This day can only unravel in reverse, because its still getting better and it is only 8:30 pm
Over in the corner, Andrew and Englishman is playing harmonica and another pilgrim is softly strumming a guitar. They are working out a gentle tune of their own making.
Ingrid from Sweden just sat beside me and opened her phone to the lyrics to “What A Wonderful World,” the song so closely identified with Louie Armstrong.
She read the lyrics. “This is so Camino,” she added, a misty essence in her eyes. “We sang this after dinner at another auberge.” She wrote her own coda to the song, placing it squarely on the Camino.
“I see trees of green
Red roses too
I see them bloom
For me and you
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world
I see skies of blue
And clouds of white
The bright blessed day
The dark sacred night
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world
The colors of the rainbow
So pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces
Of people going by
I see friends shaking hands
Saying, “How do you do?”
They’re really saying
I love you”
Minutes earlier, we’d all left a communal dinner in the great hall across the street. Our hosts brought in dessert to a rousingly patriotic song of Galacia, the region of Spain in which we are walking, as of today.
Afterwards, they organized a vigorous but short-lived dance to Celtic music.
Most of us are too exhausted to do more than clap, having hiked this morning up to O Cebreiro, highest point on the French Camino.
Taking a roundabout route:
It is higher than the part of the Pyrenees mountains that we hiked a month ago, on that first day of the Camino. Though perhaps not as steep.
As we left dinner, a crescent moon was shimmering above a magnificent shadow-infused. Dhe mountain range and a deepening blue sky.
“Sometimes I wish I were back home in Dublin,” remarked Lorna, “then there are moments like this.”
Everyone agreed. There are moments like this.
Scenes from O Cebreiro:
With Santiago looming and the days on the rod waning, emotions are coming to the fore. We’re wondering what this has all meant while never doubting the significance of what we’ve accomplished.
This morning’s hike to O Cebreiro was the last real challenge of the French Camino, if you don’t count the huge influx of fresh new pilgrims expected in Sarria.
I won’t minimize the challenge but to be honest, I found it exhilarating.
I left from Las Herrerías, at the base of the mountain, in the dark, as usual. After about a half-hour, I turned off my headlamp and tucked my sticks under my arm.
After O Cebreiro:
Then I stopped in the blackness and gazed upward at the staggering display of stars. I listened to the wind, winnowing its way through the forest. I heard the downhill rush of a brook, somewhere off to my left. The birds were coming to life, exercising their first calls before dawn.
I continued to walk uphill, guided only by the white lines on either side of the road.
It was the only thing I could see, though I could “see” everything.
An hour later, with the first rays of the sun breaking, I came to a three-way intersection.
What I could not see were the yellow Camino arrows that guide our every step. None. And two roads from which to choose.
In my euphoria, I had walked right past the turnoff which sent the trail off the road and into the woods.
One of my apps told me that the road was an alternate route — a bit longer, just as steep. It was too late to turn back.
It may have even been better. I got to see the sun spread its rays across mountains and through valleys, revealing breathtaking landscapes.
My friends walked through a forest and I’m sure it was just as rewarding.
I rewarded myself when the two paths reconnected at La Laguna, practically at the front door of a conveniently open cafe.
Coffee, fresh-squeezed orange juice and homemade toast and jam.
From here to O Cebreiro was a breeze. At the top, a Celtic bagpiper played me into the entrance to the village.
At the church I arrived just in time to hear Father Paco deliver a blessing to pilgrims in four languages.
I recognized “Love, love, love” in all four.
As I walked out of the church, I recognized a familiar face. Jame and I have shared auberges twice since Cruz de Ferro and bumped into each other occasionally on the trail. He lives on an island off the coast of Washington.
“James!” I exclaimed.
“Robert!” he replied. “Missing something?”
“If you mean my insanity, probably.”
He laughed, reached into his backpack, and pulled out my prized muff. A bit of headband I’d worn around my neck since St. Jean and that I’d lost and given up for lost.
James spotted it hanging on my bunk several days ago and took it along on the odd chance that we’d see each other again.
That’s the Camino for you.
A morning filled the events, decisions, and one accidental detour lead me to that very spot where James had briefly put down his backpack.
I’ve been wearing the muff ever since.
Tomorrow is a steep descent and long slog to Sarria. Well, a shorter slog now that I have learned there is an alternate route ….
And at 10:30 pm, an earthquake just shook the building.
Now that’s an ending on the day.
