Herrerias to Fonfria (Wednesday, June 23rd)
Today, we conquered the second mountain, O´Cebreiro! As Stella came up over the crest, she held up her arms ala Rocky, tada!
O´Cebreiro (pronounced Oh-thay-bray-ERE-a, according to our guidebook), is 1300 meters, and actually, we also crossed Alto de Poio (or O Poio), at 1337 meters, the highest point in Galicia and on our trip, a short time later. Even though we had dreaded this mountain a little, it wasn´t so bad. The first third, from Herrerias up to La Faba was a little difficult.
At first we shared asphalt with the cyclists, but quickly branched off onto wooded, steep and rocky paths. There was actually a section, though, that seemed rather like a little hidden paradise, a bit primordial, and, as no other pilgrim was immediately in sight before or behind me, I felt as if it was just for me to savor. As if I were an Eve in my very own Garden of Eden. I stayed there a few extra moments, a welcome break during the most arduous part of the morning. Then, I finished the steep climb up to La Faba and I was quite ready to get there. On leaving the little village, I was slightly confused by the yellow arrow and couldn´t tell which of the paths to take, left towards the fountain, or straight ahead. As has happened so many times, a person, or perhaps a guardian angel, just appears out of nowhere and points the way. Stella says we have big 'L´s' on our foreheads for ¨lost¨ and everyone in any town just seems to know what we need and where to take us. It has happened so many times it´s amazing. So this guy just appears out of nowhere and indicates that I´m to take the straight ahead path. Only then do I see the other yellow arrow which says that, too. Meanwhile, he´s asking me where I´m from and I tell him Ëstasdos Unidos. He tells me (he has to tell me twice before I understand him) that the people who live in the very house we are standing in front of are from the US, specifically Connecticut. Who would choose to live in this out-of-the-way village? Nice house. Definitely someone who wants to REALLY get away! Thanks to this man´s assistance, I am on my way again.
The second third, to La Laguna de Castilla, is much less steep and more open, less rocky. I take a break at a little bar-cafe in Laguna. Two little minivans let out a group of older touristy Camino travelers who don't really look like they are dressed for hiking. I assume they are just going to do this one segment up to the top of the mountain, but I will end up seeing them a couple of days later. It seems they travel by van from place to place with a guide and walk selected short sections with little day packs. Everyone does the camino their own way, rather like life. The last part of the mountain is not so demanding either. And the whole way up is just one breathtaking view after another. I periodically pause just to take it all in - not like on the way to Hunnto because I have to, but because I want to; it is just so beautiful and my pictures don't begin to do it justice. I have no idea how many miles we can see for across the valleys to other peaks. It´s a long ways. We have entered the province of Galicia a short while before reaching the top of the mountain. At this point, there are only 152 km to Santiago! At the top of the mountain is a reconstructed little Galician Village.
Galicia is one of the poorest regions of Spain. The buildings are stone. Corners are often rounded, I think so that spirits cannot hide in them, but I might be confusing cultures. The design is pre-Roman in origin and they are called pallozas.
Roofs here are slate shingles or perhaps thickly thatched. The only original buildings at the top are the church, Santa Maria a Real do Cebreiro,
which is one of the oldest (pre-Romanesque) churches along the entire pilgrimage route, and the hospital (in the care of pilgrims, not like we think of it) connected to it, which dates to the 9th century. There is also a memorial
dedicated to the man responsible for the Camino the way it is today and developing the way of marking it with the yellow arrows. I step into the church and there is a mass being said in German.
I listen for awhile and am able to follow along with a lot of it. I go back out to the topmost point of the mountain and take a 360 degree look around the surrounding countryside. There is also a monument at the top marking the spot where a pilgrim, lost below in the fog, heard the sound of bagpipes being played and was led to the top of the mountain where he found safety and shelter.
There is another marker commemorating a 14th c. miracle, when a less-believing parishioner actually saw the bread and wine turn to the body and blood of Christ, the Holy Grail, here. That miracle was later incorporated into the coat of arms of Galicia. Galicia has been Celtic for centuries, so there is a strong influence in the language and customs. I wait for Stella to catch up (tada!) and then we check out the little touristy shops. They have some nice things as well as schmaltzy. I find a pretty pair of Celtic design earrings for Laura who is looking after my mungos (Gaelic for beloveds) back home - Nicholas and Oliver. Stella picks up a few things for her granddaughters. Then we begin the trek down hill, well not quite downhill as there is a little bit taller mountain nearby (O Poio), but then we begin to descend. It's another gloriously sunny day. We walk mostly through woods, especially pines. We walk down and down and down.
