Day 22 - Foncebadón to Molinaseca (Posting #1)

    Today's post will be told in two separate postings.  The reason will be clear.

    About 30 minutes after Foncebadón, you will encounter the Cruz de Ferro (Iron Cross).  It is at a point close to the highest altitude reached during the Camino, and has special significance.  It is an iron cross at the top of a pillar, and is surrounded by piles of stones and mementos left by pilgrims.

    My experience with this portion of my Camino will be told in 4 parts.

    Part 1:   
    This is how it was explained to me by the manager of the Albergue upon my arrival yesterday afternoon:      
    The Cruz to Ferro is a Sacred Place.  It allows you to free yourself from a burden you carry.  It could be something you did, or did not do.  Something you said or did not say.  Something that was said to you or about you.  Something that is a burden you carry in your heart.  From now until you reach the Cruz de Ferro, contemplate on what that burden is.  Did you bring a rock with you from home? [no].  If you did not bring a rock from home, the Camino will provide you with a rock between here and the Cruz.  You will know the right one.  When you reach the Cruz de Ferro, sit down and contemplate.  You will know when the time is right.  At the moment, walk to the Cruz.  Hold the rock in your fist against your chest.  Take all of the energy and anguish that burdens you, and release it to the rock.  With your back to the cross, throw the rock backwards over your shoulder, and do not look back.  I have done this three times in my life, and I can tell you personally that it will free you from your burden.

    Part 2:
    While enjoying the late afternoon on the patio during happy hour, one of the other Pilgrims volunteered that he had brought a rock from home, given to him by a neighbor, to honor the memory of a close friend.  

    Part 3:  
    Several days ago, after Jana bussed to Burgos, and I walked half-way, I was having dinner with a handful of other Pilgrims.  Two of them, brothers from San Diego, have been very kind to both Jana and me, and although we have only spent a few hours together, I do consider them to be close friends.  I had been talking about Jana's frustrations with booking, and her injury, and that I was becoming worried whether we would be able to continue, and that I really needed to make good time the next day to ensure I could catch up with her quickly.
    Conversation moved on to other topics.  Including the topic of another Pilgrim (not present, and who I had not met) who had chosen to do a 2nd leg that day - 35+ miles, and was relaying back Whats-App updates on progress, as a few of the folks at the table were concerned. 
    One of the brothers said that she had asked him for advice the day before, as the Camino was not working for her [details here are not important].  He said his response to her was: "I told her that this was HER Camino.  We may walk together, but we each walk our own Camino.  And you need to walk the Camino in a way that works for you.  I just did not expect that our conversation would result in her doing a 2nd leg".
    This had a huge impact on me.  And I do suspect that the statements may have been directed at me.  If completing the Camino successfully requires a bus, it requires a bus.  If it requires a taxi and a bike, it requires a taxi and a bike.  If it is done in segments over the course of multiple years - that is what is required.  Outside of the normal travelogue, parts of the Camino are deeply, deeply personal.  And to be perfectly fair, part of my fascination with the plants and birds and insects on the trail is a form of pseudo-meditation to be present with the Nature on the Camino, and prevents me from wrestling with inner-demons and self-doubt.

    Part 4:
    I spent much of the night thinking about how I would approach the Cruz. 
    In the morning, when we left at 7:45AM, it was cold - about 40F with a stiff breeze.  The second day on Camino where I started with a jacket (the first being on our day-1).  The sky was mostly clear with isolated puffs of clouds, but the tops of the hills were still in mist.
    Early in the 30 minute journey, I found a stone that did stand out to me.  I kept it in my hand, and ran through a gamut of thoughts and memories and joys and sorrows on my 'burden'. 
    As the elevation continued to rise, the mist continued to lift, but the sky remained gray, and the light was flat.
    As the two of us reached the Cruz de Ferro, as expected, there was a gathering around the cross, the normal picture-taking.  What I did not expect was a pine forest on three sides, since our walk until now had been in scrub, and with the trees the stiff-wind was mellowed to a breeze.  And at this higher elevation, all the louder birds (European robins, chaffinches, Eurasian Wrens) were suddenly absent.  Now it was entirely smaller birds, with shorter and higher-pitched calls.  Goldcrests, Red-Crossbills, Dunnocks, woodlarks, Iberian blue-tits.
    I walked to the cross, carefully placed my stone into a gap in the pile where it looked like it should fit, and backed away.  I walked to the end of the field, and allowed my eyes to well, and some tears to fall.  I closed my eyes for a minute to listen to the avian orchestra and the breeze blowing through the trees.  And slowly meandered back towards the path.  Just before rejoining the Camino trail, I took one last long look at the cross, and turned back to rejoin the path with my backpack feeling both a bit lighter, and a bit heavier.
    And the moment I stepped back onto the trail
    An infernal cuckoo began its repetitive two-note song.
    I wiped a bit of snot from my Camino moustache, turned to Jana, and we started walking.