carry them. I panic. I’m so close to Santiago. Without the credencial – the pilgrim’s passport - I won’t get my Compostela certificate showing I’ve completed the pilgrimage. Moreover, I can’t stay in albergues without it.
I was reading the guide book in the main room, which also serves as dining area. I go back and ask the man serving as bartender. He doesn’t understand my pidgin Spanish. His daughter is nearby. He motions for me to speak to the ten-year old. The child’s English is limited. She doesn't understand either. I pick up another guide book belonging to a German woman, who scowls when she thinks I am stealing hers. I plead, “I just want to show the girl what I’m saying.” Nobody had seen a book lying around, nor had a guide book been turned in.
Seeing this child made me aware of how few young children or babies I had seen in villages or cities in Spain, aside from the throngs of teen-age tourists in Burgos and Leon. Teenagers like cities where there’s lights, camera, action. Perhaps the recent economy has something to do with the shortage of babies.
Back in the dark-timbered dorm room, where even with lights switched on it is dim, I unload every item stowed in my backpack. Viola! I find the guidebook and credencial. I forgot I put them in a different pocket. Another lesson: A place for everything. Everything in its place. Every time. No exception. It saves a lot of anxiety.
Earlier that afternoon I sign up for Cena at 7:30 – the Pilgrim’s Meal. The 10 euros will be collected after the meal. In the future they might be changing their policy and requiring pre-pay. Since dinner was several hours away I had another cerveza. Grande this time, por favor, and another tasty ham sandwich.
Dinner that evening is the third most delicious of the trek. Two soups, spaghetti, meat balls and sauce, fish and salad. Bread, water and wine, of course. This is beginning to sound like daily communion.
Earlier that day I received an email from my husband that Ruth Phelps, my dear neighbor in Stockton, Kansas passed away. She was under Hospice Care at home only a few days. It comforts me that Randy sent her extended family an email and a daughter read to her mother telling of my pilgrimage. Ruth smiled when she heard the news of my journey of walking across northern Spain. Her family, who drove from afar, stayed at my house during the days before and after Ruth’s funeral.
I was saddened that I was out of the country and didn’t have a chance to tell my friend and neighbor good-bye. I thought I would get a chance to see Ruth later that month when I returned to my hometown. I didn’t know she was so close to the end. We never know.
I recalled I was also out of the country celebrating my 33rd birthday in the Bahamas, when my Dad passed away. Due to airline connections I was unable to arrive in time for Dad's funeral. Mom understood. Perhaps that’s why, six years later, Mom chose to die a peaceful death at her home in my presence. Or can one chose their moment of death? Regardless, it's a gift I’ve never forgotten. The Camino also can dredge up plenty of healing memories.
Earlier that day I received an email from my husband that Ruth Phelps, my dear neighbor in Stockton, Kansas passed away. She was under Hospice Care at home only a few days. It comforts me that Randy sent her extended family an email and a daughter read to her mother telling of my pilgrimage. Ruth smiled when she heard the news of my journey of walking across northern Spain. Her family, who drove from afar, stayed at my house during the days before and after Ruth’s funeral.
I was saddened that I was out of the country and didn’t have a chance to tell my friend and neighbor good-bye. I thought I would get a chance to see Ruth later that month when I returned to my hometown. I didn’t know she was so close to the end. We never know.
I recalled I was also out of the country celebrating my 33rd birthday in the Bahamas, when my Dad passed away. Due to airline connections I was unable to arrive in time for Dad's funeral. Mom understood. Perhaps that’s why, six years later, Mom chose to die a peaceful death at her home in my presence. Or can one chose their moment of death? Regardless, it's a gift I’ve never forgotten. The Camino also can dredge up plenty of healing memories.