We pass through some small villages and by some farms. The poverty of Galicia makes it a 'no frills' kind of place. The people are practical to the bone. We end up for the day in the town of Fonfria, a very small town, the name of which derives from 'a cold fountain' that I never managed to find as I walked around later. The hostel is a bright spot in an otherwise incredibly bleak little town. All of the other buildings, at most 20, are concrete block, mostly two story, with cattle and farm equipment on the bottom floor and the human inhabitants on top. There is no ornamentation of any kind on any building except for the hostel and a small bar/cafe on the far end of the village - a whole 3-minute walk away, if you take your time. To get to the other end of the village, one has only to walk through the cow-manure, cow-pee, straw and farm equipment laden streets. There is nothing that is not of purpose here - absolutely everything has to do with the livelihood of these people. It's purposeful, but not exciting. I make several loops through the village because, after doing my laundry and not being able to take a nap due to the horrible choice of music playing in the bunkroom of the hostel and not being able to use the internet since the computer is broken, there is not much else to do. I did get a picture of a hound dog on a roof
(haven't ever seen that before!), and I wondered how a dog gets on a roof - especially a dog that moves at about 1 mph - until I realize the back side of the house is built into the side of a hill! Stella comes out to walk as well and we explore around the small chapel and surrounding cemetery that don't look like they are ever used except for weddings and funerals and certainly not recently. The hostel itself is great, with a little cafe/bar in front, with a courtyard garden, a common room, a large bunk room and a big dining room and kitchen. We sit out in the courtyard with a couple of beers until dinner's ready. There isn't any other option for dinner besides the hostel, because the cafe really doesn't have much in the way of real food, but that's fine, even though dinner is late in coming.
The dinner table is long and probably seats at least 25 or 30 folks. The multi-course dinner is wonderful, with soup and pasta and great bread and more. And the man and woman who serve it all up are fabulous.
Stella and I are seated near several Germans who are anxious to get done and watch the World Cup match with the German team playing that night. (Unfortunately, they lose.) The young lady who sits next to me is a very extroverted, very engaging nurse who wants to become a midwife. She and the attractive, dark, curly-haired guy across from her have quite a verbal sparring match of wits during dinner. The young man to my left, at the end of the table, is from Venezuela. He and his wife are in Madrid where she has the power job and he is the stay-at-home dad to their small child. They both can't wait to get back to their home country, though. It is a very fun evening. Two mountains down; one to go.
Today, we conquered the second mountain, O´Cebreiro! As Stella came up over the crest, she held up her arms ala Rocky, tada! 
O´Cebreiro (pronounced Oh-thay-bray-ERE-a, according to our guidebook), is 1300 meters, and actually, we also crossed Alto de Poio (or O Poio), at 1337 meters, the highest point in Galicia and on our trip, a short time later. Even though we had dreaded this mountain a little, it wasn´t so bad. The first third, from Herrerias up to La Faba was a little difficult. 
At first we shared asphalt with the cyclists, but quickly branched off onto wooded, steep and rocky paths. There was actually a section, though, that seemed rather like a little hidden paradise, a bit primordial, and, as no other pilgrim was immediately in sight before or behind me, I felt as if it was just for me to savor. As if I were an Eve in my very own Garden of Eden. I stayed there a few extra moments, a welcome break during the most arduous part of the morning. Then, I finished the steep climb up to La Faba and I was quite ready to get there. On leaving the little village, I was slightly confused by the yellow arrow and couldn´t tell which of the paths to take, left towards the fountain, or straight ahead. As has happened so many times, a person, or perhaps a guardian angel, just appears out of nowhere and points the way. Stella says we have big 'L´s' on our foreheads for ¨lost¨ and everyone in any town just seems to know what we need and where to take us. It has happened so many times it´s amazing. So this guy just appears out of nowhere and indicates that I´m to take the straight ahead path. Only then do I see the other yellow arrow which says that, too. Meanwhile, he´s asking me where I´m from and I tell him Ëstasdos Unidos. He tells me (he has to tell me twice before I understand him) that the people who live in the very house we are standing in front of are from the US, specifically Connecticut. Who would choose to live in this out-of-the-way village? Nice house. Definitely someone who wants to REALLY get away! Thanks to this man´s assistance, I am on my way again. 
The second third, to La Laguna de Castilla, is much less steep and more open, less rocky. I take a break at a little bar-cafe in Laguna. Two little minivans let out a group of older touristy Camino travelers who don't really look like they are dressed for hiking. I assume they are just going to do this one segment up to the top of the mountain, but I will end up seeing them a couple of days later. It seems they travel by van from place to place with a guide and walk selected short sections with little day packs. Everyone does the camino their own way, rather like life. The last part of the mountain is not so demanding either. And the whole way up is just one breathtaking view after another. I periodically pause just to take it all in - not like on the way to Hunnto because I have to, but because I want to; it is just so beautiful and my pictures don't begin to do it justice. I have no idea how many miles we can see for across the valleys to other peaks. It´s a long ways. We have entered the province of Galicia a short while before reaching the top of the mountain. At this point, there are only 152 km to Santiago! At the top of the mountain is a reconstructed little Galician Village. 
