The Sacred and Holy (6/21/2016)

Today we were at the pinnacle of our journey! Literally, we were at the highest place we will be on our journey to Santiago, even higher than our highest point in the Pyrenees. We did some serious climbing to get there, ascending over 300 meters on this leg of the journey. Keep in mind that we’ve been gradually ascending for days now to get us to this point.

The climb was good. Rachel was able to put on her hiking boots for the first time in weeks, which was a real blessing because the path was all natural, rocky, and muddy in some places. The views were stunning. 

But, every thing in life cannot be perfect and for us today our challenge was FLIES! It was like Amityville! For at least half of the climb, there would be this little hoard of flies that would hover around our heads. It wasn’t like we were walking through flies that were swarming around the grass, trees, etc. No, a group of flies would pick a person and just buzz around, land on us, especially hats and heads and make the trip with us—our own little hoard of flies for this special journey. Afterward, Eric wondered how hard the climb would have been without the flies. Because we couldn’t really focus so much on the climb because the flies were so dang pesky. At a rest stop (where there were still flies, but not as many), one of the pilgrims commented that even the bikers were having problems with the flies.

Cruz de Ferro

Today was also a special day because we came to the Cruz de Ferro—a cross atop of mound of rocks. The tradition is to bring a rock with you (which we did) and lay it at the feet of this cross. If you’ve watched The Way, you will remember that this is a solemn and sacred scene—very poignant in the movie. We had looked forward to our own scene. But, alas, today the vibe was more of a photo op and the feeling of the sacred or holy was lost—at least for me. I enjoyed the moment, and I took advantage of the photo op, but was a little disappointed.

From the Cruz de Ferro, we descended a bit and came to the non-village of Manjarin. It has a sole occupant (yep, one)—a brother Tomas. There is a place to hang out and rest, and a wonderful sign that Rachel wanted a picture of.

This is Rachel's sign with distances to various locales.

The descent from Manjarin is a long and dangerous one that drops from a high of 1515 meters down to 610 meters over a distance of 10 kilometers. Rachel does ascents like a beast! But descending kills her knees and the blisters on the bottom of her foot, so we made arrangements to have a taxi pick us up and deliver us to the next village. And, this is when I found my sacred moment.

Two days ago, we had run into a group of men at an early stop at a coffee shop as we were leaving Leon. One guy in particular, Jose, was very kind and talkative. We learned in bits and pieces as we met at rest stops along the way that they were a group of 8 guys walking from Leon to Santiago over a two week period. They are from Miami, and they are all members of the same congregation (and their priest is one of the pilgrims in this group.) Most of these guys speak Spanish. And, like us, there are injuries and various abilities, so they walk when they can, and they ride when they can’t.

This is Jose and members of the Miami 8.

At Manjarin, we needed to make a final call to our taxi to let them know we were indeed ready for pick up. Eric asked if one of the guys in their group would call for us in Spanish, which they readily did. They also made arrangements to go down the hill with us and when all was said and done, we had 9 in a van with 7 seats tooling down a winding mountain pass!

While we were waiting for the taxi to arrive, someone came out of the little shop and asked if we spoke Spanish. I pointed them to Jose. He happily went in and helped sort out what was needed. Then he went over to a group of oriental college age people and was talking to one who had injured an ankle and was providing comfort.

Going down the hill (careening, at times) our merry band engaged the driver in his native language. I’m not sure what all was said, but I’m pretty sure Jose was trying to convince our driver (Luis) that country music was the best. I heard “Nashville” a lot, and a country tune was played on a cell phone.

The view as we are careening down the mountain.

Jose had the driver drop us off first in Ponferrada, and they continued to where Jose was staying. The rest of his band had already gotten out in another city to finish the walk into Ponferrada.

So, where was my sacred and holy moment? It wasn’t just a single event. It was watching and participating with a group of people who were celebrating and enjoying life. Helping people in the moment. Laughing with each other, and bringing other people in to join them. Life lived to the fullest—now THAT’S a sacred moment…well….LOTS of sacred moments. 

A lifetime full of sacred moments: That's my goal!

Buen Camino, my friends!