Leaving Casa de la Abuela in Los Arcos

(Los Arcos to Viana: 18.4 km; about 26,300 steps)

Ecclesiastes 4:1-12
v. 9-10 Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help him up.

We got up even earlier because we were supposed to be out of our room by 7:30. Along with the standard toast, coffee and juice, Joseph had fixed hardboiled eggs and homemade cake. I chewed as fast as I could and we went back upstairs to finish packing; the two connected rooms were empty of everyone’s possessions except ours. I was still debating about the bus: I think my heel is a little better…not really…but it’s just gentle farm roads today…. At 7:20 I was in the lobby putting my sandals on (for the third day) when Maurice noticed the pile of backpacks with tags on them awaiting pickup by the pack transport service. Lightbulb! “You could send your pack ahead!” he said. It was the perfect solution. Since we had a reservation for the night, he filled out the destination envelope and tucked in the five euro cost. I uncollapsed my day bag, put a few things in it (including Maurice’s big water bottle which he was happy to get rid of) and we were out at 7:45 in the morning darkness (still the last ones but our earliest ever). We joined the line of pilgrims heading west, their hiking poles and dangling scallop shells catching the first rays of the saffron sunrise behind us.

Off we trod in the brisk morning air on farm roads through ragged fields of tan, past small olive orchards and patches of grapevines with tight purple clusters. Every step on my left heel hurt, but without the half-ton backpack the pain did not obscure all other sensory input. As the day lightened, an arc of cloud drifted upward through a cleft in the hills ahead–a cloudbow, said Maurice, and soon he pointed out the flock of finches and the arrow of sparrows. He has been thinking more creative thoughts along the way than I have. A strong wind blew against us and I had our hymn of the day, a chorus from Aglow long ago:

Jesus taught us all about you, how we could not live without you;
With his life the power bought to help us live the life he taught.
Wind, wind, blow on me. Wind, wind, set me free.
Wind, wind, my Father sent the blessed Holy Spirit.

In Sansol we popped into the first cafe we saw for coffee, a banana, a croissant and a rest for my foot. When Maurice came outside I told him I thought I saw Donna the earth mother around the corner. He walked over to see. “I waved to her,” he said, “and three people waved back.” We pilgrims are getting to recognize one another along the way.

In Torres del Rio I had a quick visit to a tiny 13th-century octagonal church, with its 13th-century crucifix, based on Jerusalem’s Church of the Holy Sepulcher and once connected to the Knights Templar. I bought some packaged cookies dipped in chocolate at a stand at the top of a hill by a ruined hermitage. The paths continued through rolling countryside, swirls and zags of brown and green under scowling skies, wind on the ridges but no rain.

Back to the 13th century in Torres del Rio

We got to the Albergue Izar in Viana at 1:00. My pack was waiting. Our double room was across the street on the fourth floor. We had a private bathroom! We chilled. I put on more moleskin and my new shoes for a practice walk around the hallway. Maybe.

I had seen a sign for a “Jesus meditation” at the Pilgrim House, located past the square. It’s a fairly new ministry run by Terry and Loren who have lived in Spain doing other mission work for twenty years. When Maurice mentioned my blister, Loren offered me a saltwater foot bath, bringing a basin of hot water to the little sitting area. Aaahh. At 5:00 Loren closed the street door (the very door they closed the metal gate across the week before when bulls ran down their narrow street for the festivos) and we all sat quietly for half an hour listening to soft music and scripture reading. Afterward Terry served lemon balm tea. Soon Barbara and Holly from New Mexico showed up, a pleasant surprise; we had met them at the nunnery. They came in for the hummus advertised on the sign, so we had a plate of it too. Delicious! It was such a relaxing time that we forgot to get a sello.

There wasn’t much choice in town for dinner; Terry said many businesses are closed because everyone is exhausted from the festivos, what with partying every night until breakfast. On the next street over Barbara, Holly, Maurice and I found El Villano open with a man leaning on the door jamb barring the entrance. “Can we go in?” I asked. He shrugged and stepped aside. He was the waiter, passive-aggressively half-smiling all evening. We had a nice salad, then I had lentil soup while Maurice had the standard hunk of meat and french fries; dessert was ice cream or a delicious slice of melon. Bread, water, wine and more of it when we asked–a bargain for 9€ apiece.

Come, ye disconsolate, where’er ye languish,
Come to the mercy seat; fervently kneel.
Here bring your wounded hearts, here bring your anguish;
Earth hath no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.
(Thomas Moore, 1816)