Day 28: Foncebadón to Ponferrada
After days of skin-melting heat, we awoke to fog and 11°C. Andrew zipped on the legs to his travel pants, and I wrapped my Joe Fresh scarf around my hands and hiking poles. Then we began our ascent to the iron cross, the Cruz de Ferro, standing 1504m above sea level. The higher we climbed, the colder it felt. The fog seeped into our clothes.
The very simple iron cross stood shrouded in fog. An Italian man, and a woman passed us during the climb, and stood at the rocky base of the cross. We waited politely for each pilgrim’s moment at the cross before Andrew climbed the rock pile. I watched him place something, maybe a rock, on the collection of pilgrim offerings. Then it was my turn.
Each pilgrim’s moment on the rock pile is personal and private. The fog helped. Pilgrims watched as I climbed alone to the iron cross. Andrew took a picture. But in that moment, I felt alone on a pile of rocks, rosaries, holy cards, scraps of paper, and pictures strapped to the great post beneath the cross. 
For a second, I wondered if they bulldozed the heap of resolutions and memorials once a month or once a year. Would my Sauble Beach rock be there next year? It would survive the elements better than the pictures and small flowers anchored by heavy stones. So what matters at Cruz de Ferro? Certainly not the item left behind. But the eternity in the moment it took to place my rock from home mattered. 
We never discussed our experience at the iron cross. Andrew helped me down the last few feet, the Italian man took our pictures, and we parted with a “Buen Camino.”
The Camino is charged with moments. 
*****

The sun finally burned the fog from the trees and valley. We arrived at Manjarín, population of one! The sole resident is a self-described modern Templar knight, and offers a simple stay without electricity or indoor plumbing. Here we met another Vancouverite, and discussed the monstrous several kilometre downhill that awaited us into Molinaseca.  
After walking a few kilometres past Manjarín, we were pleased to find a vendor selling refreshments, and…a pilgrim bus! The pilgrim bus was organized by a surgeon named Luis, whose 71-year-old mother was walking the Camino with a number of his and her friends. The huge bus moves forward several kilometres and waits for pilgrims to board if they cannot handle the terrain, or are ill, or heat exhausted, or need to take medication.
Andrew spoke to the surgeon as I limped to the vendor to buy a Coke. Behind my back, he and the surgeon arranged for us to take the bus (free) to El Acébo (thus avoiding a knee-breaking descent) and down further into Molinaseca. I refused, at first. But as I enjoyed my Coke, Marco and Anna, a young Italian couple, insisted I take the bus. They were. 
Anna already had both knees operated on, and Marco had both knees supported by elastic sleeves following a multitude of soccer injuries. The surgeon offered two seats on the bus to them earlier, and they pleaded with me to be sensible. Marco said, “The point of the Camino is to reach Santiago de Compostela. The point is not to ruin your body getting there.”
The bus ride showed me skilled driving.That driver manoeuvred through the ancient narrow streets of El Acébo and between jutting balconies. Several times I waited to exhale. I was sure he could not squeeze through. It was the first time I applauded a bus driver. Loudly. The bus pilgrims were prepared to give him a standing O.
And so refreshed, Andrew and I resumed our hot, sticky walk into Ponferrada. We lost our way and searched hard for the monastery where we would spend the night. Once there, Andrew cooked supper for seven pilgrims bored with the usual pilgrim fare, and we managed to attend mass.
“The Camino provides” is heard almost as often as “buen camino,” but today proved that the Camino does provide…even though I stubbornly first refused its bounty. The descent into Molinaseca would have destroyed my damaged knee and ankle. We watched as pilgrims leaned back while clutching hiking poles thrust before them to slow their descent over rolling rocks and dirt. 
At mass, I quietly thanked Luis, the bus driver, Andrew, the young Italians, the Camino, and God for the opportunity my pride first refused, and for the common sense that got me on the bus the Camino provided.  
¡Ultreia!
~Penny