Days 29 and 30: Ponferrada to Cacabelos/ Rest day in Cacabelos
I love the Camino, but the Camino does not love me. 
I’m not sure how many times I played that mantra as I hauled my pack from Ponferrada to Cacabelos.
The pain in my right knee was now more severe than the throbbing in my left ankle. I used my hiking poles like crutches, and prayed for level ground. I watched each step, as a misplaced foot often meant skating across a large rock and wrenching any number of achy places. But the Camino is also Ultreia…upwards. So I continued to be rewarded when I looked at the blue Spanish sky, the terra cotta tile rooftops, and stork nests atop church towers and industrial chimney stacks.
Do stork nests function as communities? Their size is grand. Imagine pterodactyls building nests! But between Ponferrada and Cacabelos, we observed a nest on a lower level, and watched as smaller birds worked in and around the nest. It appeared, at least, as though they lived there too. Now think pterodactyl nest as a condominium. I don’t know if this is the case, but these smaller birds (maybe the same birds that appear to annoy the storks) are always fluttering in and around the nest. The stork landlords don’t seem to mind.
We also passed many vineyards, and compared the vines on each side of the path to the vines at home. Some vines were skinny and tall, like the Niagara grape vines Andrew used to tie as a kid. On the other side of the road, the vines were short and stocky and unsupported by wire. We promise ourselves that we will check these things out once we’re home.
Five kilometres outside of Cacabelos, I fell asleep on a park bench at a Vine Inspection station. Well, as there were no churches available, it would do. Andrew went in search of cold drinks to help us reach Cacabelos and its unusual albergue. But even with the outdoors nap and cold water, I felt ill shortly before entering the town.
I considered vomiting in the abandoned park on the outskirts of town. “Don’t puke here,” said Andrew. “You won’t feel like walking anymore.”
I didn’t feel like walking at all. The toxic cocktail of painkillers, anti inflammatories, and blood pressure meds mixed in my gut, as Andrew ran ahead of me to find the albergue built inside the wall that surrounded the ancient church. I bent over on the streets of Cacabelos, my backpack pushing up towards my neck, and barfed on a city street in full view of random Cacabelos-ites. 
“Thank God it’s siesta,” I thought. “Thank God I’ll never see these people again.”
When we reached the San Augustino(?) place, we claimed our single cell with twin beds, unpacked, and munched on some treats buried in the bonnets of our backpacks. But I was finished walking.
The pilgrims in the courtyard sympathized with my pathetic attempts to walk. They murmured in French, Korean, German, Spanish, Hungarian, and sad body language about the poor peregrina, and how the Camino had just claimed another knee.
The next morning, Andrew and I held that talk. We discussed going home a few weeks early. We discussed how to change flights. We discussed how to cancel our Morocco trip. We discussed Andrew continuing alone.
By three o’clock, I “enjoyed” an appointment at the hands of another descendant of a Spanish Inquisitor, now called an Osteopaedist, and left with my knee wrapped in blue osteo tape, and severe bruising from the deep massage.
By 6:30 the morning after the Inquisition, after the cleaners hugged and kissed me and mourned my decision to continue, I schlepped towards a bus station. Camino on…from Sarria. 
The Camino tests the peregrino through physical, mental, and spiritual challenges. The Camino spirit helped this peregrina answer the challenge in ways medication and massage could not.
¡Ultreia!
~Penny