I´ve been to the mountain top

This evening I´m writing in a bar in the town of O´Cebreiro. If you´re thinking that sounds more like an Irish name than Spanish, it´s with good reason. Today we passed into the region of Galicia, which, as its name implies, has been influenced by Gaelic culture. Whatever its origins, this town is unlike anything I´ve ever seen. It rests high atop a mountain looking out over miles of the Spanish countryside in every direction. Hiking here you pass mostly cattle and the occasional small town, most so small it seems ridiculous to have even named them. When you reach the top, out of breath and dripping sweat, it seems something of a dream, so strange is it to see a town this high above the earth.
But how did we get here? Before I get into that, I need to tell you, Maria, sometimes ¨suck¨is in fact an appropriate word to be used in conjunction with the camino. I think Greg used it about 100 times today... and that was before we even got to the hilly part. In all seriousness, one should not think the camino is all roses. Like life in general, it comes with its own trials and disappointments. For example, the past two days I´ve found myself slightly hampered by a bit of tendinitis in my left leg. I´m fortunate to say this is the worst I´ve experienced so far. But we take the good with the bad, and when we reach the mountain top it is all the sweeter for the stubbed toes and aching joints suffered during the ascent. At any rate, Í have not yet experienced pain enough to distract me from reveling in the beauty that daily surrounds me, especially now that that blasted meseta is behind us.
It looks like I won´t have time to recount the past few days, so I want to end with one last thought. Today Greg asked me how it felt to have been hiking for almost a month now. I suppose by now I have gotten into the rhythm of things. Washing my clothes by hand and taking to the road as the sun begins to climb have become second nature. Yet for all that I do find it hard to believe I´ve been about this camino thing for so long. It seems like we´ve only just begun. I think that has something to do with the lifestyle that one develops on this pilgrimage. Each day we live for that day alone, overcoming difficulties as they arrive and basking in the joys and surprises that no previous day could have prepare us for. One of our old hiking friends, an Italian named Alberto, surprised us by revealing his age--37. I would have guessed 29. I am coming to believe that we have more to say about the lives we live than we often give ourselves credit for. I bring that attitude back with me when this particular adventure draws to a close.