Villafranca del Bierzo

(Cacabelos to La Portela de Valcarce: 22 km, 6 hours 40 minutes with 1 1/2 hours breaks; 31,00 steps)

Philippians 3:12-4:1
v. 12 Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.

I am done–ready to be finished with this pilgrimage. We’ve been walking for over a month now and we have not arrived at our goal. We are so tired. As we came through the hills the sky clouded over and the temperature dropped. The toughest climb of the walk looms in the morning, and my weather app tells me the chance of rain tomorrow is 100%. But we can’t stop now. We have to keep walking, to press on in this journey in which Jesus took hold of us and said, “Let’s go!” Though our gaze may be mostly at the rocks in the path that threaten to trip us, Jesus sees beyond the horizon to the blessings at the end of this walk and the eternal goal of all our lives. Lord Jesus, help us to hold on to you and to keep walking.

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It was hard to get up in the cold and the dark so we slept a little later. It’s not like there was breakfast at the albergue or a nearby bar; the hospitalera and our guidebook both suggested a place 1.5 kilometers ahead. Before we left at eight we saw the biking family pull out, their trailer beflagged and lit up, with a potty chair strapped to the back.

The recommended breakfast place on the road ahead, though with a sign still advertising bacon and eggs, was closed. The bar in the next town was closed. We broke out the cookies (dark chocolate icing sandwiched between crispy biscuits, the kind I always buy in Europe). “I like your shield,” said a lady from Minnnesota. No one recognizes the Maryland flag.

We walked out of the little town of Valtuille de Arriba into the surrounding vineyards beginning to redden in the crisp early fall air. Around the bend stood an old man with three crates of fruit: figs, grapes and an assortment. Breakfast! I wanted it all–the pears, the tomatoes, the fat red peppers–but Maurice was already glaring, because somebody has to carry all this and it’s probably sprayed with chemicals too. The old man was already putting figs into a bag for me, telling me in Spanish it was all natural and the apples were so sweet and blah blah blah. I bought two apples, a half dozen figs and a bunch of grapes, and what we didn’t eat right away I kept in the plastic bag and tied it to my belt.

We got to Villafranca del Bierzo about ten.

The Camino went right by the post office, which was just what I had been looking for to send my final shipment to Chris–the left shoe from Pamplona. I have found wearing my mismatched shoes to be quite suitable. Then we had hot drinks and a packaged snack in a bar overlooking the river. There was no sign of bacon and eggs anywhere.

We left town and started up a pretty mountain road, partially wooded and curving around big family gardens by the river in the sun. The sidewalk ended but soon concrete barriers appeared to separate the traffic from the walkers. The incline was gentle as the road wound between high hills on both sides, with the river gurgling merrily below on the left.

We came upon a bar with a covered dining area across the little street–a nameless bar in a nameless town, yet the bar had a beautiful marble bathroom. They also had omelet bocadillos on their menu. Could I just get the omelet without the bocadillo? No! I shared a bacon sandwich and cokes with Maurice.

Buildings next to the bar in Pereje

The way continued gently up, twisting through a sturdy and appealing green mountainscape that I felt I had seen before–in Germany, in Italy, in West Virginia. We looked in every town for what had become my favorite pastry (a raqueta) but there was no pasteleria in these hills.

Maurice heard that the ladies ahead of us had just found a room in O Cebreiro, the popular mountaintop village that seemed all booked up, so, leaving Maurice behind, I picked up my pace to catch up with them and see what I could find out. I got a lead on a bar with rooms above it then walked the rest of the day with two ladies from Ohio while Maurice and their Aussie friend LuAnn walked a bit slower farther back.

At 2:40 we arrived in La Portela de Valcarce, which looked like a truck stop but had a couple albergues, including El Peregrino, where we got one set of bunkbeds in a private room with a bath for only 20€, which is what we pay in some places for our regular communal albergue spots. This looked like a palace to our pilgrim eyes. It was clean, with pleasantly painted walls and freshly ironed pillowcases and sheets–bottom only, of course, but I wouldn’t have to put mine on tonight. There was a bare bulb in the ceiling, and no place to sit except the bed and a tiny bathroom stool, but there was a coat tree on which to hang things. The big window looked onto the road out front and a donkey in the pasture across the street.

Downstairs, the barkeep / hostess didn’t care if we paid now or later and certainly didn’t need to see our passports (although I’m pretty sure all accommodations are legally required to log in the identity of their guests). With translation help from another pilgrim, the hostess agreed to call to see if we could get a room in O Cebreiro (we could).

At dinner we selected two first courses from the menu (instead of the standard second course of giant-hunk-of-meat-with-fries); my lentils were especially delicious, and the cheesecake and rice pudding were also good. We ate with German Iva who is studying to be an English teacher. She lived for a while in England and Holland (speaking English) and her English is quite good. She has been interested in English since she was young so she could understand movies and music and communicate with other people.

Santiago waiting outside our albergue