Magic Moment in Foncebadón: Music in the Fog on the Camino

An excerpt from the book "Manchmal muss man einfach weiterlaufen" (Sometimes You Just Have to Keep Walking): on 3 May 2011 the Camino Francés leads from Foncebadón up to the Cruz de Ferro – and in the fog of the almost deserted mountain village, a very special "magic moment" is waiting.

Ponferrada. 3 May 2011. Everyone has their very own "magic moment" at some point on the pilgrim trail. I have mine on this day, and it has nothing at all to do with the Cruz de Ferro, which matters so much to many pilgrims.

Leaving the hostel

A night comes to an end.

The wood-burning "cannon stove" standing in the middle of the room keeps the temperature pleasant, but not too warm. The only thing is that the mattress is a bit hard, which is uncomfortable for my hip, since I normally sleep on my side. In the end, though, I got enough sleep, just a rather restless one.

At six o'clock on the dot the alarm goes off. Not mine, though – I don't even have one with me – but the Norwegians' at the other end of the room. They seem to be deep sleepers, because for one thing the sound is set to maximum volume, and for another it takes a good minute for anyone to react. Maybe they're also using the much-praised earplugs, on account of their snoring fellow pilgrims.

Well, they're not the only ones awake now.

However, a short while later I get up too, go to the bathroom and then pack my stuff as quietly as I possibly can.

Unfortunately my long-sleeved shirt, which I washed out yesterday, isn't quite dry yet. I put it on anyway, for lack of an alternative. Layering it is: just the short-sleeved one over it, and after a short while it's warm enough like that. The liner socks, however, are still too wet. So I stuff them, together with my still damp underpants, into a bag and hope to be able to dry them in the evening.

After a hearty breakfast I'm on my way at around half past seven and tackle the rest of the climb. Since I already made it up to over 1000 m yesterday, it goes quite well.

I also made a point of getting my food supplies down to more or less zero, so the rucksack is correspondingly "light".

Music in the fog of Foncebadón

The Way passes through the small village of Foncebadón, about two kilometres before the Cruz de Ferro.

It's still quite cool and fog hangs in the air. There's not a soul to be seen anywhere, nor any sign of life at all. The stone houses lie silent, as if deserted. The earthen road muffles my footsteps and everything seems almost a little eerie.

I walk on along the empty main street when I suddenly hear music. At first I think my brain is playing tricks on me, but as I walk on, it gets louder.

It sounds like a modern kind of monks' chant, like "Gregorian". A few more steps and I pass the village's hostel, which I identify as the source.

I stop, because a new song is just starting, "Hymn", originally by Barclay James Harvest. As if hypnotised, I listen to the music. It envelops me like the fog around me. The words settle heavily on my shoulders and at the same time make me light and free. The moment is so full of magic and beauty that tears rise in me, out of me, and blur my vision with happiness.

When the song ends, it's silent.

But it's a full silence, in which the voices echo on.

Still there's no one to be seen anywhere, and for a moment I wonder whether I only imagined the music. Or was it playing just for me? I'd like to believe that. I don't know how long I stand there, but at some point it seems as if I'm waking from my trance, and slowly, but with a spring in my step and a smile, I continue on my way.

I think we only remember the significant moments, scattered beacons in the darkness of the everyday walk.

The truth is that it's the small steps that lead us to these "magic moments". They are significant.

And when we look back, we see that it isn't only the high points, but especially the low points in life that define who we are and who we become.

At the Cruz de Ferro

Maybe because I've just had such a magical moment that simply can't be topped, maybe also because the group of people storming the Cruz de Ferro right now seems very unceremonious – at any rate, I'm a little disappointed by this place.

All right, I admit I hadn't really looked into it, because originally I had wanted to walk the Camino del Norte.

Many pilgrims bring a stone here from home or from along the way and lay it down. Often with a message on it. It's a symbolic letting go.

Yesterday, when I was thinking about it, it occurred to me that I don't have a stone or anything else with me to lay down. But then I thought: I don't need one, because at the moment I don't feel any burden I want to get rid of.

I've already left a few things behind on the Way. Whatever is left, I'll let go of when the time comes.

And when I told Helmut about it – that I had no stone, but no burdens to lay down either – we came up with the idea that I could lay one down as a precaution, just for any possible future problems.

But it wouldn't do any good, and I leave it. It doesn't feel right to me.

So I climb up the mound of stones, simply stand there for a moment and thank my guardian angels.

For having accompanied me this far, and I ask for protection for the rest of my Way.

This text is an excerpt from the book "Manchmal muss man einfach weiterlaufen".

The route in Camino Ninja

Foncebadón, the Cruz de Ferro and Ponferrada lie on the Camino Francés – with stages, map and accommodation in Camino Ninja.