Camino de Santiago Day 25: Foncebadon to Molinaseca
What goes up must come down, whether it's expectations of famous sights, or your sense of your own power when you have to come down the mountain again
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The last sleeping spot in the whole village. I’d been given the choice of bunk bed or a thick mat on the floor – I chose the mat, and believe it was the right choice. My in-sole is a bit stiff when I get up but happy to be hitting the road in the dark – my ankles, which had been suffering recurring inflammation as recently as yesterday, give me no grief.
Foncebadon is just below the Cruz de Ferro – the Iron Cross. It’s the highest point on the Camino at 1,500m, and a grand old Camino tradition is for pilgrims to carry a stone with them all the way from home, that symbolises a particular worry or problem they’re carrying in their life. The stone is left at the base of the Cruz de Ferro and the pilgrim symbolically leaves their problem behind them as they approach the final section of the Camino.
I never thought of the stone but I do like a sunrise so I’m on the road. After so long in monotonous landscape, every day now is different, and we’re treated to a beautiful technical trail with a view back over the vast Meseta (it’s definitely flat) and the sort of sunrise you normally have to hop in an airplane to get.
It’s a short couple of kilometres and an enjoyable climb, still mostly in the dark, til we get to the cross. I actually burst out laughing when I see it in person. – it’s very small. Plus, you can’t actually see the sunrise here as it’s surrounded by forestry.
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I’m pretty sure the photos were misleading – any ones I’d seen frame it as this huge towering structure, and I’m pretty sure they implied it’s in an area with uninterrupted views over the world below. Never meet your heroes, and don’t pin all your holiday hopes on the hearsay of others as to what’s “the best part” of a trip – especially if it involves sight seeing of a man-made structure.
I feel bad for laughing though because this place obviously resonates deeply with many – I have friends for whom this was the most important moment of their Camino. I know mine will probably be somewhere else – or maybe I’ve already had it. It’s not about the thing itself it’s the meaning attached to it. People have left all sort of significant objects and messages and tributes to loved ones and the deceased. Amongst them I see a mass card for a man from Kilmallock, Co. Limerick, who died 4 years ago.
Whether this is the most powerful moment of your Camino or a disappointment – you can’t stay here all day – you have to keep walking. This is the Way. A reminder that walking through acceptance is better than chasing highlights when it comes to travelling.
I’m delighted the inflammation in my Achilles’ tendons has gone – that particular issue would actually never bother me again. A couple of km the forests clear and we can see incredible mountains all around, and the city of Ponferrada way off in the distance below. Now though I’m worried it’s so far down as I’ve just been struck with bad tendonitis on the FRONT of my ankle. The trail is like the lower third of the Reek – I’ve to hobble down 2km to the next village in pretty bad pain. Passing people ask am I okay – not a good sign. I think I might have passed them all out on the way up the hill yesterday. I don’t think I’ll be able to make such a descent in one day.
I get some cream and ibuprofen in the next village, and slowly navigate the 20 kilometres to Molinaseca, where I meet some friends for lunch. They’re all heading on to the next city but I have to admit to myself that I’m done for the day. More than anything, by the end of the road and coming down a steep and rocky downhill, in the rising afternoon sun, I was just fed up with the walking – not enjoying it at all.
Yesterday I was King of the Mountains, today I am nobody. What goes up must come down.
My foot is in agony and I feel like there’s no point pushing it. Besides, Molinaseca is a gorgeous stone village. I’d made a simple plan of self-care for my would-be destination: find a patch of grass and some shade, and rest there alone for the afternoon. There’s one right here and it’s on the edge of a shallow river, and so the decision is easy.
I’m done. I bathe my legs in the cold river. The town is very pretty. I make it to a pharmacy and a grocery store for a baguette and some food, which would come in useful in a couple of days’ time. That night I’ve a powerful sleep. I realise in the morning that as much as anything I was utterly exhausted.
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