(Murias de Rechivaldo to Foncebadon’: 20.8 km, 7 hours, with 1 hour & 50 minutes breaks; 29,800 steps, plus 2435 later)

Ephesians 2:11-22
v. 12b-13 …without hope and without God in the world. But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far away have been brought near by the blood of Christ.

We don’t ask everyone we meet why they are walking the Camino; I’ve started to perceive that people’s motivations are somewhat private. But almost none of the people we’ve asked have been able to elucidate a clear reason. They have an amorphous call, or they have issues to think through; they seem to be looking for something. The pilgrim graffiti in various places bears this out. There is a yearning, a search for meaning, a desire for something more. I’ve heard very little talk of God, which seems a bit odd on a Christian pilgrimage route. No one but us (that we’ve noticed) prays before dinner. My guess is that few of the pilgrims are committed to the Christian faith. They are, as Paul writes, “without hope and without God in the world”–as we all once were. I don’t think I say enough to offer the answer they are looking for, that “now in Christ Jesus [we all] who once were far away” and searching for our heart’s desire can be “brought near by the blood of Christ.” Dear Lord, please touch the heart of every person making this pilgrimage. Draw each one closer to the gospel of hope and salvation in Jesus.

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

We got up and ready for the day by flashlight and the light of the bathroom and were outside in the dark by 7:10, but that was only because we had no breakfast. No breakfast is never a good thing but Maurice had a plan. Last night he had asked at Las Aguedas, another albergue, if we could come for breakfast and the hospitalero agreed. So we paid our 7 euros and ate in their cozy little wood-paneled dining room. There were cartons of juice to pour yourself, and tubs of margarine and jars of marmelade so you could pile as much as you wanted onto your hard toast–so much better than the teaspoon-sized pre-packaged condiments of a bar breakfast.

A right turn from the albergue door when we left at eight put us on a long straight path that inclined gently up through more of the paramo, wild and beautiful (and very cold). Some of the scenery reminded us of West Virginia. A fine dawn was breaking behind us, almost matching last night’s intense sunset, and soon the horizon all around was ringed with pink. A speedy passing German pilgrim remarked, “You have other shoes!” She is the only person who has commented on my mismatched footwear.

When it’s been really cold I’ve wrapped my scarf around the front of me and tucked it into some straps to keep it in place.

Soon we passed through Santa Catalina, a nice little fading Maragato village. Then we came to El Ganso (The Goose), faded even further with roofless abandoned houses yet with two competing bars side by side. We went into one with less flashy advertising for bacon, eggs, coffee and coke.

Back on the road we took a few pictures in the sun, but probably not enough to capture the charm of the villages and the lovely paramo.

At Puente de Pan(y)ote, where our path turned away from the road and into the woods, pilgrims were resting at a shelter where a modern-day knight had a tent set up with a falcon on a perch. The knight was very pleasant, offering sellos, Spanish words of wisdom and a chance to pose with his bird; you could put a tip in his box if you wanted. Kitschy, I thought, but then I couldn’t resist.

Rabanal del Camino was a pretty little stone town stretched out uphill along its main street (probably only street) and shining gloriously in the sun. We sat at a crooked table in a grassy crooked yard by the church and had a picnic.

The church belonged to a Benedictine monastery and was actually open (most little churches are not). Inside it was crumbly and peaceful in the flickering light of prayer candles.

Sadly, we would be missing the vespers service later with Gregorian chant. The monastery offers pilgrims the chance to stay for several days of quiet retreat with the monks, which of course I wished I could do (next time). But we did get a sello from one of the monks (after first mistakenly stepping into a resident’s open door looking for it). Our guidebook tells us that for centuries this town has been caring for pilgrims just before they climbed Monte Irago, so you’d think that today’s monks, who readily provide stamps for the credencials, could also provide WCs for the pilgrims. But they do not. Or maybe (radical idea following) the town could put some public WCs at the picnic area. It is a different culture. I walked confidently into the last albergue/bar in town and looked around until I found a WC.

The gentle incline up to Rabanal turned steep soon after we left town and entered back into the wild and beautiful countryside. It took an hour and a half for us to climb the 5.3 kilometers to Foncebadon, arriving about 3 pm. Foncebadon was a ragged little town on a rough dirt mountain path with not too much on either side before the land tumbles downward. The gray stone buildings jumbled alongside the track were empty and disintegrating except for the ones renovated as albergues / bars. We stayed at Roger de Lauria (the Convento), a solid stone building at the beginning of town (before we knew how bad the rest of it looked). We registered in the large mouthwateringly-garlic-scented dining room with windows on the other side to the view of mountain pastures and windmills. Everyone else in our basement room for ten was French or French-Canadian.

Dinner was from 5-7:30, an unheard-of time for Spain. They must feed the pilgrims early to get them out of the way of the real customers in this up-and-coming town. We sat in the dining room in front of a large mural; when I asked, the owner told me it was a scene from 946 when the king came to town.

And…the talking French were there. Fortunately they did not sit at our dinner table, nor were they bunking in our room. A Canadian and her French friend joined us for dinner. Afterward I walked up to look at the rest of the village. Derelict, and it was too late for romanticizing it with sunset colors.

For sale in Foncebadon’