Puerta del Perdon, west portal.

The morning is bright and clear as I cross the River Cua on my way

out of Cacabelos. I stop on the far side at a bar for cafe con

leche (grande) before continuing up the road and at 1:30 in the

afternoon I arrive in Villafranca del Bierzo. My stomach is still

very delicate, and, in fact, worse than when I started. The first

stop I make just before entering the town is at the Church of

Santiago with its elegantly carved north portal, the Puerta del

Perdon. The Spanish Pope, Calixto III (1455-1458) must have had me

in mind when he granted a concession to pilgrims to stop here if

they were unable to continue and receive all the privileges of a

pilgrim who makes it to Santiago de Compostela. I took a few

photographs of the little church and some details of the Portal

itself which is very worn and weather beaten. After sitting in the

church for a few moments to collect my thoughts, I proceeded down

the hill and into the town itself. Villafranca is a picturesque

little town perched in a river valley with steep mountains to the

west directly in my path. I must say that here I had serious

doubts about my ability to continue. I felt sick and the road

ahead seemed particularly challenging. At one point as I crossed

the main street, the Norwegian pilgrim sprang out of his seat at a

cafe and came over to greet me. We spoke for a moment and it was

good to see a familiar face as I girded myself for the trek ahead.

Finally, feeling slightly dazed and ill, but having no intention

of spending the night in Villafranca, I bolstered all my courage

and started out. My guidebook tells me I have two choices:

1. Take the road along the busy paved highway which is unpleasant

and very dangerous due to the traffic but is the authentic route of el camino.

2. Follow the new route up the Cerro del Real, which is more

demanding, but goes through unspoiled countryside.

Having no idea what possessed me, I took the right fork and

started up the unbelievably steep path to the top of the mountain.

Part of my decision, I'm sure, was my dislike of smelling diesel

exhaust from the trucks, which, in my condition, would surely

sicken me more. Before making this decision I could see that this

stretch of road was indeed heavily trafficked. In any case, up I

went, feeling a lot like a mountain goat, except that I stopped

every few meters to rest. Once at the top, the footpath followed

the crest of the ridge through low scrub brush. If I thought that

being up here would be less of a assault on my olfactory senses I

was wrong. It seems that much of the mountain top has been burned

off for some reason, either by lightening or intentionally, and

the odor of burnt brush was everywhere and pungent. As I walked

the narrow path I could look to my left and see the road far down

in the valley. I could make out pilgrims walking along in groups

by the side of the road and the traffic they were confronting. Up

here, I was completely alone. Not another soul in sight since I

left Villafranca. I felt like I was walking along in an

alternative dimension, disconnected yet part of normal reality

since I could see it far in the distance. This feeling was

heightened when I walked under the high tension electric lines

crossing the path. They hissed and crackled with raw electricity

emphasizing the feeling that I was in a place that was distinctly

not normal and that I probably shouldn't be here.

I realized that I was running low on water which is always a

problem in the hot sun when working so hard physically so I

conserved my water as much as possible but began to feel sicker

with every step. This was without question the most difficult part

of the entire Camino for me. Not just because I was physically

challenged, beyond tired, hurting, and dangerously low on food and

water. I had experienced all of that before. But somehow, up here

on the desolate ridge, the combination of circumstances conspired

to defeat my spirits for the first time. I felt lonely and afraid

and could only equate it to the way Christ must have felt in the

desert. I had sank to the depths and felt abandoned by all, even

God. This was despair as I have never felt before.

I passed the time by delving deep into rooms in my psyche that I

know I have created, and that remain closed, secretive, and are

sources of pain and fear. As I walked I remembered what Win had

told me about concentrating on her heart and having ecstatic

experiences and I concentrated on mine, flooding it with silver

light, not for ecstacy, but just to remain afloat. I beseeched

everything that I held dear to accompany me and protect me on this

internal journey. I called upon all of my guides and shamanic

spirits to come along, and as I opened one room after another, I

forced myself to openly confront whatever the contents. I

encountered much unfinished business that strongly influences my

life in one way or another. As I passed through a room, the

knights, who are priests, enter and sanctify it with bells, holy

water, and incense, acknowledging that what was buried has been

brought into the light.

Detail, Puerta del Perdon, north portal.

As I opened other doors, rooms appeared with a spectrum of

experiences that I did my best to at least acknowledge. After a

while I had to give up on this inner work since it simply became

too draining on top of the physical demands. My pilgrimage is

becoming as much an inner journey as an outer one. Ever since my

dream about receiving an award but having slept through it, I am

constantly asking myself if I am awake, and what exactly does

being awake mean anyway?

When I descended from the mountain completely out of water and

feeling more despairing than ever, the path joined a paved road

which I followed for several kilometers. Still feeling quite sick

and unsteady in addition to being almost blown over by the large

trucks rushing past, I came around a curve and saw a road house,

or motel just up ahead. I felt as though I had been saved since I

didn't think I could go on much longer. It was dusk, and I had

been trudging a difficult path for about 10 hours though covering

only about 25 km since Cacabelos. I sat at a table and ordered a

beer since I was too sick to even think about eating, and was

beginning to think that I might have gotten sun poisoning in

addition to everything else. I watched as two older pilgrims

entered and appeared to be just as relieved as I to have come upon

this haven for truckers. After a few minutes of resting I

approached the bartender and arranged for one of the rooms which

was located through a door in an adjoining part of the building.

The room was not much bigger than a closet with a single bed,

bureau, and a bathroom. For me it was paradise and after washing

my socks and showering I was asleep almost immediately.