3 June to Ponferrada

When I left New Zealand I told myself I would be happy if I made it from Pamplona to Ponferrada. There’s some nice alliteration going on and if my Achilles had not got strong enough to tackle the hill that is coming up, this was a satisfactory spot to bail out. I’d have been disappointed, but accepting, if I had not made it this far, but I did hope to. So I am ever so grateful to have got here…especially considering the Achilles management, the daily toe pain at 5km, the food poisoning episode, the lost voice for four days, the three weeks of toothache, the backtracking to Burgos for root canal and recovery, the side effects of the antibiotics, the hayfever episode, the glute/back/upper leg pain (which seems to be settling) and the cough, which has been a constant companion, but one I only notice whenever someone rings from home, because they comment on it. It’s been a rough road.

Did someone say rough road? That would be the walk from Riegos de Ambrós to Molinaseca this morning. It’s so hard to capture in photos just how steep and rocky the path is.

And the town appears (still got a bit of downhill to go at this point!)

More than once the road was visible and it struck me as a particularly exhilarating ride, probably as much of an adventure on a bike as the trail on foot:

The walking path climbed higher than the road. Which would you take on a bike?

Half a dozen people passed me, even the ones going slowly, because I was going Extremely Slowly – my knees had not recovered from yesterday!

Being a largely single file track, we exchanged pleasantries, but kept walking solo.

Thankfully the Achilles had coped well with the very uneven terrain – definite progress for which I am thankful.

Molinaseca is a cute little town, not least of all because it has a bar with this right on the far side of the Roman bridge:

I had done my usual trick of walking downstream of the bridge to get a good view:

And then across it…

I had been thinking I might sketch something here, but couldn’t settle on a spot…

On the outskirts of the town was a garden surrounding a house. Fruit trees, rows of vegetables, flowers, some serious growing. Actually there were many gardens, but this one in particular caught my attention:

A woman poked her head out of one of the windows and I asked if I could buy some…

“How much do you want? Half a kilo?”

“That’s too much. Can I give you one euro?”

I really just wanted a handful…

…but ended up with 350g!

These were the sweetest juiciest cherries I have ever eaten. I thought the light coloured ones might be a bit sour, but not at all.

A couple of pilgrims caught me up and I sent them on their way with a handful each. An Australian lady fell into step beside me and we had one of those long Camino talks, the one that included the common question, “I’m not religious, what about you?”

In fact, I was asked the very same question just yesterday morning and the lady had gone on to tell me, “I was brought up Anglican, but my parents separated when I was twelve and so then I didn’t have to go to church any more. I had sh*tty teenage years and decided if a God could allow that kind of stuff, I really wasn’t interested.” I was keen to talk further with this lady, but I also needed to take a break and we had just arrived in a village, so I said I was going to stop – she kept walking.

Today’s conversation went on much longer. Maybe it was the cherries. We sat on the steps of an abandoned house and ate and spit the stones. Whenever someone passed – whether a pilgrim or a local resident I offered them a handful – it seemed the bag would never empty!

Last time we were in this Albergue Jesus bought us a bottle of wine made by his grandfather. This time it was my turn to share. S from Croatia didn’t have the energy to go out to get food and she was Very Reluctant to accept my leftover eggs, tortillas, lettuce and mayonnaise – but in the end she did.

Did that sharing somehow open our hearts? Who knows, but we cried together as she shared her story of losing her husband, who she dearly loved and had a great relationship with, suddenly ten years ago (at only 50), leaving her to raise three kids on her own. She lost her mum six months later and had lost her dad when she was 15. Having to be strong for her children saved her life, but they have all now flown the nest and she is feeling truly alone. She is also aware she hasn’t grieved and carries deep sorrow within herself. At the same time as feeling joy at being alive, she has no hope for the future. Walking the Camino is one of the things she and her husband had been going to do together. How hard to be doing it alone. Now that her children have gone, she is asking what next?

That two hour chat is the reason the blog post is late!

PS

On a much less serious note (although it felt Very Serious at 1am), I received this message today (obviously I forget to check WhatsApp every day):

So tomorrow morning I’m meeting up with new friends at a Churrería and being reunited with my earplugs, which I left behind in my hurry to get to the Iron Cross. My deep regret last night has been alleviated.