Rather high altitudes (1400-1500m), looks a bit like home… Mist, wind. But also ruins of a 2000 years old village – Foncebadón. It seems to be getting a new chance now, thanks to the modern pilgrimage. In the 70s-90s it was almost desolate.
It blows my mind, actually: a lot of the villages here owe their existence or development to the pilgrimage that blossomed in the middle ages. But the whole thing repeats itself today, it’s, like, exactly the same: someone says, hey, this stretch of the road is too long without a place for pilgrims to stay, can’t we (a church?) invest in a building, some equipment and organise rotation of volunteers? After just some years there’s a new shop, a couple of bars… someone new settles here… all because there are now pilgrims here who want to be fed and helped. So, like I say, exactly the same as hundreds of years ago, no? Insane.
There is much less wind on the western side of the Iron Cross pass (1504m). Also, the path is much better, at least for a short bit.
An hour or so later, we can see what I think is Ponferrada down below. The decent is gorgeous, so much space and air.
I hope I don’t break a leg here, while scribbling this. Update: I didn’t.
Actually, feeling quite lucky that I didn’t. My shoes are a bit too loose and soft for this path, there were a couple of close calls.
My wife, Lidia, is a great gal, with a very good pair of legs. They are easy on the eyes and they take her places, very fast if need be. Also if need not be. If need be not. This lady is always in a hurry, and thus is a danger to herself and those trying to stay close. She’s practically running in circles around me the whole day, and as a result is now completely out of it in her bunk, with all her blisters popped and threaded and iodized, but completely exhausted. Not sure what the rest of the day brings, but for now, here we are.
