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Published: October 14th 2018
A Typical Albergue And Bar, Foncebadón.
I spent some time here as my albergue only had the basics, and no shop.. Late yesterday I wandered the village of Foncebadón, and caught up with people I hadn’t seen for a few days. The German woman I walked to Fromista reappeared, and we considered a trip to the Cross that afternoon in order to avoid the rain tomorrow. Four kilometres round trip and it would be done. In hindsight it was a good plan, never executed.
Dinner was at 7pm and I was seated with a young German named Michael, and Darryl from London. Darryl had that unique London accent that was a bit Arthur Dailey , if you know wot I mean like.
His mother passed away a year ago, and his dad wanted to walk the Camino in her honour. He became ill, was never going to walk it, so Darryl offered to walk in his place; only 2 weeks before he left to start.
Darryl sees it just as a good walk, but his open honesty revealed that Darryl was exploring his past, learning from the Camino, and he admitted the subsequent benefits were not something he expected. He wants to change his approach to life, family, and friends when he goes home, has taken up saying the
The Storm Clouds Are Rolling In
The prediction for tomorrow was depressingly bleak. Rosary every morning while he walks ( and he is a lapsed Catholic), and has confronted suppressed anger he felt towards his mother’s passing. His dad tells him constantly how proud he is of him, and he has had many emotional moments that he thinks is odd, because ‘ pommy blokes’ don’t do that (cry) according to Darryl.
He phones home with many revelations that his wife doesn’t get, because she is concentrating on running the family, not wandering across Spain collecting new ideas. She has told him to walk and enjoy himself, but don’t come home too weird. Her exact words.
I went to bed early but was kept awake for much of the night by shutters battering the windows, the heavy metal grates pounding the door, and the relentless wind howling around our snug stone cabin.
There were 8 of us there, and I think it’s the first time I’ve ever drawn comfort from people snoring. It had a safe reassuring tone that said, we’re ok and I’m just sleeping through this. Obviously, in order to hear it, I wasn’t.
A visit to the outside bathroom at 5.15am confirmed the worst. Chairs were up
Late Afternoon On Main Street
That’s my albergue on the left, and a last look at the clear sky. turned, bins on their sides, and freezing, sideways rain dampened my spirits, among other things, as I scuttled through in t-shirt , jocks, and sandals. Luckily no one has to suffer that image in the dark of night.
If the weather didn’t subside I was going to find an alternative to the full walk that morning. I know the track, and in inclement weather, there was an element of danger attached. A bad fall and the Camino could be over. I had to get to the Cross, and Manjarin was only a few kilometres further, so that was very achievable. Then it’s Louis Taxi time.
The talk the next morning was all about who goes and who stays. There was also mention of the climbers dying in Nepal, but I pointed out that we aren’t exactly in Base Camp, Everest. There’s some creative minds at work here.
The taxi was shared with 4 others and cost €10 each. Cheap! The driver was on a mission, and the jerky speed he drove down the tight winding mountain road was starting to take its toll on me. I’m never a great passenger , and this rolling, overheated taxi ,
What A Difference 12Hours Makes.
Sleet, Light Snow, 0°c, and a poor outlook for the day. with me in the back seat, was beginning to turn my stomach. I made it to Molinaseca and knew the last 6kms to Ponferrada would be straight and tolerable. He dropped me at the albergue of my choice, I registered at the desk, and found my allocated bed; bottom bunk near the bathroom. My people must have sent my requirements ahead to the receptionist .
Taking a taxi normally really goes against the grain with me, but common sense prevailed. I don’t bounce when I fall anymore, and a broken me is a broken Camino.
Watching all the people foolishly walking along the narrow winding mountain roads, instead of taking the paths, confirmed that it was not a safe way to go.
The previous night I booked a few nights in San Martin Pinario monastery in Santiago and I’m not missing out on that, so staying an extra night in Foncebadón, as many people did, was not an option.
I just met Greg from Byron Bay . He started in St Jean on the 10th but went out a bit hard early and paid the price with tendon issues. He’s fit now and thinks he is
Things To Leave At Cruz de Ferro
A bit of the past, and a trinket for Cystic Fibrosis. This affects predominantly young people, so it’s a good option if you are inclined to donate. Results are promising, so it’s money well spent. really only starting to enjoy the Camino. It’s all been pain previously. Greg’s about my age and has lived in Byron for about 42 years, so he was probably part of the alternative lifestyle migration back in the 1970s.
I’m going to explore this town, find some lunch and a supermarket, and sit in the plaza and people watch. The pizza place I ate at last time is still open, so that’s dinner sorted.
Unsurprisingly, the Templar Castle and church are still there, but I wasn’t interested in another tour, so I rounded the corner and crossed the large colourful plaza to find some shops.
In Spain, most shops don’t open on Sunday, but I had a delicious falafel wrap and a cola cao at the kebab shop, enquired about a supermarket, and was sent to the edge of town to a mini mart, the only place open. While eating lunch , a few camino friends appeared, in the company of a Agnes, a German lady, and Maryanne from Sunshine, a suburb on the edge of Melbourne, as you go to Bacchus Marsh.
She is a teacher and works with the daughter of the Farruggia’s who
The Cruz de Ferro
A quiet, solemn morning to visit the Cross. Very few pilgrims, with many waiting a day, or some opting to walk to the Cross, and ring a taxi soon after. That was my plan. I know well from our primary school and my previous workplace. It’s a small world.
I entered the municipal Albergue for further directions, needed the bathroom first, and mistakenly entered one of the most ornate, colourful chapels I’ve ever seen. It is the San Nicholas del Flüe and is part of the Albergue complex. A quick look, a stop at the real bathroom, and I needed to shop.
The mini mart was attached to a petrol station, which is the only reason it was open.
After topping up my food supplies, I’m back in the Albergue Guiana, loafing around. It’s 5.30 pm. It’s been a lazy day. And it’s pizza for dinner.
Tomorrow I have to walk 23.4 kms to Villafranca Del Bierzo, a quiet medieval village at the last stop before moving into Galicia. I think I’ll stay there but if time permits, it’s tempting to walk to Pereje, a tiny hamlet 4.8kms pst Villafranca . If it rains, I won’t, but it would make the next day a short walk.
I’m not keen to stay in O’Cebreiro because the municipal is tired, the shower facilities pretty public, and it is overcrowded. I was
told all other options are booked out. Other choices are just before or just after O’Cebreiro. Before sounds good, I’ll chase it up.
I’ll decide as I go, suit myself, and hopefully get a bed somewhere.
Until tomorrow, adios.
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Donna Smith
non-member comment
Thank you
Thanks Steve for doing that for me and my two CF cherubs xx