Galicia is one of the poorest regions of Spain. The buildings are stone. Corners are often rounded, I think so that spirits cannot hide in them, but I might be confusing cultures. The design is pre-Roman in origin and they are called pallozas. 
Roofs here are slate shingles or perhaps thickly thatched. The only original buildings at the top are the church, Santa Maria a Real do Cebreiro, 
which is one of the oldest (pre-Romanesque) churches along the entire pilgrimage route, and the hospital (in the care of pilgrims, not like we think of it) connected to it, which dates to the 9th century. There is also a memorial 
dedicated to the man responsible for the Camino the way it is today and developing the way of marking it with the yellow arrows. I step into the church and there is a mass being said in German. 
I listen for awhile and am able to follow along with a lot of it. I go back out to the topmost point of the mountain and take a 360 degree look around the surrounding countryside. There is also a monument at the top marking the spot where a pilgrim, lost below in the fog, heard the sound of bagpipes being played and was led to the top of the mountain where he found safety and shelter. 
There is another marker commemorating a 14th c. miracle, when a less-believing parishioner actually saw the bread and wine turn to the body and blood of Christ, the Holy Grail, here. That miracle was later incorporated into the coat of arms of Galicia. Galicia has been Celtic for centuries, so there is a strong influence in the language and customs. I wait for Stella to catch up (tada!) and then we check out the little touristy shops. They have some nice things as well as schmaltzy. I find a pretty pair of Celtic design earrings for Laura who is looking after my mungos (Gaelic for beloveds) back home - Nicholas and Oliver. Stella picks up a few things for her granddaughters. Then we begin the trek down hill, well not quite downhill as there is a little bit taller mountain nearby (O Poio), but then we begin to descend. It's another gloriously sunny day. We walk mostly through woods, especially pines. We walk down and down and down. 
We pass through some small villages and by some farms. The poverty of Galicia makes it a 'no frills' kind of place. The people are practical to the bone. We end up for the day in the town of Fonfria, a very small town, the name of which derives from 'a cold fountain' that I never managed to find as I walked around later. The hostel is a bright spot in an otherwise incredibly bleak little town. All of the other buildings, at most 20, are concrete block, mostly two story, with cattle and farm equipment on the bottom floor and the human inhabitants on top. There is no ornamentation of any kind on any building except for the hostel and a small bar/cafe on the far end of the village - a whole 3-minute walk away, if you take your time. To get to the other end of the village, one has only to walk through the cow-manure, cow-pee, straw and farm equipment laden streets. There is nothing that is not of purpose here - absolutely everything has to do with the livelihood of these people. It's purposeful, but not exciting. I make several loops through the village because, after doing my laundry and not being able to take a nap due to the horrible choice of music playing in the bunkroom of the hostel and not being able to use the internet since the computer is broken, there is not much else to do. I did get a picture of a hound dog on a roof 
(haven't ever seen that before!), and I wondered how a dog gets on a roof - especially a dog that moves at about 1 mph - until I realize the back side of the house is built into the side of a hill! Stella comes out to walk as well and we explore around the small chapel and surrounding cemetery that don't look like they are ever used except for weddings and funerals and certainly not recently. The hostel itself is great, with a little cafe/bar in front, with a courtyard garden, a common room, a large bunk room and a big dining room and kitchen. We sit out in the courtyard with a couple of beers until dinner's ready. There isn't any other option for dinner besides the hostel, because the cafe really doesn't have much in the way of real food, but that's fine, even though dinner is late in coming. 
The dinner table is long and probably seats at least 25 or 30 folks. The multi-course dinner is wonderful, with soup and pasta and great bread and more. And the man and woman who serve it all up are fabulous. 
Stella and I are seated near several Germans who are anxious to get done and watch the World Cup match with the German team playing that night. (Unfortunately, they lose.) The young lady who sits next to me is a very extroverted, very engaging nurse who wants to become a midwife. She and the attractive, dark, curly-haired guy across from her have quite a verbal sparring match of wits during dinner. The young man to my left, at the end of the table, is from Venezuela. He and his wife are in Madrid where she has the power job and he is the stay-at-home dad to their small child. They both can't wait to get back to their home country, though. It is a very fun evening. Two mountains down; one to go.
Did you stay at the great refuge in Fonfria? we loved it - ran into a few people we knew! and had a great afternoon, evening, and morning (it was wet, wet, wet, when we were there, so we were delighted to have such a great place to sleep, and laundry facilities! We had the most amazing dinner in the large dining area with a host of other pilgrims!)
ReplyDelete-Carmel