See photo gallery.
Having spent the morning sniffing honeysuckle, mint, zinnias, and hydrangea, and hiking past hollyhocks, sunflowers, and lettuce-corn-and-kale gardens, I watched a man in La Faba push his wheelbarrow of potatoes uphill from his garden to the village center and wash them in the town water fountain; I waited while an elderly woman herded her pigs down the road into her yard; and, farther down the path, I ate an orange and cookies in a raspberry patch with the bees before quickly "visiting the bushes" (knowing full well that those traveling the higher road likely could see me if they cared to look).
I had a big mountain climb, but crazily I had grown to love the uphill climbs, because my foot did best when it was in a flexed position. I did not use my crippling-crutches (I mean trekking poles), bandages or braces. Instead, I let my body find its natural balance. It was terrific not to hit my nose, forehead, and glasses with five-foot batons every time I swatted at flies.
I crossed into the Galicia region early in the afternoon and walked into O'Cebreiro (pronounced Oh-thay-bray-air-oh) shortly thereafter. After showering and handwashing and hanging my laundry, I wandered through O'Cebreiro's little stores in its 15th Century stone buildings that had once been a part of the monastic settlement where Queen Isabella had stayed during her pilgrimage to Santiago in 1486.
O'Cebreiro was Celtic in origin and was a very spiritual mixing of Celtic mysticism and Catholicism. Celts believed in "thin places," and I was surprised to discover a thin place between the earth and the spirit realm in O'Cebreiro.
Late afternoon, I went inside the stone iglesia (church) to take a look around. I had peeked into the little baptismal chamber and had just noticed the confessionals, when this sense of God's presence leveled me. I found my way to a pew and sat. Tears slowly rolled down my cheeks. (Having no hanky, I kept wiping my drippy-nosed-hand on my sock.) Photo-snapping tourists faded from my periphrea, and I sat basking in the light of God's glory and grace. Every time I started to move, it was as if God would press my head against His shoulder to soothe and comfort me. I do not know how long I sat like that.
When I opened my eyes, the church had filled. All but me were standing, and a mass had begun. I understood very little of the mass, but I much enjoyed the rich ceremony, and worshipped the Lord with the others.
* * *
Having spent the morning sniffing honeysuckle, mint, zinnias, and hydrangea, and hiking past hollyhocks, sunflowers, and lettuce-corn-and-kale gardens, I watched a man in La Faba push his wheelbarrow of potatoes uphill from his garden to the village center and wash them in the town water fountain; I waited while an elderly woman herded her pigs down the road into her yard; and, farther down the path, I ate an orange and cookies in a raspberry patch with the bees before quickly "visiting the bushes" (knowing full well that those traveling the higher road likely could see me if they cared to look).
I had a big mountain climb, but crazily I had grown to love the uphill climbs, because my foot did best when it was in a flexed position. I did not use my crippling-crutches (I mean trekking poles), bandages or braces. Instead, I let my body find its natural balance. It was terrific not to hit my nose, forehead, and glasses with five-foot batons every time I swatted at flies.
I crossed into the Galicia region early in the afternoon and walked into O'Cebreiro (pronounced Oh-thay-bray-air-oh) shortly thereafter. After showering and handwashing and hanging my laundry, I wandered through O'Cebreiro's little stores in its 15th Century stone buildings that had once been a part of the monastic settlement where Queen Isabella had stayed during her pilgrimage to Santiago in 1486.
O'Cebreiro was Celtic in origin and was a very spiritual mixing of Celtic mysticism and Catholicism. Celts believed in "thin places," and I was surprised to discover a thin place between the earth and the spirit realm in O'Cebreiro.
Late afternoon, I went inside the stone iglesia (church) to take a look around. I had peeked into the little baptismal chamber and had just noticed the confessionals, when this sense of God's presence leveled me. I found my way to a pew and sat. Tears slowly rolled down my cheeks. (Having no hanky, I kept wiping my drippy-nosed-hand on my sock.) Photo-snapping tourists faded from my periphrea, and I sat basking in the light of God's glory and grace. Every time I started to move, it was as if God would press my head against His shoulder to soothe and comfort me. I do not know how long I sat like that.
When I opened my eyes, the church had filled. All but me were standing, and a mass had begun. I understood very little of the mass, but I much enjoyed the rich ceremony, and worshipped the Lord with the others.
* * *
After the mass, I had a meal of caldo gallego (a white bean soup, with potatoes, onions and turnip tops, in a pork broth), grilled chicken with potatoes, flan, and cold vino tinto, (having learned the day before that the reason the wine was cold was because it often had cold [sometimes sparkling] water added to it to dilute its strength).
Before bed, I brushed my teeth and zipped the pants back onto my convertible black shorts. It was cold in Galicia, as I was nearing the Atlantic Ocean, and the Galician mountains were the first things the cold winds hit coming off of the ocean.
I went to bed that night thankful for The Second Good Day and for the beautiful "thin place" experience that had insulated me as if I were an infant blanketed in her mother's love.
Before bed, I brushed my teeth and zipped the pants back onto my convertible black shorts. It was cold in Galicia, as I was nearing the Atlantic Ocean, and the Galician mountains were the first things the cold winds hit coming off of the ocean.
I went to bed that night thankful for The Second Good Day and for the beautiful "thin place" experience that had insulated me as if I were an infant blanketed in her mother's love.
RSS Feed