Journey stop: Unique Tomas’ place

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Editor’s note: Rick McKay, Joe Masonick, and Jack Karolewski, have been travel companions for more than 50 years to a variety of sites with many goals. This week’s adventure is the 15th in the series, a 14-day hike in 2005 across northern Spain’s intriguing Camino de Santiago, known as the Way of Santiago, for a religious retreat and pilgrimage. Visiting various villages on the journey requires continual hiking and climbing.

The previous article is at thevoice.us/old-roman-town-landscape-beautiful

By Rick McKay

Day 3: Village journey from Rabanal to El Acebo, Sunday, Sept. 18, 2005

Last night´s sleep was difficult at best. Lingering jetlag and snoring peregrinos (pilgrims) kept me up for several hours, at least. I tried everything—ear plugs, heavy breathing to drown out the noise, wrapping the albergue pillow around my head, but all to little effect. However, somehow, during a lull in the chorus of snores, I found sleep for perhaps four-to five-hours.

The lights went on around 7:30 a.m. and one by one pilgrims rolled out of bed or stepped gingerly from top bunks to the stone floor and began reassembling their packs. By 8 a.m. we were in the courtyard ordering cafe con leche and a very basic breakfast consisting of one large piece of toasted bread with jam and/or butter—quite good.

Around 9 a.m. we hoisted our packs and left Rabanal behind. For the first hour we gradually climbed in elevation, eventually reaching Foncebadon, which the guidebooks characterized as a ghost town. However, we were surprised to find that there were indeed inhabitants there and even a new structure in progress amid the rubble of undulating stone walls and fallen timbers of long-abandoned dwellings from a bygone age. The recent rise in popularity of the Camino can be the only reason for renewed interest in Foncebadon, because there is no other apparent source of income in this mountain village other than pilgrim traffic and the meagre revenue it might yield.

Outside of Foncebadon we continued to climb, eventually reaching Manjarin, another village with only ruins to attest to a history of any kind, excepting the quirky albergue of Tomas and his wife on the western outskirts.

This young couple manages a ramshackle and questionable establishment, abounding in pets of all kinds from pups suckling at their mother’s teats, to tiny kittens no more than several weeks out of the womb, to white geese cackling and pecking at one another in the shade of a weathered wagon bed, to a gray burro being led away to higher ground by a hired hand.

Tomas, the proprietor, dressed as a cross between a gypsy and a swashbuckling pirate with a navy blue bandana wrapped around his forehead, ushered guests in to the inner sanctum of his establishment by the ringing of a large bell outside the door. His wife, still wearing a gray fleece coat at this hour, tended to the needs of the curious flux of pilgrims arriving, many by bike, to check out the hubbub. One Fanta, fresca (cold), one Euro. Bottled water, gratis (free), but donations welcome, a metal box sitting on the wooden table in the shade of a thatched awning with a slot for coin.

New Age flute music from hidden speakers contributed to the seductive ambiance to welcome weary travelers. Tomas refills a basket with tasty wafers for visitors to snack on.

Several years ago the government tried to shut his establishment down for not conforming to regulations governing the operation of albergues. When he refused to conform, they threatened to shut off his electricity. In response, he staged a hunger strike in front of the government offices until, ultimately, they restored his power and left him alone. And so he operates today.

It was not a place I would like to stay. An open pot of cooked rice sat on a wooden bench in the shade. To the side a large tray of lettuce and other vegetables lay open to the sun. Animals walked and crawled on and over everything without restriction.

And yet, the albergue of Tomas was unique and full of interesting and endearing oddities, well worth the stop.

Continued at thevoice.us/celts-romans-pilgrims-understood-religious-climb

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