What to say about our fifth day on the Camino?
I know, aaaarrrrgggghhhh!!
What a day. According to our guide book the distance between RdC and M is 26.5km. Adjusted for hills and ups and downs you add another 3 to make it basically a 30km hike.
In the middle of July in Spain it was quite an effort. Suffice to say it was hot and long, but of course magnificent.
We hit the road about 8.30am, there is a photo in my previous post with Monica, Harry and Zoe outside a stone building, that was then. We walked the 5km or so to the next little town Foncebadon. Not much here, a bit of a crumbly village, we did not stop but pushed on to get to the Cruz de Ferro (or Cruz de Hiero depending on your interpretation). This point marks the highest point on the Camino that you walk over, 1505 metres above sea level.
What an interesting place. It is really a significant part of the Way of St James. For us, who had only been walking for 4 and a bit days at that point it had sort of been our first landmark. Pilgrims who had been walking for much longer had others earlier I am sure, but everyone wants to hit the high point. Cruz de Ferro means 'Iron Cross'. It isn't that flash. It is basically an old telegraph pole sticking out of a pile of stones with a small iron cross on top of it maybe 2 or 3 feet tall (the cross that is, the whole thing is maybe 10 m high). Looks pretty scrappy to be honest. There are all sorts of bits of string and feathers and old faded photos and bits of shoelaces and rubbish all stuck to it and laying around it. As a man who likes things to be tidy it didn't really speak soothingly to my aesthetic.
But I was in tears as I walked towards it.
I did not think that the Cruz de Ferro would have the effect it did on me. The idea is that you bring something along with you on the Camino and dump it at the Cruz de Ferro, you then walk the last couple of hundred kilometres unencumbered by the burden you have been carrying. As a school principal, father, husband, son I had plenty to leave behind.
My secretary, Michelle, had very graciously given me a small black stone with the word 'peace' engraved on it. As someone who works very closely with me she knows how tough it is being the boss and she encouraged me to seek peace on my journey. I climbed the boney rock pile, kissed the stone and prayed,
For my school, my students, my staff, our families. Lord have mercy.
For my school, my students, my staff, our families. Christ have mercy.
For my school, my students, my staff, our families. Lord have mercy.
I kissed the stone, made the sign of the cross each time and placed it at the foot of the old beat up pole. A very catholic thing to do for a protestant but it just felt right.
Many years ago when I first started teaching at a little Christian school in Wellington New South Wales I was given a small wooden cross on a piece of blue wool. I don't remember by whom but I think it was at one of our staff weeks or PD days or something. That little wooden cross hung from the rear vision mirror in my first few cars and spent all the time from that day to this in the bedside drawer alongside me as I slept. It has never been very far away from me, it was broken once and I glued it back together with PVA glue.
It now lays at the foot of the Cruz de Ferro.
After I placed the little black stone down I got out that precious little thing and prayed.
For my wife, my children, my family with my all my heart and my soul, all that has gone before and all that lays ahead of us, Lord have mercy.
For my wife, my children, my family with my all my heart and my soul, all that has gone before and all that lays ahead of us, Christ have mercy.
For my wife, my children, my family with my all my heart and my soul, all that has gone before and all that lays ahead of us, Lord have mercy.
Again I kissed that little wooden cross, made the sign of the cross with each petition and placed it forever on foreign soil, in a high lonely place, away from me forever. But close to God.
I remember these words exactly and I am loathe to share such a personal moment but it just speaks so powerfully to what a journey like this can do to you. You see for weeks I have been wondering what to do, what to say and what it would be like to be in that place. And you know what, nada.
I was only as I first got sight of the Cruz the Ferro through the trees that the words came to me, that I just knew what I had to do in that place. It felt right, it was lovely and I don't feel any less burdened by my personal and professional responsibilities, I don't all of a sudden have an overwhelming sense of peace or sense that my family are any more or less blessed than they have ever been.
I do fervently believe that the Holy Spirit was at work in that moment, that the Holy Spirit intercedes for us with the Father with groans and noises that our words cannot express, that Jesus is always close to us whether we think he is there or not and that our God is a great and gracious God of giving. He gave me that moment. That's about it.
Anyway Monica and the kids placed their little treasures at the foot of the cross and we took the obligatory photos and videos and began what was arguably the most grueling six hours of my life.
We spent nine hours in total on the road that day, 6 after the Cruz de Ferro. We descended for an hour or so and then ascended up to close to 1500 metres again. The following descent was hazardous. We dropped something like 500 metres in a couple of kilometres on a shaley, slatey, slidey, dusty path. It was torturous. The subsequent hours saw Monica and I sort of go into pain induced, body aching trance, one foot in front of the other. Just get there. It was rough.
Of course the kids skipped along like mountain goats, the tougher it got the more animated they got, 'Man this is hectic, did you see me do that Dad, I was like the fella off.....' says Harry. 'I like walking on these paths Daddy, at least they are not boring.' says Zoe.
'!' Says Daddy, too exhausted to speak.
The mountain scenery was splendid, the air was clear, the day was beautiful. Hopefully some of the images on this post will convey what words cannot. I have added below a collage done in PicCollage as well as a pic above of two little stones and some other bits at the foot of the Cruz de Ferro. Unfortunately I did not take one of my little cross, that was going to be between me and God, but hey.
We rolled into Molinaseca late in the afternoon, walked over a beautiful stone bridge into a Spanish eden on a mountain stream. We found beer, drank deeply and enjoyed a meal that I cannot remember and fell into a blissful evening of sleep somewhere close to comatose but short of death.
Buen Camino Peregrinos
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