Cruce de Ferro

I never saw that American woman again, so the pictures she took of me and my wobbly chin in a quiet moment alone with the cross will live undisturbed on her phone.

The cross came reasonably early in the day so when I left the albergue after the sunrise I tucked the pebble I'd be leaving into my palm. We held hands until we reached it, where I gave it one last squeeze and let it tumble still warm, onto the pile.

I'm sure it came as quite the shock to this little stone, to have been plucked from outside my home front door, plunged into the dark recesses of a backpack and then dropped into a crowded group of its peers halfway across the world.

As I scrambled back down and saddled up my pack again, the different department leads in my head got together and argued about whether now was the time to cry. I politely gave them a moment, holding onto a fence and avoiding eye contact, but they couldn't reach a consensus so on I went.Read more