It's a bit of a jumble pulling photos together from 3 crossings through this area. When we arrive in Ponderrada this will reduce to a more comfortable two years. In a way I'm please that there are three for this stage. The Cruz de Ferro has on each occasion been a unique experience. From Rabinal the path climbs almost immediately.
Yup, that's snow ahead (2018).
The first of the two water fonts was a reference point each time. Here in 2016 with Rob,
In 2018 when I was alone,
and in 2013 in the dark with Annemarie.
Setting the stage, 2013: We set off in the dark from Rabinal. Ken set off ahead with Jen from America and Karen from Oz. The day before, Neil and Sarah had set off from Foncebadón (closer to the cross) in the dark and report they were first to arrive before moving on. As I said, we didn't see them again as they remained a stage ahead.
The climb starts a bit steep, but then just becomes a steady grind approachIn Foncebadón. By this point of the camino you've already walked a bunch, and depending on your situation this either becomes just a routine climb or a hard slog. I've always enjoyed this section.
The low clouds dominated as we approached Foncabadón in 2013.
Replaced by beautiful sun and heat in 2016!
In 2013 Foncebadón was a fairly basic village with just a few places to stay. Sarah and Neil stayed in the albergue there. No, this isn't the albergue! A bit too basic.
But this might have been it. Annemarie's toe was killing her and she stopped after the initial climb to make an adjustment.
Rob and I stopped for a commemorative photo in 2016. A moment of satisfaction after a decently long walk from just near Astorga.
Rob and I stayed here in 2016. The town had expanded noticeably in the 3 years since, but oddly still not many places to get a meal.
The owner made us a very simple, but hearty meal late in the day. Thankfully there was wine!
When I passed through in 2018 the town was in a major late season uproar with construction everywhere and the roads all ripped up as the dirt road through town was being replaced. Clearly gearing up to attract even more pilgrims. Frankly, I thought it was pretty cool in 2013, less so on each subsequent passage. Tourism and the desire to attract more money will do this to a place. Not really a criticism, but unfortunately it's pretty much the same many places our planet. Perhaps one of the benefits of this pandemic will be a slight slowing of this trend. Let's just say that I'm happy to have seen it relatively undeveloped the first time through.
N&S, was this the albergue?
Looking back towards town and in the distance the Meseta. The last really flat bit of walking until getting nearer to Santiago.
In 2018 it was really nice to see this view after Foncebadón because in 2013 Annemarie and I walked up through the clouds and in 2016 Rob and I climbed in the dark with just our head lamps. Annemarie and I were just reflecting on these differences, and I feel fortunate to have visited on three occasions; in different seasons, at different times of the day and in completely different weather.
Until 2018 I had no idea what the surrounding area really looked like.
And in 2013 and 2016 I never had this first view of the Cruz de Ferro. Heck, the first two times I wasn't even aware of the road beside the approach!
Our first view on arrival in 2013. I didn't find out until I returned home that on the right was Jen. She shared her story with me in letters and we both came to understand how we had met each other that day without even realizing it. I was deeply touched, but that's not for a simple blog post. Perhaps one day when I write the book that my Dad has been prompting me to write these past years. That probably won't happen until after I've walked the Via Francigena.
Later on this October 2013 day Ken wrote;
Grateful for the fog that shrouded the mountain top this morning: it gave the cross a strange atmosphere, it was a good substitute for the rain that would’ve fallen had that cloud bank been a little higher. Geoff’s and Annemarie’s daughter asked them to think about something they’re grateful for that they’d never considered--for me, it would be that fog.
Thanks Ken! Annemarie and I can't remember which daughter he's speaking about, but we intend to ask each of them. Before leaving home each of us, Ken, Annemarie, Sarah, Neil and myself understood that this stop might be an emotional one. The place on the camino where one traditionally unburdens themselves with a symbolic stone carried from home and all the way across the camino. An important point for most peregrinos. Based on our Zoom conversation the other night, I think we were all surprised by just how emotional it turned out to be.
In 2016 Rob and I climbed up in the dark aided by the moon. We enjoyed the quiet, having arrived first on the scene.
My sister Kathy had just been diagnosed with Alzheimer's the week before we left, and I took a stone for her to leave it at the Cruz, but I couldn't bring myself to do so. It felt like it just wasn't the time to leave it there. Not yet. Since then I've carried it with me for more than 4,700 kms on multiple walks to help remember the burden carried by those with the disease and their supporters.
In 2018 I returned here alone while walking our Camino For Alzheimer's Awareness, still carrying this burden. http://caminoforalzheimers.blogspot.com/2018/11/backup-etape-44-santa-clatalina-el.html
One day I hope to return here to finally leave Kathy's stone. But not yet.
Ha! On a more cheerful note, it was very shortly after this stop that Annemarie made the decision to change out of her boots and into her heavy walking sandals. This provided immediate relief for her toe and she would walk in her sandals all the way to Santiago almost without pain. I have just one question. What took you so long??; )
The next hi-light on the way down from the Cruz is the small stop at Manjarin. There is a very small rustic albergue, the main attraction is just seeing it.
Rob and I experienced a deluxe sunrise that 2016 morning.
One of those sunrises that just keeps on giving.
Then the long descent into El Acebo and eventually Molinaseca begins. It was at about this point that we caught up to Ken and we walked onwards to Molinseca together.
There's a very sharp, poorly marked left turn off the loose gravel road that takes you down the steep hill and into town. In 2018 it was snowing so heavily that I almost missed the turn. Ken, Neil and Sarah claim it was muscle memory that made me turn. I'm not too sure about that, but I was certainly relieved to have arrived into El Acebo.
Our lunch stop in 2013. I really began to like this village.
That veranda again caught my eye 3 years later! One of the pots was missing.
I immediately liked the name of the town because it sounded like something from Lawrence of Arabia (I was thinking of the town of Acaba on the Red Sea) and I realized that perhaps the village had been named by the Moors. I liked the vib too and I hoped to stay there at some point in the future. In 2018 I did just that. As I said it was snowing to almost whiteout conditions further up the mountain. I took this photo looking back towards where I'd walked into town.
In 2016 I was waiting just off the road for Rob to arrive.
And yes, he got another damned coffee!
In 2018 I stayed in a very small B&B with a fellow who had been welcoming peregrinos for many years. Very late season, almost every accommodation in town was closed as were the restaurants and bars. I stayed in a place that I just discovered while writing this that we'd seen in 2013 when I took a photo of the flowers in the back yard. That's just a bit weird.
The pretty view from my window.
In 2018 searching for a place to have dinner I walked through the freezing night air and just out of town I found a massive, stylish brand new albergue. Much higher end than my B&B with menus and everything. Had I only known. I had dinner with a long table full of pilgrims. All Europeans I think mostly from Germany and France.
We walked late today so no photos. Beside this post being a special stage of the Way is already lonnnnnnng!
Buen Camino!
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