I had a hard time sleeping. Dawn came fast. I packed up, my morning routine: bandage feet, stuff three sacks into backpack, brush teeth, put on boots, strap on front waist pack, hoist the big pack, grab hiking poles, go! I stopped by a small chapel on my way out of Astorga to renew my head and heart. Then the pilgrim rush hour caught up with me! Thee are way more people on the trail now as Astorga is a favorite starting point for Spanish hikers.
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| Lots of new boots on the trail this morning - wow! |
The ground is hilly again and this made me happy! I powered up inclines and jogged down the dips. I focused on my footing and the beauty around me, trying to put out of my mind yesterday's conversations.
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| Second breakfast stops were getting crowded! |
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| The Cowboy Bar! |
To avoid the crowds I picked the most bizarre place to have my morning banana and coke. What better hole-in-the-wall than the Cowboy Bar, complete with a banjo-playing bar host! No one else was in there and I enjoyed a break from the rush of fresh hikers. It was a clean, funky, funny place, where the strumming host did in fact know a Willie Nelson song. I hiked the next few miles humming "A Horse Named Music" and trying to stay between groups of people.
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| Mel and Steven, hiking friends for the day. |
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a day-glo shirt just like mine coming up alongside. I complimented the hiker on his shirt and we immediately started laughing and talking. Mel and Steven from California were the first two Yanks I'd seen in a few days. We hiked together all the way to Foncebadon, and their company and conversation was what I needed. The Choreographer at work again.
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| A Scottish pilgrim works on a tune she's been composing. |
Interesting and beautiful things kept popping up. A young guitarist from Scotland resting by the trail to work on a Camino tune. A stunning view. A Royal falconer!
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| My pilgrim passport is stamped and signed by a falconer. |
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| Steven gets to hold the royal hunting hawk. |
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| After a fifteen mile slow climb - into the Cantabrian Mountains! |
We came into the Cantabrian Mountains at a good pace, among some of the first to arrive at this tiny Maragato village with a population of 14. The Maragato are cattlemen and loggers and the Cantabrian Range has been their home since Roman times. They were used as gold mine workers for centuries but when the Reconquesta happened, this North African Berber region converted to Christianity so that they could stay. Since 800, the Cantabrian Berbers have been grazing cattle, working slate quarries, logging the mountains, and helping pilgrims across the tricky pass.
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| The familiar and cow bells greeted us in Foncebadon. |
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| Cantabrian cattle dogs can be fierce protectors - do not pet! |
The cattle dog of the mountains is a beast, and not to be treated as a pet. With origins also in North Africa, this big dog has one job - to defend and protect the herds from predators and thieves. At my albergue we were warned not to pet them! They are huge! I spotted several sleeping in the street, next to a pilgrim in her chair ( she was afraid to reach down for her pack), and roaming the ruins of the village. My hospitalliers assured me that they were now used to pilgrims walking around, but that not long ago Foncebadon had the reputation of "wild aggressive dogs" and were written about in several Camino books. Paolo Coelho and Shirley Maclane each had run-in with cattle dogs of this village before the resurgence of pilgrims began in the 1990s.
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| A huge cattle dog! |
The weather was changing in Foncebadon. Clouds raced over the pass and wind swept the single street with rain. My albergue had started the pellet stove in the main house, while our host visited the bunk rooms to turn on the heat. We were told to prepare for storms, rain, cold, and wind for the next day. After communal dinner I crawled into my warm sleeping bag and listened to thunder, driving rain, and wind beating on the slate roof.
