Pilgrims

(Santibanez de Valdeiglesia to Murias de Rechivaldo: 16.7 km, 6 3/4 hours with 3 hrs stopping; 25,990 steps, plus 1940 later)

2Corinthians 4:1-18
v. 7 But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.

Jars of clay. Earthen vessels. Cracked pots. We are fragile beings, not made to long survive in this world. Yet God has given us precious treasure. Paul is referring to the gospel of salvation given to mankind, but there are other treasures too that we cherish in our jars of clay: love for family and friends, beauty we have beheld, wisdom hard acquired, dreams for the future. How could such riches disappear when our bodies return to dust? They don’t have to. The same all-surpassing power of God who gives the gifts is able to preserve them for eternity if only we grasp the best treasure, the salvation Jesus won for us on the cross. Our jars of clay will crumble but by Jesus’ sacrifice his own gifts to us will display his grace forever. Thank you, Lord, for the wonderful gifts you give us to enjoy even in our jars of clay.

****************************

The mattresses were thin but once I fell asleep I stayed asleep until morning. Not so with Maurice. He was awakened by a commotion when the mother of the twins jumped up and dashed outside with her sleeping bag. “Bedbugs!” thought Maurice. Fortunately for us all, no, but not so fortunate for them, for one of the boys was sick.

When I got up, there was no toilet paper in the ladies room (a constant albergue problem). Downstairs, the French were in the bar at its 7 am opening…talking. There was fresh orange juice but the toast crusts ran out when it was Maurice’s turn at the bar; he was given a standard packaged something (the other thing the Spanish eat for breakfast). He didn’t miss much with the toast, though, because the small packets of butter and jam we were allotted were not enough to make it palatable. When we left, Mama and her sick son were snuggled under blankets in a cozy sitting area in the upstairs hallway; she said they would rest a day or two.

It was 8:00 and the temperature was in the 40s; I’m sure my knees were adding adipose tissue with every step. The pretty countryside we walked through gradually lightened. We stopped at the Casa de los Dioses Cantina, an elaborate donativo refreshment stand, where I selected a flat peach for later.

We passed a cross erected in 2010 that commemorated the sainted 5th-century Bishop Toribio. In San Justo de la Vega we treated ourselves to bacon, eggs and a chocolate croissant in a corner bar, then quickly moved on. It was 11:00 before we finally took off our fleeces.

Soon the towers of Astorga’s cathedral became visible above fields and city streets. A biker pedaled by on a funny little bicycle. “Maryland!” he called out–the first person to recognize the flags on our backpacks! He was from the DC suburbs in Virginia.  Maurice and I spent over two hours in Astorga, which of course was not enough but I was happy to have it. I dashed through Gaudi’s amazing bishop’s palace, the drab cathedral and the wonderful cathedral museum while Maurice did some drawing and drank coke on a bench, then we moved on.

Gaudi’s bishop’s palace

(above and below) West facade of Astorga’s cathedral

At 2:45 we arrived in the Maragato village of Murias de Rechivaldo, a quiet town with low stone buildings lining the street on which we entered. Casa Flor was the next street over, a nice-looking casa rural with a real restaurant. We walked through the restaurant and backyard and into a rear door to get to our albergue: one bunk and five single beds crammed into a cheerily-painted room that had probably been a room in the casa rural until Flor realized he could get more money from it as an albergue for pilgrims. The large normal bathroom, built into a good chunk of the room’s originally rectangular real estate, was stocked with shower gel, shampoo and plenty of toilet paper.

We finished our showers before our roommates arrived: Jenny from Australia, who was also in our room last night, and Katrina, a part-time bartender from Chicago who told her boss she was going to Spain for six weeks, whereupon he begged her to have a nice time then come back and work full-time for him. The four of us ate together, a fine meal in the lovely restaurant, and now the other three of us know all about Katrina, her boyfriend, her boss (the boyfriend’s father), how to solve the problems at the bar, and that nobody is going to tell her what to do (which we could have guessed).

After dinner Maurice and I went outside to look around a bit, which was a good thing, because the sky was turning tangerine with the sunset, intensifying as we stared above the village roofline, until the whole western horizon was a flaming torch glowing up to heaven.