From Foncebadon, the walk to Cruz de Ferro was all uphill, but short. Less than two kilometers.
It was dark, but already the sun was prying itself free from the horizon.
It is called Cruz de Ferro, the Iron Cross, but that is too literal and limited for what occurs at this pile of rocks surrounding the little cross.
Crass of Iron sound hard, militaristic, defensive.
This place is anything but that. It has warmth, welcoming in nonjudgmental arms. Like the Statue of Liberty ( at one time) “Bring me your huddled masses …”
For many it is a long steep climb, followed by a cathartic release. It is where people leave notes, ashes, memories, heartbreaks, anger, pictures of loved ones.
Many put all their feelings and wishes into a rock carried from home. Some are inscribed with names and dates.
I can’t begin to describe the feeling of being present when so much raw emotion is released. It is humbling and somehow reassuring the we humans are fundamentally good beings.
Francisco stamps Camino passports at the Cruz de Ferro. His personally created stamp beautifully reflected today’s sky and emotions.
I am holding my Camino passport with Francisco’s handmade stamp.
Cruz de Ferro is a summit of sorts and on the other side is more downhill than you can ever imagine. I recall earlier in the Camino observing that Spain was all up hill.
Well, now I know where they have stashed all the down slopes. This was hours of picking your way through slate, rocky crumble, and granite outcrops.
At the bottom of the mountain is a comely village called Molinaseca. Smart people booked their accommodations there for the night and immediately positioned themselves at one of the many sidewalk cafes.
Some of Molinaseca, where I did not stay.
For entertainment, they raised beers and wines and shouted a cheery “Buen Camino” to people like me who thought walking another two hours in the hot sun to Ponferrada was a really good idea.
There were several charming villages on the downslope side. Definitely worth stopping to give the feet a rest and the throat a hot beverage. Notice the Medieval tour bus working its way through El Acebo!
Well, I’m in the modern and spacious Hostel Guiana in Ponferrada— showered, fed, and sitting in a soft lounge chair. Everyone here aches a bit more than our compadres back at Molinaseca but tomorrow their hangovers will be worse.
I can’t say much about the town except that it is pretty big. For some reason, the Camino tracks AROUND the city and bypasses all the fun stuff.
On the plus side, we have a 13th Century Templar castle. It has 12 towers. You won’t see me walking up any today.
