The local stew of Astorga not to be missed, but trekking to Foncebadon this morning and
tomorrow will cross the pass where the statue of God Mercury used to
stand in Roman times.
The
painful past reminds me of an unconscious-sensation, but everything dissipates as I detach and awaken the self.
Various guidebooks have given Foncebadon a reputation for being the home of rabid dogs eager for a tasty pilgrim snack, but in fact the mountain outpost has experienced something of a renaissance. In between utterly ruinous piles of stone are a smattering of lovingly restored old homes, typically shrouded in fog or buried in deep snow and both have their charm, but often there is a problem with accommodation.
I
arrived late in the afternoon to see my fellow man, three guys sitting outside
with desperate faces trying to figure out what to do next.
Wow, I thought this could be an unexpected surprise, but they say there is a pension nearby with a single bed left.
I quickly run to the place and guess what _ my bad number is 11.
My birth number is eleven, and since awakening has been following me as a guardian angel, but showing here the day before crossing the pass of Mercury must be a good omen.
I quickly run to the place and guess what _ my bad number is 11.
My birth number is eleven, and since awakening has been following me as a guardian angel, but showing here the day before crossing the pass of Mercury must be a good omen.