Saturday, April 23, 2005

The Village of Mist

Note: O'Cebreiro was a fascinating town with ancient, round-shaped stone buildings with thatched roofs. I was walking in the country side, totally surrounded by mist and only able to see the ground in front of me and dripping tree-branches that lurked by the path. Suddenly, following alongside of me was a stone wall, so I knew that I must be near some kind of civilization. The path took a twist and then entered through a gap in the stone wall. When I reached the mountaintop town, it was completely filled with fog. I was alone and the only sounds beneath the dead weight of the fog were the click-clacking of my staff on the cobbled streets and some eerie celtic-music playing from a building somewhere. The streets were deserted, but I found my way to the pilgrim refuge. I managed to rustle up some bread and cheese from a little store.

Eventually more sodden-looking pilgrims drifted in, including the young Spaniards. Laura was so dead-beat from the mountain trek that she was almost in tears. Juan and Juan (the other two) quickly whipped up some dinner, and commented that they were surprised to see me—they thought I'd be in Santiago the way I took off that morning.

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