Legs quivering, lungs burning, scaling mountain tops, previously
unthinkable to achieve, after an astoundingly steep, rocky climb, we conquer yet
another summit. After 350 miles of hiking, we reach the commanding Cruz de Faro.
Cross of Light, symbolizing that which is no longer of service to us, can be
released to the cross. Worries, troubles, anxieties and anguish can be
transferred to a rock, and left under the cross. Accompanying this release of
worldly worries, the cross also represents a guiding torch to those who have
passed this life before us easing their souls away from sorrow into joyous eternity,
leading some to leave a ribbon or gift for those departed loved ones assuring
them all is fine down here, no need to worry about us. Traversing the seemingly
endless Meseta, plenty of time accrued to transfer cares to our rocks along
with wondering how much a rock can absorb. This amazing rose quartz rock, a luminous
cross etched in its center, crossed my path, perfect for the long awaited
experience of surrender along with a ribbon carried for 350 miles, tying up for
Kate and Riley, hoping to ease their worries of family sorrows accumulated in
the past year.
Precariously stepping down the mountain, more difficult than
crawling up, the terrain returned to astoundingly beatific, precious villages
with winding stone streets, gorgeous stone houses sporting planter boxes
overflowing with tender scarlet geraniums delightfully greeted us around every curve.
Looking over each valley to cathedral spires in the distance seemed surreal and
almost unattainable but there we were looking for shelter and food, a place to
wash out our clothes and a glass of wine to complete the day. Scaling two 4200
foot peaks over 6 or 7 hours, we cross into Galicia through the mystical,
magical village of O’Cebreiro, imagined or real, images flashed and lost in the
same instant of civilizations came before us, guiding us closer to the
completion of our journey. Galicia was settled originally by Celts only to be
conquered by Spaniards leaving many Druidic traditions intact. Music became
laden with bagpipes and kilts were not unusual along with mud made round houses
called Palloza’s. As we trudged into Fonfria looking for a nights rest, we came
upon the only Albergue available in town and found a room along with a meal.
July 25 is the Feast of St. James and we hit it so good. Our hosts had a fiesta
planned for the occasion in the manner of the Celts with a Quemate midsummer
gathering complete with Aruzo and incantations. Aruzo is white lightning liquor
in a pot with apple juice, apples, oranges, peppercorns, coffee beans a whole
lot of sugar and some other secret ingredients. Our hostess, Angela of Celtic
and Spanish ancestry, holds forth at the
ceremony, mixing the cauldron and
lighting it on fire, issuing incantations meant to release fears holding us
back from anything for the year ahead. Lights out, pot ablaze, singing and
shouting, we pass a delightfully amazing evening culminating savoring the torte
de St Jacques, an almond and orange tart, breathtaking, intoxicating.
We used every ounce of that ceremony to complete an
unkillable distance to Sarria, a brutally hilly, blazing sun day of 20 miles
that ended with yet another of these wonderful villages that for some
inexplicable reason has 100 steps up, literally, I counted, to get into old
town and our pension our evening slumber. Well worth the effort into a village
offering traditionally succulent seafood as well as an uncompromising view of
town through our window plus the added perk of being shocked awake at midnight
by exciting, brilliant fireworks celebrating a local wedding. Sarria represents
the last 100 kilometers of the Camino where many people commence their journey
as the government awards anyone completing minimum the last 100 km of the trail
with the Compostela or certificate of completion. Our trip changed overnight as
all the “short timers” crowded the trail as we were following the sunrise out
of town the next morning. More people than we had seen in 5 weeks. Smoking,
loud, music blaring out of phones accosted us at every turn. Culture shock we
needed to get used to. We saw many injuries as people carelessly ran and power
walked the 60 miles to get their piece of paper. A few mornings later as we
started out with headlamps, chasing the sun, our last day on our path into
Santiago arrived. Mixed emotions logically rise to the surface as 35 days of
backpacking come to a close. Passing by a huge Albergue, 500 beds, on the
outskirts of Santiago, I emotionally tumbled into the enormity of our
adventure. Tears filled my eyes as I at last found Santiago in my focus below
us. Sorrow and joy, blended into a luscious soufflé of adventure and liberation
permeating every cell as our last view of the amazing cathedral appeared on the
horizon. Santiago greeted us with live music scattered about the old town along
with fireworks and crowds of raucous party people celebrating the last day of
July signaling the end of the feast of St. James in the village where his body
lies beneath stones in the enormous and hallowed cathedral. After completing
the trail with a trip to the end Of The World, Finnistere, on the Spanish
Pacific Ocean, with a coastline rivaling our Big Sur’s, as the billowing botefumeiro
swayed back and forth spilling incense perfumed plumes of smoke at our final
pilgrim mass, I reflected on many wonderful new friends met on the trail with uncountable
lessons on survival and endurance in my heart. The Camino De Santiago, a
journey for the books and one recommended highly by this unboundingly grateful
pilgrim and I vow to use the steely strength I gathered physically and emotionally
to embrace new as well as old challenges in my life, overcoming and assisting where
I may. Buen Camino.
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